#also using my finger nails to scratch myself

[thestarsofpines]

i've been out of my adhd and mood stablizer meds for a week and i feel like i'm going to either cry or bite someone

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Who wears the pants. || husband!John Price

[MASTERLIST]

Rating: M Words: 3.4K without the extra!! (this one got away from me, I'm sorry.) Pairing: husband!John x wife!reader CW: quick smut!, yelling mentioned, slightly dubcon (if you squint), john got angry and jealous Tags: you/your pronouns, afab!reader, smut, fingering-ish, slight exhibitionism, love bites and marks, established relationship, jealous!john price, anger mentioned, ghost's stirring the pot. Summary: John is embarrassed of the fact you 'wear the pants' in your relationship... But only after the lads come to stay over and a snarky comment from Simon, does he decide to show you what's what. a/n: my first attempt at writing smut that I wanted to post... Also Ghost/Simon is a dick in this one...

John simultaneously is and is not ashamed to say how much he loves you. 

Of course, he loves you to bits, finds you the most stunning woman he’s ever seen, and would kill and die for you in a heartbeat. His love was the epitome of “If I ever were to lose you, I'd surely lose myself.”

However, he would never risk introducing you to his teammates. Not if he can avoid it. And not just because he cares about you and wants to keep you away from prying eyes, safe and sound in your family home…

More like… they don’t need to know how John purrs when you scratch his beard right beneath his chin and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. They don’t need to see how his pupils almost morph into hearts equally if he sees you in one of his shirts, or in your work clothes, or in joggers and a sweaty t-shirt, or a sexy little number, or nude…

And they especially don’t need to know that their tough-as-nails Captain figuratively rolls over and bares his neck in submission when in the presence of his wife… Or that your voice is like a goddamn foghorn making him genuinely quake in a way he hasn’t since he was a boy at Sandhurst, getting yelled at by drill sergeants… 

He hasn’t left the toilet seat up in 12 years. Hasn’t tracked mud into your shared home (whose floors you had just mopped!) in 10. Hasn’t eaten the last of your snacks or used the last of the tea bags without replacing it in 6. 

There is no weaponized incompetence in your home because you know John is not incompetent and you will not allow him to feign being it to make you his maid. You take care of him and your home, and you refuse to let him disrespect you in any way… And he knows better than to try.

His teammates have no idea how hopelessly in love he is with you. With the way you seize control from him in a way he allows no one else to. Not his soldiers, not the rest of his family. He’s been the ‘man’ of the house in all aspects for as long as he can remember… But that stops the moment he crosses the threshold of the front door, hangs his coat and his gear in the hall closet, and pads through the home in search of you. 

He always finds you busying yourself with something or other and you beckon him close like a puppy, with a pat on the chair next to yours as you work at the dining table, or a come hither motion of the fingers as you water the plants, or reach your arms out for a hug as you stand atop a ladder halfway through repainting the accent wall in the living room. He always hugs and burrows himself in you, inhaling your scent, basking in your warmth, leaving kisses and touches in every inch of exposed skin.

He’s not embarrassed of you, he’ll gladly shout out to the world about his love for you. But he’s embarrassed by how he acts around you. Soap and Gaz would tell him he’s “whipped” if they ever knew what you do to him. So he doesn’t want them to meet you.

But he doesn’t have a choice. December 23rd, at 11 P.M., he and the lads have just touched down from a mission. The weather forecast speaks of a rainstorm and severe weather warnings extending right over Christmas… And John knows what he must do.

So disgruntled, your husband walks off to his office and calls you. In a low tone of voice, almost hushed, because he woke you up, he grumbles about the storm, about how Soap won’t be able to drive up to Scotland for Christmas, that Gaz can probably risk driving to Birmingham, but it’s still pretty unsafe, and that Ghost, as usual, was going to lock himself in his quarters on base and drink himself until he passes out…

You don’t need to be told again. You spring into action immediately. You simply reply that you’re getting up and getting the guest rooms ready, asking if one of the lads would mind getting the pull-out sofa in John’s study, and telling John to drive safe, that the roads are dangerous with the rain… 

It’s midnight when you hear the front door opening, and the hall light turns on, flooding the space with a bright warm-toned yellow-ish light. “Shoes off, you lot. The missus doesn’t want water or mud inside.” He demands in a gruff tone.

As they go about unzipping coats and undoing their muddy boots, you can hear John still chastising them. “I’ll stress again: I want you on your best behaviour. No work talk, no cursing, no disrespect. The missus is doin’ you a favour.” He adds as if the poor lads are children who cannot be trusted to be polite.

Unbeknownst to you, he had already spent the whole drive over from base warning them about picking up after themselves, about being respectful to you, about putting the toilet seat down, about making their beds… reaming them out as if they were wild animals who had never once been inside a house and would break and dirty up everything they touch.

You move to stand at the step that separates the lowered entryway from the sitting room, silently observing them, arms crossed as you lean your shoulder against the wall, wearing a robe and your house slippers as you look at them.

They’re all taller than you, moving surprisingly efficiently and quietly, trying not to disturb the peaceful home too much. They’re dripping wet, probably from rushing from the car in the driveway up to the front stoop. A set of four backpacks or duffle bags are on the floor by the door, their clothes for the days they’ll spend here inside.

“Give them a break, Jonathan, you can keep bossing them around in the morning, love.” You quip and you immediately feel all their backs stiffen, four pairs of eyes glued to you.

“Hi, lovie…” John says, already crossing the small entryway to wrap his arms around your waist, dropping a deep open-mouthed kiss to your awaiting lips. Your hand touches his face, caressing his cheek over his mutton chops.

“Steamin’ Jesus, the Captain’s got taste…” You hear a voice murmur, followed by a sharp ‘ow, what was that fo’?’ which causes both you and John to look at the other soldiers. The offending man, the shortest, with a mohawk, rubs at his arm, which seems to indicate the tallest one on his left side smacked him into shutting his mouth.

You don’t need to be told who’s who to realize that it was ‘Ghost’ who smacked ‘Soap’, while ‘Gaz’ stands on Soap’s other side and shoots John an apologetic look. He told you everything about them, without ever revealing names or pictures, for you to know more about them than you should. John himself as his lips pressed together, his mouth nearly disappearing behind his mustache, as he glares at the lads (aka Soap) for making comments about you.

You quickly approach the three men. “You must be the lads my husband talks so much about!” You say with a chuckle. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the men responsible for bringing my John home in one piece every time…” You tell them gratefully while shaking each of their hands with two of your own, your eyes shining a bit.

“Please, come in!” You gesture behind you into the home as you flick the sitting room lights on. “John, will you show them their rooms while I put the kettle on?” You ask your husband as you slink into the kitchen. 

A few muffled footsteps, created by socked feet, are heard as they walk inside, with John directing the boys to the different bedrooms (and study), and you hear a gruff voice murmur something about taking the pull-out sofa. You assume it’s Ghost.

Your husband then comes to hug you around the waist as you wait for the water to boil, dropping kisses to your temple and cheek, doting on you while his big, calloused hands squeeze at every part of you, your thighs, especially, but your tummy as well, along with gentle words. “I missed you so much, lovie…” “Thank you for doing this…” “You know, I can never sleep right without you in my arms…” “Just missed you so much…”

Five minutes later, you hear their steps coming back as you’re finishing pouring the water into a few separate mugs. Your husband dislodges his arms from around you. He doesn’t need the others to see he’s so crazy about you. 

“Your home is beautiful, Mrs. Price.” Gaz says as you set the tea mugs, the sugar, and the milk within their reach on the island counter. He takes one of the mugs and tops it off with some milk. The way the young boy calls you ‘Mrs. Price’ has nothing if not respect dripping from it. 

It makes you tingle on the inside, even after so many years, the realization that you’re John’s wife, John’s choice, John’s priority. Your husband preens himself a bit when he catches the look in your eye. He loves that you’re his, of course, but loves it even more that you like being his.

“Thank you, Gaz. I’m glad you like it.” You remark with a smile as you sip your own tea. Herbal, different from theirs, so you can resume your sleep which John interrupted with his phone call. 

“Aye, real cosy!” Soap quips from beside him as he slides up to a stool on the island. He doesn’t drink tea, so you didn’t prepare any, per John’s request.

“I hope the beds are to your liking… I kinda made them in a hurry.” You quip, which causes the boys, and your husband, to laugh, as they seat themselves across from you, in the bar stools. You barely even noticed Ghost taking the last cuppa and sliding up next to Johnny, his mask rolled up just enough to allow him to drink.

“We’re soldiers, ma’am, we’ll sleep anywhere,” Gaz told you, ever polite, with a sweet smile on his lips. John has told you all about Gaz, his protegé, of sorts, a respectful lad, the youngest, but one that has proved himself to be useful.

Your eyes flitter over to John for a moment, watching as he drinks his tea, two fingers laced through the handle of his navy blue mug, rather than around him, his behind leaning back on the counter beside you. While doing that, however, you miss the glances the lads exchange with each other, and then to you.

“As true as that might be…” You trail off after sipping your tea and look back at the soldiers again. “I still hope you have some good rest. And, I’m sorry about the pull-out sofa… it’s a bit old, came from John’s old apartment… Has gotta be a decade old now.” You quip as you look toward Ghost.

“It’s alright. I’ll sleep fine.” Ghost says. “Like Gaz said, we can sleep wherever.” He adds.

Soap nods along. “Anything’s better than sleeping on the ground with your rifle between your legs and your jacket folded up to serve as an eyemask.” He adds and laughs.

“Johnny.” Your husband calls out, chastising him. “No work talk.”

“Aw, c’mon, Captain, that hardly counts as work talk.” He retorts with a little boyish grin.

“Them’s the rules. No bloody talk about service.” John insists.

“John.” You scold him, and your husband stiffens next to you, his eyes flittering over to you, eyebrows scrunched and his eyes softened as he meets your eye… nothing short of a puppy.

It was stronger than John at this point, to respond to your tone of voice with nothing but a baring of his neck, not a baring of his teeth like he would with anyone else. The boys all noticed it, the way his shoulders sagged and his eyes looked at you with utter devotion.

“Let the boys talk about work. As long as it’s nothin’ too gory or confidential…” You trail off. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy ‘earing all the stories they have to tell about you at work... Right, lads?” You ask as you look at them again.

“Oh, we’ve got stories alright.” Soap says with a giggle and a wagging of his brows, which causes Gaz and Ghost to snicker under his breath.

“Well, then, regale me with them during Christmas dinner, ye?” You ask them, to which they nod along with smiles. You could swear even Ghost had one in the corner of his scarred lips.

After a bit more small talk, you kissed John goodnight, while he told you he’d stay downstairs and talk with the lads a little longer, so you waved at them while trekking your way upstairs, the boys once more thanking you for the hospitality.

The moment John’s trained ears honed into the fact the bedroom door has closed, he finishes his tea and glares at the lads.

“Don’t be bloody flirtin’ with my wife.” He tells Soap directly, though his comment extends to Gaz and Ghost as well, which is why he glances to both sides at the other two.

“Sir?” Gaz asks while blinking.

“You ‘eard me, Garrick.” He adds and points a finger at the young Sergeant. 

“We’re not flirtin’, sir.” Soap tries to defend himself.

“Aw, that’s rich that there, MacTavish, yeah.” Your husband says bluntly.

“Weren’t flirting.” Ghost retorts as he looks at John. “I was more so interested in the way she has your balls in her little purse.” He adds.

Both Soap and Gaz turn to look at Ghost with eyes so wide you’d think he just tried to kill the Captain directly… and he might as well have, the way John choked on nothing and started coughing up a lung.

The other two are trying to muffle their chuckles and hide their smirks as Simon continues. “Don’t give me that look, boss. We all saw it. Pretty thing might as well be walking you around on a lead.”

“Nonsense.” John says defensively as he snatches the cups of tea from the island and turns to deposit them all in the kitchen sink. He starts washing them quickly, shoulders stiffened.

“Bunk down.” John demands. “We’ve got plenty to do tomorrow.” He adds. The light screeching of bar stools being pulled back and pushed back into place is heard, as the boys vacate the kitchen with curt ‘Goodnight, sir’ murmured before they headed upstairs as well.

“Balls in her bloody purse, my arse.” John grumbles under his voice as he finishes doing the dishes, drying his hands, and then setting them on the island across from him, head hung in shame.

He knows Simon’s right. Hell, he revels in the fact you’ve got metaphorical balls of steel to confront him, to steal control right from under him, to wear the pants in the relationship. Lord knows it took him years to meet a woman who could not only keep up with him but put him in his place…

So why does it embarrass him so to hear them snicker at that fact? Why does it annoy him to look weak for you in front of his men? Why does it anger him that he loves to be weak for you?

Those are the thoughts in his head as he turns off the sitting room and kitchen lights and marches upstairs... And as he approaches your bedside in the dark, pulling the covers out from atop of you, exposing your body to him.

Under that robe you came to welcome them in, you were only wearing one of his t-shirts and no pants whatsoever, which he had peeped by the way your bare legs had shown through the slit between the two sides of the fabric whenever you walked.

“John?” You ask him in surprise, his breath is a bit ragged, more so huffing like a bull through his nose, as he grabs you and pulls you up into his arms, only to drop you on the bed further in the middle of the bed.

The giggle that escaped you when he did so annoyed him even more. He’s angry, pissed that he had been humiliated in front of his men, that you had humiliated him by merely existing and going about your relationship with him the way you always did…

So why are you giggling? Is he really that weak for you that you’ve grown to not fear his anger?

He grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it up and over your head, tossing it to the side before he attacks your neck with nothing but kisses and bites, his hands touching your naked body, rough skin dragging over every inch of the softness he has left on display.

“John!” You giggle some more as he keeps touching and kissing you, his body weighing down on yours, your legs parted to accommodate him. “We can’t… We have guests!” You try to negotiate as his fingers dig into the pudge of your thighs and slide around to grip a greedy handful of your ass.

You still haven’t spotted the anger in him… And, as such, your playful attempts at negotiating postponing sex only annoy him more. You’re still trying to call the shots…

His left hand wraps around your face, quieting you with a strong palm holding your lips, his fingers digging into your jaw on either side. “You’re mine.” That’s all he says as his fingers continue exploring your body.

“You think you can embarrass me like that in front of the blokes?” He asks you in a whisper as his teeth catch your earlobe and suck and bite at it. “Hm?” He beckons, his tone aggressive. “Make me look like a big girl’s blouse in front of my subordinates?” He continues.

A shiver runs down your spine as his free hand wraps around the waistband of your underwear and yanks it off, down your legs, tossing them to a random spot, barely giving you time to react before his fingers drag up your thigh.

“You think you’re oh-so-box-clever, innit?” He asks you as his fingers slowly drag across your slit, finding your clit effortlessly, years of practice aiding in his torturing of you. You find yourself moaning and sighing against his hand, hips stuttering a bit, your feet looking for a perch at the edge of the bed so you can rub yourself into his hand.

“Walking around in just my shirt and those knickers and stupid bloody robe, making my boys see how lucky I am to have you, make them jealous… Only to embarrass me, make me look weak…” He trails off and tuts loudly, his tongue clicking disdainfully.

The things he’s saying make no sense to you. You didn’t try to seduce his friends, and you sure as hell didn’t try to embarrass him! It’s just the way you always act around him, around the house. He’s never complained, in fact, he’s praised you plenty of times for being ‘perfect’ for him… So where did this change of his come from?

Frankly, you don’t know, but you don’t care… It has been weeks since you were last together, sure, but you know that’s not the main reason why you’re loving this. The unbridled rage in his voice, combined with the way his experienced fingers touch your body, is making you feel things John’s never made you feel before. Your mind is clear of nothing if not a pang of hunger for him, your hands gently pawing at his shoulders atop his charcoal grey t-shirt, soft whimpers muffled by the hard palm pressing you into silence, into submission.

“I’m afraid I’ve let you gone unchecked for too long, lovie...” He grunts in your ear as his fingers draw circles against your clit, the rough pads catching at the throbbing bud, making you whine and whimper, your whole body shuddering against him. “I’m going to fix that attitude of yours...” He clicks his tongue again, sounding all the more annoyed.

“Now you’re going to be good f’r me…” He says as he uncovers your mouth, his hand, wet with saliva, slipping from atop your mouth to grab your wrists and pin them above your head, flush to the mattress. “And make the lads know exactly who’s in charge in here. Clear their doubts...”

[MASTERLIST]

extra: 500 words-ish

The next morning, you wake up before John, as usually tends to happen when he comes back from a mission. The silence and lack of stress, the warmth of you in his arms, the cosy atmosphere of the house… It’s all the perfect sedative to keep him as good as dead for many, many hours. You slip out of his embrace and check the clock… it was just past 9 A.M. You pad quietly to the hall bathroom after fishing out a change of clothes from the wardrobe, and rinse off the sweat from the night before, as well as the dried slick and cum between your thighs. You’re still unstable on your feet, your thighs and the space between them deliciously sore, your body covered in marks of the night you spent in your husband’s arms… You feel like you’re floating as you drift downstairs and into the kitchen…  “Fuckin’ hell!” You jump, startled. In your kitchen, pouring himself a cup of tea is Ghost… You think. The height seems about right, though you didn’t expect a broad-shoulder, bare-chested blond in your kitchen. “Good morning.” You say softly as you shuffle inside, hearing him return that same greeting in a way-too-deep of a voice, standard of man who’s just woken up. “Go put a shirt on, this isn’t the beach.” You scold him, as you open the fridge, looking for the eggs. Your voice is as fierce as it usually tends to be with John. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him, noticing his mask is missing. You assume John scolded him about it, how you’d likely be startled by seeing a masked man in the night. The look in Ghost’s eyes is unreadable, stern, unwavering, and eerily calm, as if he’s seeing through you. They flit over you, up and down, with a certain glint you can’t quite decipher. You straighten your back in the face of his look, portraying nothing if not confidence. Ghost leans against the counter, one hand holding his tea cup and sipping from it, the other resting on the counter to support his weight, before one of his eyebrows shoots up. “Nice night, huh?” He asks you and, immediately, you feel your entire confidence bleed out of you, your eyes widening like saucers. Of course he heard it… You’re sure all the lads heard you, especially considering John and you started right as they had gotten to their respective rooms to sleep, all of which were located in the same hallway as the master bedroom… It’d surprise you if they hadn’t… Hell, it’d surprise you if the neighbors across the way didn’t! The way John had you last night, crying out his name at the top of his lungs and making you apologise repeatedly for something you didn’t even do (on purpose) definitely leaked through the walls… Just like the shame you currently feel leaks through your pores. You turn away to fix your eyes on the fridge, too embarrassed to face him again after realizing he knows. Your brain rushes to find something to distract you, to hide what you feel… “Are you hungry?” You end up asking softly.

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

Warnings: Smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, slight fluff, dominant Penelope, threesome, some comfort, plus sized reader, self-esteem issues, slight anxiety, and NSFW.

Pairings: Colin Bridgerton x Penelope Featherington x Female Reader

Wordcount: 1,926

A/N: Hi! This is my first piece of fic (trash) into the Bridgerton world. I’ve never read any fics, haven’t seen all of the show yet. I’ve only recently gotten into it because of Penelope/Polin. Hope you enjoy, and I look forward to producing more content (likely turning this into a storyline)!

Your hands feel cold, slick with an icy sweat that seems to evaporate into heat. The more you seem to fold into yourself, she can recognize and wrap her fingers in your own. It is a comfort, however, also a reminder, as your fingertips would brush across the diamond she bears. He is not meant for you, she is not meant for you. They belong to one another.

You have to remember why you were brought to their home in the first place. And ultimately, what you do to earn your way in this life. That would surely shame their family name if anyone were to see you here, sneaking through corridors in the middle of the night with the newly married Penelope Featherington — now proudly assuming her Bridgerton name. Your thoughts are shaken from you, as you round the corner, stopping short at the buttery glow of light spilling from beneath the doors. You edge away slightly, spare hand reaching to clutch your sleep attire closed.

“You know that we will not object if your mind has changed.” She speaks with a soft reassurance, the nail on her thumb scratching along your palm.

That is the most odd thing — an emotion, in which you cannot process yet. A connection you’ve already established with them. It prevents you from shying away, from objecting. You’re shaking your head, inhaling rather sharply. “I do not have very many reservations, Mrs. Bridgerton —“

“ — Penelope, please?”

You can do nothing but smile in return. “Penelope. Forgive me, I suppose my curiosity has taken a walk with my nerves tonight. But I will not let it get the better of me. I still want this. To give what I can, to you and to your husband.”

She stops short of those doors and takes both of your hands into her own. She’s a picture of this fine, smooth porcelain, so full and perfect that you could spend hours worshipping if given the chance. Maybe that night is tonight?

Her voice is roping you back in. “This is a mutual thing that Colin and myself have agreed upon. It is not just about us. This consent you’ve given, it does not extend only to our pleasure, but also to your own.”

You’re inhaling sharply, understanding her implications, but unsure why. Your role is to give them whatever they need and then go. And this is what they’d like? It’s as if time stops when Penelope wraps her dainty fingers around the door handle, pushing, the force bringing your dressing gowns a few inches off of the floor by their hems. If you thought that was something, the sight that you’re greeted with is enough to wake your entire bloodline from beneath the soil.

Candles are draped around the room for more than just the ability to see, giving it all a personal ambience. This is their personal bedroom, not a study, not a hidden place, but where their marriage bed is located. Your mouth becomes parched as you look around to truly take it in, the doors closing behind you not even startling you. Penelope stays close by, especially until you’re noticing him. He’s patient, a slight smile pressed into his beautiful mouth.

“Good evening, ladies. I take it we’re alright then?”

It’s that honey-hot depth that captivates you, causing you to reach back to Pen, seeking her support. She encourages you to meet her husband in a few short feet. He’s clad in his cream colored night shirt, his silhouette shrouded in candlelight. His hair has grown out a little, a slight touch of curl sweeping across the top. Their radiating body heats caging you in, it’s a feeling you are sure won’t ever occur again in your lifetime.

“Mr. Bridgerton. Good evening, Sir.”

He grins as though a feather has tickled the crafted end of his jawline. Penelope shares a fond look over your shoulder.

“No need for formalities. It’s safe in here, I promise you.” Penelope is nodding as his arm raises, one eyebrow to gauge your permission. You don’t object. And his rather large hand is caressing your cheek, stifling the air inside of your lungs. “Call me Colin, yes?”

Like the sweetest of sugar, his name rolls off your tongue without pause. “Colin.”

Penelope’s hands find your shoulders from behind, sliding around your collar to dip in, caress your skin. You swallow, but accept. “Whatever you wish to do, you have my permission.” Your head briefly attempts to look over your shoulder as you also address her. “The both of you.”

~*~

It hadn’t taken long for things to progress between the three of you. When Colin’s mouth found your own, Penelope had slowly unraveled your gown from your torso, everyone holding their breaths as it hit the floor. Your chin became pinched beneath his sturdy fingers, tilting until he had access to your neck. Pen’s hands aimlessly wandering with what you thought wasn’t a purpose, just an exploration. How wrong you’d been the moment that her hands had found your full breasts, ever-so-gently caressing your areola.

It wasn’t that she was experienced in her movements, no. It was how eager she seemed to touch you, to have your body beneath her grasp like this. And it only added energy on top of the mounting tension already in the room. You did not have to guide, nor teach. Colin maneuvered, gave his wife space to learn, to feel another woman’s body.

He’d coaxed her around, taking her previous placing behind you, her pupils had encased her irises into an inky black velvet. The way her mouth had become swollen from biting her full, lower lip, her hands unable to stop touching you. In the end, you closed the gap, Colin caressing the nape of your neck as you kissed his wife with fervor. It was beautiful, the two of you. Your shape wore a little more weight than Penelope’s, but it was exceptional, in his eyes — seeing women that could not see the beauty in themselves, lost in one another this way.

He could only hope that you’re both seeing it now, as well.

As you’d broken apart, Colin stepped to the side, voice a bitten rasp, offering both hands. “Shall we take this to bed?”

~*~

You aren’t able to breathe correctly, breasts heaving, legs wide open to make room for him, for her.

The second that they had laid you down, that he had undressed his wife and kissed her, he whispered something in her ear. She’d gone red, but nodded and joined your right side. You tried not to let languid anxieties find their way inside, tried to remain proper when he had stood before you, bedside — all hard muscle, trim hips that held his length in between. He would be a fit, even for you.

He’d licked his tongue at the corner of his mouth, inhaling rather sharply, his hair covered chest already drenched in desperate perspiration. “I am going to show Pen how to touch you between your thighs. Will you let me — us, will you let us?”

How her hand looked in his as he guided, separating two fingers and sucking them into his mouth, causing a not so proper word to leave your lips — it’s surely a sight that could cure those without clear sight. The way their lips had parted when her finger breached your opening, sliding into your wet heat, knowing how it felt for the first time. She’d moved to his ministrations along your jugular, everyone entangled in a pulling, a pushing, more. Heavens, more. You had felt the tears glisten in your eyes, melt into your lashline, cooling on the air.

Colin had asked if you were alright, to which you drug him by his wrist, cupping his palm over your breast. “Please, please.”

~*~

The way the ceiling looks above you, you cannot see through your hazed over vision. The candles burning, melting down, you are not concerned with. Even the summer’s rain that has begun to pour on earth, there is no room to ponder. What you’re thinking of within this moment, it is the man between your legs, one hand held behind your crown, the other holding onto your waist as he moves so deeply inside of you, precise, wonderfully intricate thrusts, that discover a place in your body that you weren’t aware existed. Why should you? No client had ever taken this much time, nor care for what your body felt.

It was never about that. You were there to serve, purpose fulfilled, you left tattered and empty. But with Colin and Penelope Bridgerton? You aren’t sure what this is. The singular certainty that you do have, however, is that you do not wish for this to end.

There’s a fire in Penelope’s eyes as she sees you holding back a brewing question, your hands shaking. The one wound around Colin’s shoulder, the other that you have currently working between her legs. She can barely hold it together, beautiful and angelic to you, keeping you able to take her husband without issue. She is nodding at you, knowing what you need. You’re past that point, coasting over realms undiscovered, heavenly worlds that only Colin Bridgerton has directions to, powers to unlock.

She removes her hands from you both, dipping them down to his bottom, feeling, grabbing, and that moan drips from her like the cream that’s accumulated across her thighs, and she pushes, locks in tight. Like he’s under command, under her spell, his hips take you faster, harder — giving you exactly what you could not ask for. You’re not sure who is louder at this point, but everyone begins to breathe harder, lungs exerted, hands finding one another. You clip onto his neck’s nape, your other hand finding Penelope’s soft, soaked mound, and he is gripping onto her breast, his spare reaching back to hold onto your hand that is on his neck.

Penelope reaches her peak first, how she tightens around your fingers, collapsing right into the pillow beside your head. It triggers you to follow, body briefly arching, throat unable to let out anything that is not a pitiful, intense cry. You’re swimming with this, ignited in a reality that you cannot imagine not having endured before. Colin tenses, his forehead finding your own, and Penelope is lifting to watch you to complete your peaks. He sighs himself into a drawn out whine, right into your open mouth.

And then it’s over, his full weight pressed into you. It’s like there’s instruments that have suddenly stalled and cast a curtain aside to let you hear every sound you’ve been ignoring, incapable of. Heavy rain, battering winds, and rushing heartbeats. You all take a thoughtful moment, before Colin is lifting on forearms. “You’re alright? The both of you?”

You concur with Penelope. Colin smirks, bringing your slick covered fingers, letting them work into his mouth. He sucks her essence free of you, and they lean to trade a kiss, before taking a place on either side of you. Pen reaches for the blankets, pulling them up and gently tucking you in.

“I believe I will ask Mr. Bridgerton to extend the invitation.”

You turn to Colin, a question written into your features. He doesn’t give you too much time to ponder. “You will stay with us? Tonight?”

It’s everything that you want, but also everything that you cannot ask for. Like a fool, you’re already falling lovesick.

What have you done?

[barefoothighlander]

Hiii saw that your requests were open (it’s past midnight when I saw your post) but literally head empty shameless breeding smut with ghost the size difference with that man as he has you trapped beneath him and him just tossing your legs over his shoulders y’a know the sex about to be crazy crazy 😫 man that man has me on my knees begging and blindfolded tied up horny im just rambling now damn ghost… also I hope im doing this right with the request thoughts cuz it’s so late and my period hormones got me giggling thinking of him 🤭🤭

y'all I won't lie, I was outside today and my neighbours were working on their deck and they were grunting... thoughts were being thunk, anyways I am ALWAYS down for breeding kink ghost that man has a grip on me

warnings: mdni (18+), est relationship, unprotected pinv, creampie, dirty talk

You don't even get a second to welcome him home cause the minute he's in the door he grabs you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hoisting you into the air.

It takes you by surprise how fast he is, ripping his mask off and kissing you, it's rough and needy, he's exhausted from work and he craves you.

He lays you down on the bed, practically ripping your clothes off so he can see you, he takes exactly 20 seconds to gaze at your body beneath him, your chest rising and falling before his lips attack every part of your skin.

His fingers work your clit, it's animalistic the way he touches you, pawing and nipping at your skin, you're panting under him as his hips slot into yours, he leans over you caging your frame with his.

There's nowhere for you to go, trapped by his arms, his chest pressing against yours keeping you pinned to the mattress as he kisses you.

He lines himself up and bottoms out in a single thrust, you yelp from the intrusion, your teeth biting into the flesh of his shoulder, he loves when you mark him, love bites or scratches from your nails, it turns him on quicker than anything.

"Shit, need you so bad love" His words escape through grunts

"Fuck I missed you Si" You're whimpering

He's thrusting his full length into you, settling back on his legs to watch where the two of you meet, he presses his hand flat against your stomach,

"Shit, can almost see myself inside you love"

His thumb circles your clit as his free hand grabs at your thighs, pulling them onto his shoulders to allow him deeper.

Everything in your mind blanks, the pleasure taking over your body, he's pounding into you with at least half his weight, his tip grinding against your cervix while he works your clit.

"Swear I'm gonna fuck a baby into you love, tight pussys fuckin swallowing me"

You moan at his words, spurring him on, he grabs both of your thighs and presses them against your stomach, his weight pinning you down as he rams into you, your slick coats his pubes as they grind against your clit, you're so close.

He leans down and his lips envelop your nipple, his teeth biting lightly and it's just the right mix of everything, your legs shake under him as you clench down on his cock, whines falling from your lips.

"Shit baby, don't move, gonna fill this little pussy"

You stare at him with hooded eyes,

"S'that what you want? You wanna walk around full of my cum, make sure everyone knows who this pussy belongs to?"

His eyes are dark, full of lust and your mouth falls open, trying its hardest to form words but all you can do is nod.

"Yeah, you want that? Gonna watch your stomach grow with my fuckin seed"

He presses down into you, using his full weight as he cums, burying his cock impossibly deep inside you as his cum floods your walls, you sigh at the feeling as he's grunting, light whimpers escaping his mouth as your pussy milks him.

He holds his softening cock inside you, ensuring that every drop makes it in before pulling out, using his fingers to push his spend back in.

Your body is on fire, every nerve burning for him as he collapses on top of you, using his elbows to hold some of his weight, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear as he peppers kisses on your neck.

"Missed you so much lovie"

[bookshelf-dust]

loving you

billy hargrove x gn!reader

word count: 961

warnings: um, literally none? let me know if i missed something though

a/n: wanted to write something for baby’s birthday. don’t bully me about the age i’m being self-indulgent, okay? but anyways, posting this now so it’ll be up all day on his birthday. also tagging @clovermunson for helping me out with a certain fuzzy fellow. love you guys!!! <3

————

Billy is warm beside you. That’s one of your favorite things about him. 

Even if there are times where you get hot and have to push him off because he’s making you sweat, there are still the times that you get to cuddle up to him when you’re cold. And he’ll tuck you into his side to warm you up. Just like he’s doing now. 

His socked feet are propped up on the coffee table, the rest of him covered by a blanket that the both of you share. His arm is wrapped around your back, fingers spread across your stomach where his hand has slipped underneath the fabric of your shirt. 

Every once in a while he’ll scratch over your belly, dull nails sending chills up your spine. Your hand is tucked underneath his thigh, thumb rubbing back and forth over his leg. 

Billy’s eyes are on the tv, yours glancing back and forth between him and the clock on the wall. 

You’re starting to wonder if you’ll disturb him with your little plan, just based on the way his eyes are starting to flutter shut, the way he’s melting into you. 

But you don’t think he’ll mind. Not really. 

The clock hand moves that little bit and the microwave numbers change, their light leaving a green cast over the kitchen counter. 

12:00 am.

You sit up, twisting some so that you’re facing Billy, and your movement wakes him up a little. 

He straightens, looking at you. He quirks a brow, trying to figure out what you’re up to. It’s always something. 

You reach out to touch his face, and he automatically leans into it. You cup his cheeks with both hands, and then you’re pressing your lips to his. 

Your mouth is warm, and he can both taste and smell the lip balm you’d put on earlier in the night. It’s a sweet kiss, long and heartfelt. 

Billy brings his hand up, holding onto your wrist.  

You’re thinking: I love you, I love you, I love you, and hoping you can somehow transfer the message directly into his brain through the kiss. He kisses you back, knowing exactly what you’re trying to say. Billy hasn’t shaved in a few days and his skin scratches against yours. You don’t care. 

When you pull away, his lashes are fluttering and if it weren’t so dim in the living room you’re sure you’d find a blush spreading across his face. 

“Happy Birthday.” 

Billy smiles at you. When he speaks, his voice is tired, lovesick. “Was that my birthday kiss?”

“Only the first one,” you tell him. 

“Oh, so I get more?”

Billy presses his forehead against yours, still holding onto your wrist. Your hands never leave his face, thumbs sweeping underneath his eyes. 

“You want another?” You ask. The question makes him chuckle. 

“Pretty please.” 

His lips tick up at the corners, enticing you. You press a kiss to both, to his cupid's bow, his chin. He pouts at you. 

“Come on. It’s my birthday,” Billy whines. 

“I really set myself up for this one.” You kiss him. “Should’ve known you’d use that to your advantage.” You kiss him again. 

Billy hums against your cheek where he’s now pressed his own mouth. He knows that makes you go all warm. 

There’s a noise behind you, a subtle added weight to the cushion you've settled on, and you know what it is without having to turn. The mewl makes Billy aware of the presence, and he grins against your face, a slow laugh leaving his throat. 

“I think he wants us to come to bed, B.”

Billy hooks his chin over your shoulder, meeting eyes with a little brown cat. 

You hear the first meow your cat lets out in greeting. The second is almost like a question. Why are you still up?

Billy reaches around you, scratching behind his ears. You can hear his purring. It’s always so loud. 

There’s a clambering, and Billy leans back, allowing for the young cat to squeeze between your body and the couch and up into his lap. 

“Night, Cosmo,” you say. Billy snorts. “What? It’s too late to be evening.”

Cosmo ignores your words, preferring to stare at you, waiting. You scratch his chin and he mewls. It’s not unlike the response Billy might have for getting the same sort of attention.  

“What do you wanna do in the morning, birthday boy? How would you like to celebrate your release from teenagedom? The big 2-0?”

Billy rolls his eyes at you and kisses the palm of your hand, having snatched it from where it was flailing midair. 

“Don’t care,” he says. “We could sit here all day and I wouldn’t give a shit.”

You lean in like you need to whisper, as if you’re not in your own home. “I think Max is gonna come see you. Don’t tell her I told you, but she bought you a sash.”

“No.”

You start to laugh. “Yes. A birthday sash.”

“I’m not wearing that.”

You kiss him again, though you’re laughing and can’t take it seriously. 

“Sure, baby.”

He pecks your lips once, twice. “No, I’m not.”

The polaroid you stick in the frame of your vanity mirror the next evening says otherwise. Billy is sitting on the couch with his arms crossed, though loosely enough that you can see the words “Birthday Princess” in sparkly lettering on a pink sash. 

He’s not looking at the camera, he’s looking at Max, listening to something she’s saying. Lucas is on the floor, back between her knees.

Billy looks so happy, cheeks flushed from all of the attention he’d had, the start of a laugh on his face. 

It’s a pure, candid photo, for a true birthday princess. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[lesbikaiser]

Could you please do b d f+ kaiser for the alphabet?💖

here it is >< i MIGHT have projected onto him but you can't blame me he's my lovie

[b] body part

for him, he's very aware of how pretty and inviting his neck looks with that blue rose adorning it, loves it when you bite down on his skin and leave hickeys all over the column of his throat. loves his hands as well, he can touch you and feel every inch of your body with them, he knows how good he's able to make you feel using his fingers so yeah, his favorite part!

for you, surprisingly, he loves your hands too. loves to feel your touch, the way you hold onto him and how you scratch his back whenever it gets too much for you, gripping his skin and marking him up with your nails. adores it when you trace his tattoo with the tips of your fingers. he also loves your lips, not to repeat myself but he lives for the feeling of your soft, hot lips kissing his neck and all over his body, it's intoxicating how good they feel against his skin.

[d] dirty secret

oh my god he absolutely loves to slap you, especially your face and pussy. nothing too harsh though, just light smacks on your cheeks as he mocks you for crying, he thinks it only adds to his mean act of degrading and humiliating you, it makes your pout even bigger and he can feel how your cunt clenches around him whenever his palm hits your face. and he's delighted to find out how turned on it makes you when he gives your drooling cunt a few slaps whenever he's going down on you, the way you cum instantly the first time he does it tells him how much you love the pain. though he'll never say out loud how hard his dick gets when he hits you, he won't think twice before slapping his hand across your face when he's fucking you nice and deep <3

[f] favorite position

likes to have you on top of him, preferably with your legs wrapped around his waist and your bodies as close as humanly possible, so lotus or the cradle, maybe cowgirl with him sitting up if he's really feeling like it. he wants you to have complete access to his neck so you can lick and bite on his skin, he gets to watch how your breasts bounce as you ride his dick and feel them smushed against his own chest. loves it when you get too tired to keep moving so he needs to take matters into his own hands and hold your hips to fuck up into you, the way your grip on his shoulder tightens and you squeal against his ear because he's reaching so deep, it's adorable.

[makeyoumine69]

Neglected

Pairing: Patrick Bateman x fem!OC; CW: SMUT, FFM (kinda), established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst, breeding kink. Links: [MASTERLIST]; Song Rec: Jordin Sparks - S.O.S. (Let The Music Play); A/N: Sorry I've been away for so long, my gaming hangover is hitting hard, so I decided to post one of my drafts I'm writing for myself with my OC named April. Also, don't mind me using x reader tags since x OC tags seem to be dead. Anyway, ignore it if it's not your stuff. Love you all!

Panting, April tugged at the tie that bound her hands and wouldn't let her move. "Stop...please...Bateman...don't do this...not like this!"

But Patrick just chuckled and spread her legs, almost ripping her panties off and thrusting into her dripping slit in one swift stroke.

"Fuck," he growled, pulling out completely and then thrusting in again, longing for screams. "My little fairy... has such a tight pussy..."

The woman moaned loudly in response, so Bateman had to stick his finger in her mouth to shut her up and allow her to use it as a pacifier. Just as Patrick was about to lie on top of her and pin her to the bed, the door to their yacht suit swung open and Vanessa, his uncle's girlfriend by the way, stepped inside.

"Oh... what a scene," she murmured, putting a finger to her mouth, obviously enjoying the sight. "Mhmm... can I join you?"

Almost instantly, April pulled away from Patrick as she tried to cover herself, expecting her husband to tell Vanessa to go away, but instead he stopped in his tracks and examined the blonde with undisguised interest.

"I'm not surprised...I can tell you've been thinking about this all evening," he crooned, ignoring the way April writhed beneath him. "Uncle Vic doesn't satisfy you quietly enough?"

Vanessa leaned against the door. "April's such a lucky girl," she snapped, twirling a stray curl around her manicured finger. "So lucky that she can't even understand it...and that means she doesn't deserve you."

"Oh... really?" Patrick asked mockingly before he put his big palm over April's mouth to silence her objections. "You think you can do better?"

Wiggling like she was lying on burning coals, April was about to bite Patrick's finger, but then the man plunged his thumb into her mouth again, a gesture that was something very personal and intimate for both of them. Confused, she blinked several times and looked at him - the confidence he radiated was breathtaking - and she couldn't help but stop fighting him when his lips curled in a way that he was about to blow her a kiss.

"Let me handle this, honey." He whispered so only April could hear. "And then we can continue."

Meanwhile, Vanessa tapped her foot impatiently, the red nails of her hand almost scratching the wooden door. Such insolence only spurred Bateman to prolong the pause, as he relished the way he could keep women on the edge of their nerves.

"You know what," the man began, his face grimacing in disgust. "You can take your flat ass and get out of here right now and maybe... just maybe... I won't tell my uncle about this episode." 

Vanessa froze in shock, the gleam in her big green eyes fading. "Excuse me? What...what did you just say?"

Scowling, Bateman took a deep breath, fighting the urge to unleash his fury on this pathetic bitch. "I said...if you don't leave right now...I'm going to fucking kill you!" Patrick almost screamed and before he could get up from the bed, the woman was gone.

Groaning in annoyance, the man went to the door and closed it, then returned to April, who was lying on the bed crying.

"You...you really sent her away?" She asked in disbelief. "I thought...I thought you would allow her to join us."

Bateman stroked her cheek before kissing her lips. "What a bullshit," he chuckled softly, drawing an invisible line along her bound forearm, "I need you, April...only you," he purred, licking her lips and nibbling at them barely sensibly. "Now...I want you to be...my obedient little fairy...would you be good for me...would you do anything for me?"

April gasped, his words stirring something strange in her, something she thought was impossible for her to feel, "Yes...sir...I would." 

"Good girl," Patrick murmured, his voice a gravelly purr as his fingers traced the tears on her cheeks before sliding down her trembling body. "That's what I like to hear." He cupped her chin gently, lifting her face to meet his gaze. "I'm all yours. Always remember that."

Patrick's touch became more aggressive as he repositioned himself between her legs. His cock, still slick from earlier, found its way back into April's tight warmth with brutal ease. 

Biting her lower lip, the woman bucked her thighs up from the fullness he gave her without mercy. "Pat-Patrick...a-awww..." her voice cracked and she almost clawed at her skin, trying to free her hands. "Sir...s-sir...it's so deep..."

Bateman rolled his hips against hers, pinning her under his heavy frame as he slammed into her, the slap echoing off the walls of her yacht suit. This woman, moaning directly into his ear, was his everything in every possible way, and if he were to breed her, she would be irrevocably bound to him. His love, his obsession, his greatest sin.

"No one else...can make you feel the way I do..." he growled low against her neck, emphasizing each word with a hard thrust that made her gasp in response. "You belonged to me..." he reassured her in that cold, yet soothing tone, filled with twisted satisfaction. "You're all I want!"

As Patrick shifted their positions so that they were now on their sides, he drove deeper into April's yielding form, fucking her sideways. Then he slipped a hand between her legs to vigorously stimulate her clit as he continued his relentless pace, her body writhing with conflicting sensations - as embarrassment turned to arousal - creating an unsettling yet unmistakable chemistry.

"I'mma  c-cum..." April cried out, leaning back against his massive chest, tensed and covered in sweat. "I...f-fuck...I'm cumming!"

"Yeah...give it to me," Patrick spurred her on, thrusting even faster into her wet cunt, their mixed fluids spilling out with a wet, shameless sound. "Let it go...let it go like a good girl you are..."

His soft praise added to the fire of their passion, causing her body to quiver, but as he nibbled at her earlobe, she lost it completely as her orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave, crashing everything in its path. The tightness of her inner, velvety walls around his pulsating dick was too much to handle, though Bateman did his best to last longer, wanting to fuck out every little shock of her climax.

"God...you're so perfect," he squeezed her breast through the damp material of her dress. "You're gonna give me a child...I fucking swear..." Bateman whispered into her ear as he choked on his breath, almost reaching his peak. "Remember...my word..."

Closing his eyes, the man snuggled up to her with tremendous force, nearly shattering her bones as he rode out his own release, spurting his warm seed deep into her womb, making sure not a drop was wasted. April could feel every vein on his dick throbbing inside her, or it was just her clouded mind, for she couldn't even remember where she was.

He owned her, on every level and even beyond.

Spent and exhausted, they both collapsed on their backs, panting and gasping for air. Only after a few minutes did the man remember his tie wrapped around her wrists, and with an almost genuine tenderness, he released her hands and kissed them one by one. With her eyes closed, April just sighed and lay on his chest, seeking protection and he was only too willing to give it to her. 

His fairy, so small, so helpless. Intoxicating.

As they lay there for a while, Bateman looked up at the ceiling, listened to the waves crashing outside the yacht and absentmindedly painted little circles on his wife's bare back, who didn't even realize she was drifting.

But after almost a few minutes, April woke up lying on Patrick's solid chest, his breathing steady, but somehow she could tell that he was not asleep. "Patrick?"

Bateman shifted, leaned in closer and kissed the top of her head. "Yes, dear?"

"Do you remember our wedding?" April asked, looking up at him. "Are you...are you happy you married me?"

"Of course I remember our wedding, April," he replied softly, his voice like silk over steel. "It was a grand affair...fitting for us."

Her question about happiness made him pause. His happiness didn't conform to conventional notions, but April didn't need to hear that truth. Instead, he leaned into the persona she needed.

"I wouldn't have married you if I weren't sure you were the one," he continued, sincerity in his tone. "Our lives aren't perfect, but we fit together in ways others can't understand." His fingers lightly traced her cheek, a gesture that teetered between tenderness and possessiveness. "We're bound together... by more than just marriage," Patrick whispered darkly against her forehead. "You complete me."

As April clung to him, seeking comfort in these spoken reassurances, Patrick felt a twisted sense of satisfaction. Manipulating love into dominance was an art he had mastered to perfection.

"I guess... I can say the same about you." The woman murmured and yawned, hugging him tighter.

Resting his chin on her head as if offering comfort, Patrick allowed one more phrase to slip from his lips, almost tenderly. "You make me who I am...Now rest, tomorrow we go riding."

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[mustainegf]

Hi could you do something where black album era James and a fem reader go to a party but they grow needy so they go to the bathroom

I love this stuff and it was so fun to write, I also have a fic really similar to this one so I’ll link it here :)

The party bustled loudly, and despite the noise, my brain was buzzing with a tension of its own. My boyfriend James, stood across the room with a friend of his, paying me a flirty glance every so often, followed by him adjusting the bulge in his jeans.

Every time he tried to hide his horniness, the flutter between my thighs inscreased.

There was a silent understanding between us. I knew he was horny, and he knew just as well that I was too.

I could see it in his eyes-the way he was looking at me.

The lust. It was simmering right under the surface, waiting for an excuse to explode. And that was exactly what we both wanted.

I glanced at the handsome man, quirking my head to motion to the bathroom.

He gave me a wink, and then nodded. I smiled and sat up from the couch, quickly moving to the bathroom, swaying my hips to tease him.

I snuck into the washroom. James wasn't far behind me, glancing around to make sure nobody noticed before slipping into the small space with me.

He pushed the door shut with a little more force than necessary, making it clear he had been longing for this moment all night.

Ache flicked the lock, sealing us in here together.

"Jesus Christ, you look sexy," James muttered before crashing his lips onto mine.

My back hit the door as our kiss turned desperate, but neither one of us cared. We didn't care about anyone or anything except each other, and that made everything else feel so damn good.

James pulled away, breaking the kiss with a soft groan. "Fuck, I can't wait much longer." His hands trailed down my stomach, coming to rest on my ass.

It wasn't long before we were violently stripping each other down.

James grabbed me with abandon, Liston game and sitting me up on the small sink counter.

Our eyes met again, this time a silent promise passed between us. This is it. No turning back.

We both knew this. Our lips crashed against each other once more, tongues tangling together. One hand gripped my waist while the other trailed up my side, until it found my breast.

Then he kneaded it gently, squeezing it lightly. My breath caught in my throat as he toyed with my nipple with his thumb and index finger. His touch was rougher than usual, but that only spiked my desire for him.

I ran my nails down his chest, loving the scratch of his hair against my palms. As soon as I touched his cock, I felt him twitch. He moaned softly.

I loved how responsive he was to me. I couldn't help but take advantage of it.

I stroked him up and down, not caring that I was sitting up on a random small sink. All I cared about was how good this man made me feel.

"I can't take it, I need to be in you."

He looked like he was going to tear apart if I didn't let him inside me. I was so close myself. The urge to have him was too strong to ignore any longer.

"Then do something about it," I taunted.

"You want this, don't you?" he growled, pulling his cock out of my hand. I nodded. "Yes." He slid in slowly, filling me completely. I leaned back, enjoying the feeling of fullness.

"Jamie!" I yelled, grabbing his shoulders. James was quick to press a finger to my lips. "Gotta be quiet, can you do that for me?"

I nodded. "Yes." He pounded into me hard and fast, making my legs tremble. The hard smack of our bodies filled the tiny space, but it did nothing to cover the moans and grunts we both let loose.

"Tell me how much you love it, use your words, I wanna hear that pretty voice," he demanded, the room filling with wet and obscene sounds.

I could hardly force out any sort of sentence. "L-love it." I huffed. "Come on, you can do better than that."

James sucked a breath through his teeth as J tightened around him. "Let me hear you." He demanded again.

"I love it... Jamie... I love it." He slammed into me harder and faster, using the counter and my hips to hold himself up.

I screamed, holding on for dear life. In response, he pressed his lips to mine and started humming, moving his body in tune with the sound. I was drowning in sensations, so many of them, Ilost control.

I clawed at his arms, trying desperately to get closer to him. He moved his lips from mine and whispered, "That's it, babyy."

He continued to whisper filthy things in my ear, telling me how good I was, how I felt so damn good wrapped around him. The wet sounds of sex echoed through the small space, creating a cacophony of noises.

I could barely think straight. The haze of pleasure was growing stronger by the second.

"Cum for me baby, I'm so close.." James groaned in my ear.

Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him close as he pumped a few more times Until we were both writhing with our climax. I felt him shoot his cum deep into me, painting my insides.

We sat in silence for a minute or two, just breathing. Ilaughed softly, kissing James' cheek.

"Fuck, I can't believe we did that.."

[1arkspur-aconitum]

DISRUPTIVE (s.r.)

IN WHICH: Juniper Bishop sneaks into the back of one of Spencer’s lectures and pretends to be a student, nearly getting both of them in serious trouble.

PAIRING: Spencer Reid/Fem!BAU!OC

CATEGORY: fluff, fade-to-black smut

CONTENT: established relationship, relentless teasing, hints at smut towards the end, similarly genius character, first person so no use of y/n, 13x16 vibes

WORD COUNT: 10k…

PUBLISHED: 27/09/24

‘—YOU CAN STAY IN BED, you know. I won’t be long.’

The bed sheets are cool across my bare skin, but Spencer’s body is warm. Dazed by sleep, I opt for warmth. Going purely by the sound of his voice, I latch my arms around his shoulders and try to haul him back into the pillowy softness of our bed. Strands of his hair tickle my arms but my attempt spectacularly fails. Whilst my boyfriend does topple a little bit, he also succeeds in sticking a hand out to support himself.

‘June—seriously, darling, I have to go now.’ Spencer chuckles, an exhalation of breath against the shell of my ear. I moan sleepily. Pressing myself to him as best I can, I force my eyes to blink open.

Spencer is kneeling over me and I’m surprised to see that he is not naked—in fact, Spencer Reid has already put his suit trousers on, his favourite white shirt, and his lenses. His face splits into a wide grin when he sees my brow furrow, taking in the unexpected appearance. It’s our day off. Normally we spend our day off nude and lounging around the house. In fact, I’m insulted that he isn’t.

‘What are you doing?’ I grumble, pushing a few stray strands of his hair out of his face as he gazes down at me. The sheets separating us bother me. ‘Why aren’t you naked?’

This earns me a laugh. ‘I told you last night, I have to go to the Academy, I have a lecture.’

Oh, yeah. That’s right. I have a vague Morpheus-marred memory of Spencer mentioning something about being asked to lecture whilst I dozed on the sofa to some documentary about bugs, but I’m pretty sure I chose to not listen. Alas, my tactic of hiding from reality has never been very effective. Especially when it comes to Spencer Reid, the man who remembers literally everything.

I pout, idly scratching my nails across his skull. Spencer’s eyes flutter shut briefly, head leaning into the palms of my hands. Perhaps if I do this enough he will fall back asleep and our day of naked relaxation can continue on as planned. Spencer hums deeply, the sound reverberating through the peaceful quiet of our bedroom. The blinds are still drawn, but the dusty sun slips its fingers around the edge of it, casting sharp lines of light across the duvet.

‘Juniper.’ Spencer says, with a slight moan as he pulls his head back. My hands drop from his hair. He chuckles down at me, big brown eyes impossibly soft. ‘Seriously. The lecture starts in an hour and I have to prepare.’

‘Do you have to go?’ I say, with as much whine as I can muster. He does have to go, it’s not like the lecture will teach itself, but a girl can dream. In an ideal world, Spencer would have already gotten a call from the head of his department to say that he can spend the day with his girlfriend, but he wouldn’t have already gotten nearly fully dressed.

‘Yes, darling,’ Spencer leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. His lips are soft, warm, but the kiss is way too short. ‘I do. I won’t be long, okay? If you roll over now, you’ll probably still be asleep by the time I get back.’

‘You know I don’t like sleeping without you.’ I complain, still pouting, but resigning myself to my terrible fate. Spencer sighs but he’s still smiling. He always does this–pretends to get annoyed with my morning antics, but really, he loves it. Why else would he have woken me up in the first place?

‘I know.’ He kisses my forehead again. ‘I’ll be back before you know it. I love you.’

Spencer goes to move away, off of the bed, but a groan pulls him back. I proffer him my chin, and he swiftly presses a kiss against my lips. It, like the forehead kiss, is way too short. My boyfriend clambers off of the bed and heads towards the wardrobe. Sleepily rolling onto my side, I watch him don his favourite sweater vest and brown blazer through half-open eyes. It doesn’t take him long at all. The only sounds are the soft exhalation of my breathing and the rustle of his clothes.

When he’s dressed and ready, he briefly returns to the side of the bed–his hand is warm across my hair, lips gracing across my cheekbone–before the bedroom door clicks shut. The sounds of him pouring himself a coffee are far off, as if through water. With a sigh, I roll over and bury my face into the pillow that still smells like him.

The front door closes (and locks) barely five minutes later. I am suddenly left in the suffocating quiet of the dark bedroom, wrapped in cold sheets that are incomparable to my lover’s arms, and I feel bereft. This was not how I had planned to spend this morning.

I swear, I do my best to try and fall back asleep. I toss and turn to get myself comfortable. Take deep, steady, box-breaths. Tense my muscles and relax them one by one. Fuck, I even count a varying array of barnyard animals–sheep, cows, donkeys–but none of them help. Unfortunately, it seems as if I am well and truly awake. Awake and bored as hell.

When I look at the clock, only fifteen minutes have passed since Spencer left.

‘Fucking stupid lectures.’ I plaster a frown onto my face as I clamber out of bed, letting my bare feet sink into the soft carpet. The room is freezing so I grab one of Spencer’s discarded Cal-Tech shirts. The cotton slips over my bare skin. ‘Stupid. Why today?’

I pad into the living room to make myself a coffee. Whilst I’m awake, I may as well caffeinate myself. Spencer has left out my favourite mug already for me–the bright yellow Kiss the Librarian mug I’ve had for years–and the coffee pot has been topped up. As always. Pouring myself a steaming cup, I start to meander around our living space.

Evidence of our Chinese takeaway litter the coffee table. The cardboard boxes are partially open, chopsticks protruding from mine, Spencer’s neatly closed. All of the spring rolls were demolished last night, but the tub with my veggie chow mein has mysteriously vanished–probably into the fridge. The sofa is a mess of blankets, Spencer’s plaid shirt tossed casually over the arm. A stack of books teeters precariously on the side table. Spencer insists on having a grace period between stack and shelf, though I think it’s so he can look at his purchases before filing them away.

I really had tried to stay awake last night but David Attenborough always lulls me into some strange stupor. Somehow Spencer managed to keep himself alert throughout the entire documentary, occasionally nudging me when something interesting came up. His near-insatiable desire to learn has always been voracious, even when it’s about the mating habits of dung-beetles. It’s the reason why I love him so much. He has such passion it’s hard not to be passionate with him.

As I finish the dregs of my coffee, my eye finds its way to the clock. An idea enters my mind.

Safe to say, I wouldn’t be bored any more…

The FBI Academy is barely a ten minute drive on Maple, her engine rumbling securely underneath me. Considering the Academy (and most of Quantico) is deep within Lunga Park, I only have to zip through the main traffic in the centre of town before the wide, open road through the forest opens up for me. Maple rips through the air, my body hunched over her fuel tank. There is nothing more freeing than opening up that throttle. God, I need to bike more.

I arrive at the Academy car park with about five minutes to spare, hurriedly shrugging out of my leather riding suit. The cool morning air nips at my exposed skin as I struggle with the stubborn zipper, drawing curious glances from a few passing students. Their eyes linger on my battle with the brown material, but I don’t have time for explanations or small talk. Not when time is ticking.

Yanking my bag out of Maple’s panniers, I swiftly shove the suit and helmet back in its place, double checking that everything is secure. Taking a deep, steady breath, I begin to jog gently after the students. My FBI badge allows me access to the Academy and before long, I am navigating familiar hallways. Muscle memory truly is a spectacular thing–it’s been years since I’ve been in this part of the Academy, and yet I know exactly where to go.

My heart races with a mixture of anticipation and nervous energy the closer I get to the lecture hall. Each measured step brings a soft tap of my pleated skirt against my bare thighs, a rhythmic counterbalance to the quickness of my breathing. Spencer’s favourite green sweater, hastily tucked into the hem of my skirt, provides a comforting familiarity. It smells like his cologne. I’ve yanked the collar of my shirt out over the crewneck of the jumper, adding a touch of polish to my hastily (yet calculatedly) crafted outfit. Paired with my favourite brown boots and a messy ponytail, I’m pretty confident I will blend seamlessly with the rest of the students. A mischievous smile finds its way to my lips as I imagine Spencer’s reaction.

Hopefully he won’t spot me right away and ruin my fun.

I slow down when I reach the right corridor, keeping an eye on the brass numbers hammered into the doors. Stopping outside the correct one, I can hear my pulse thumping through my ears. I take a deep breath. I take a moment to compose myself before peeking through the small glass window in the door. The room is already filled with students arranged on tiered seating. Their attention is focused downwards, to a raised platform at the front of the room. There, commanding the space, is Spencer.

His back is to the door as he scribbles notes on the whiteboard. As usual, his handwriting is near illegible, a messy mixture of capitals and lower cases. For a genius, you’d think he would care more about the grammatical errors, but I suppose even perfect people have to have flaws. From the flow of his words and the attentive posture of 95% of the students, it’s clear that the lecture is already in full swing.

Balls. I am later than I’d hoped.

Steeling myself, I grasp the door handle, easing it open with painstaking care. As quietly as physically possible, I slip through the narrow opening, my movements slow and deliberate. The click of the door closing is thankfully masked by Spencer’s voice. It fills the room with an authority I have learnt to love and a passion I have always adored. He’s deep in a discussion about the differences between a stressor and a trigger, his words punctuated by the occasional squeak of his whiteboard pen.

Within seconds of being inside the room, I have identified the perfect inconspicuous spot. There, in the furthest corner of the back row, a seat is mostly marred by shadows. With a stealth only possible after years of field experience, I make my way to the seat, settling as quietly as possible. Spencer has yet to turn around. Mission successful.

Crossing my legs, I let my bag settle at my feet, leaning forwards to observe my brilliant boyfriend in his element. A warmth blooms in my chest as I listen to him talk so passionately about the topic, a mixture of pride, adoration, and just a hint of mischievous anticipation for the moment he finally clocks me.

I reach into my bag just as he turns around. My heart stutters against my ribcage.

I freeze, hoping the shadows will be enough to hide me. Spencer, however, barely breaks stride in his lecture. He scans the room once, methodically sweeping over his enraptured audience. I hold my breath as his gaze passes near my hiding spot, but to my relief, he doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Spencer continues pacing, circling around the edge of his desk as he continues his impassioned speech. His hands move as animatedly as ever, punctuating key points with a flourish, with gestures that draw everyone’s attention.

That familiar small smile–the one I have affectionately dubbed the ‘I’m being a nerd’ smile–plays out on the corners of his lips, a testament to how much he enjoys teaching. It’s wonderful to see him smile. Ever since he left the prison, it’s been harder to coax it out of him.

As the fear of being spotted abates, I allow myself to relax. As quietly as possible, I rummage around in my bag, searching for a specific thing. With a triumphant–yet silent–‘aha’, I retrieve my favourite treat. A cherry flavoured lollipop about the size of a tin of Vaseline. I nearly always have one in my bag for emergencies.

Unwrapping it carefully to avoid any telltale crinkling sounds, I pop the lollipop into my mouth. The burst of artificial cherry flavour makes me salivate. A wave of childish glee washes over me as I continue to suck on the lollipop, watching Spencer pace back and forth. I wonder if he can hear the faint pop as I roll the treat around my mouth. The sticky sweetness is a stark contrast to the sterile lecture hall air. It’s a small, miniscule act of rebellion. A secret pleasure I am indulging in right under his nose. The longer Spencer remains oblivious to me, the more the thrill increases. I am playing a game with him and for now, I am winning.

Spencer is currently gesticulating about the psychological impacts of prolonged stress on an Unsub’s decision-making process, which is actually very interesting. He’s so engrossed in it that it’s hard not to pay attention to him. There is something about Spencer actually lecturing that is really hot. It might be the authority and power he holds over the room, or the endearing way he tries to keep everyone engaged, or it might simply be that the collar of his shirt is undone and I can see the smooth planes of his throat. Either way, I can’t drag my eyes off of him.

It is only when he poses a question to the whole class that I remember this lecture is not for my benefit alone.

Spencer’s question about undue stress and sleep patterns hangs in the air and I find myself already formulating an answer. My fingers itch to be raised, but I catch myself. I’m not supposed to be a participant; I’m meant to be invisible. Suppressing a chuckle, I sink further into my uncomfortable lecture seat, savouring the sweet irony of my predicament–and the sweetness of my lollipop.

A few hands shoot up amongst the congregation before me, one of them even vibrating with excitement, but Spencer’s gaze sweeps over them. There’s a familiar hint of amusement in his eye, the one that I always see before he tackles me to the bed. The look that tells me he knows he’s in control of the situation. He’s scouring the faces carefully, starting at the front row and skipping over those who already have their hands up.

When Dr. Spencer Reid finally spots me, his entire demeanour shifts. His usually water-fluid movements come to an abrupt halt, as if someone has just paused a lecture video or stalled a car. Those warm, intelligent brown eyes of his lock onto mine, widening slightly as recognition ploughs into him. His eyebrows lift in a momentary micro-expression of surprise, a tell-tale sign that I have genuinely caught him off guard.

Mission complete.

His beautiful mouth parts and I catch a glimpse of teeth, the hint of a surprised intake of breath. The corners of his lips twitch, fighting between maintaining his professional composure and breaking into a smile. I cannot help but grin back, lollipop nestled in my cheek. My heart continues to beat a dangerous rhythm against my ribcage as I wait to see what he does, how he recovers. The air between us crackles with unspoken words, a silent exchange that speaks volumes in the midst of a crowded lecture hall.

For a brief moment, time seems to stand still. The rest of the room fades away, leaving just me and my boyfriend, caught in this unexpected moment of connection. I can almost hear the gears turning in that beautiful mind of his, no doubt already formulating theories as to why I am there. He correctly assumes that because I didn’t interrupt the lecture, it is not for official business.

Then, it’s over.

Spencer looks away. Turns to someone with their hand up and continues on with his lecture. As if I wasn’t even there. If it wasn’t for the frequent amused glances he sends up my way, I would think he was upset that I crashed his lecture.

The lecture continues, heading towards it’s close, and I find myself increasingly engrossed. Not just in Spencer’s words, but in the subtle dance of our secret interactions. Every time he looks at me, my skin heats, as if I’m seventeen and in love again. I cannot help but wonder what will happen when he finishes the lecture, and how he plans to address it. If he scolds me, or tells me he wants me to come to all of his lectures. Admittedly, both sound appealing.

It’s clear this game of cat and mouse is affecting him too–the way he subtly shifts his weight towards me, lingering more on my side of the lecture theatre than the other, the slight tremor in his voice as he continues to ask questions to the students. It’s as if he’s trying to reconcile the professor with the loving boyfriend, and the conflict is absolutely adorable.

As the lecture reaches a natural stopping point, I find myself leaning forward. The lollipop is significantly smaller on the pit of my tongue, but no less flavourful. There’s something about the way Spencer presents his desire to share knowledge that is incredibly alluring. I can’t help but feel a certain smugness that I am the one who gets to see him like this every single day, get to see him at his most vulnerable. His most authentic.

‘You’re probably gonna want to write this down,’ Spencer announces, gesturing towards someone in the mid rows. When he continues to talk, he slips his hands into his pockets in a movement that really shouldn’t be sexy, but totally is. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you guys this, but I’m definitely putting this on the final.’

‘I’m…I’m only auditing this class.’ A young female voice snaps me out of daydreaming about Spencer’s hands, and I shift in my seat to get a better look. Admittedly, I can only see the back of her head, but her long brown hair is pretty. She tucks it behind her ear as she ducks her head to Spencer. I can practically hear the broad smile on her face.

Spencer frowns slightly. ‘Is anyone else auditing this class?’

To my absolute glee, approximately fifteen more hands shoot up in response to Spencer’s question. As I scan the room, I notice a striking pattern–all of these raised hands belong to young women. The realisation hits me like a wave of mirth, and I have to clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. Most of these ‘auditing’ students don’t even have the pretence of a notebook in front of them for notes. One particularly enraptured girl has her chin propped on her hand, her eyes fixed on Spencer with a vacant, faraway look that speaks volumes.

You don’t have to be a profiler to realise that these young women are not here for the intricacies of criminal psychology, nor the nuances of prolonged stress. No, their motivations are far more…aesthetic in nature. They–like me, I suppose–are here to bask in the presence of Dr. Spencer Reid, to drink in his every word and movement like fine wine. It is a testament to Spencer’s obliviousness to his own appeal that he doesn’t seem to grasp the situation.

He has his adorably confused expression as he surveys the room, a clear indicator that he has no idea the effect a handsome lecturer can have on students.

I force myself to continue sucking on my lollipop to stop the laughter. This is absurd. My brilliant, gorgeous, genius of a boyfriend is completely oblivious to the small fan club he has inadvertently created. These girls are fawning over him. Pride shoots through me, quickly chased by unwarranted jealousy. Yes, I will be the first person to say that Spencer is one of the most attractive people I have ever laid eyes on, but these girls only see that. They have no idea the depths of his intellect, his kindness, the small quirks that make him Spencer. They’re captivated by the surface, whilst I have the luck and privilege of knowing (and loving) him as a whole.

‘Okay.’ Spencer says, obviously disarmed, and quickly checks his watch. ‘Unfortunately, that is all the time we have for today. Thank you, guys.’

The class erupts into a chorus of disappointed groans, a few of the girls even going so far as to plead with Spencer for more time. It’s almost comical how they hang onto his every word, as if he were some kind of famous rock star rather than FBI profiler. The smile I have had on my face since the auditing question only grows–I can’t blame them, I mean, I was no better when I first met him. Spencer has that effect on people.

Students begin to file out of the lecture hall. I slowly clamber to my feet, slinging my bag over my shoulder, and twisting my lollipop. It clacks against my teeth. I watch, amused, as the girls who raised their hand start to form a vague queue to his desk. Spencer has been surrounded. When it becomes evident that they’re not going to disperse any time soon, I make my way down the tiered seating to join them.

I become a silent observer in the sea of admirers, the girls as jittery and nervous as I am. When I reach the edge of the group, I tuck myself in amongst them, remembering how it felt to be at college and drunk on the idea of impossible love. With my head ducked down, I angle an ear to listen.

‘Dr. Reid, your lecture was amazing,’ one of the girls gushes, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. She’s on the raised platform with a couple of cronies, dressed in some very short shorts and a jacket. ‘I don’t think I have ever been so captivated by a topic before.’

Spencer chuckles, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. ‘Thank you. I’m glad you found it interesting.’

‘Interesting?’ Another girl chimes in, her eyes fixed on Spencer with an intensity that borders on predatory. ‘It was more than interesting–in fact, some might call it inspiring.’

I bite back a laugh, the lollipop nearly falling from my mouth. These girls are laying it on thick and my poor Spencer seems utterly bewildered by the attention. He spares a brief glance back up to where I was sitting and I’m slightly pleased to see a glimmer of disappointment in his eye.

‘Do you think that’s a new suit?’ Someone whispers near me, and I turn to look.

‘I don’t think we’ve seen the blazer before.’ It’s a pair of girls, huddled together a bit further away from the dias. One has hair of white blonde, falling in sheets around her face. She’s all wide angles and broad lines, and is absolutely gorgeous. She’s clutching the arm of a smaller girl with frizzy brown hair and purple glasses, more diminutive but no less attractive. ‘Ugh, it suits him though, doesn’t it?’

‘I think anything suits him.’ Purple Glasses gushes back, angling her head at my boyfriend. I can’t deny the thrill of hearing these girls fawn over my boyfriend. It’s a validation of my own feelings, a reminder of just how lucky I am that Spencer Reid was in my bed barely three hours earlier. ‘I mean, look at him.’

‘I know,’ I say, matching their tone and sidling up a little closer. I make sure to keep my eyes wide and mimic their adoring expressions. They glance at me. Look me up and down. I feel as if I am lining up for the firing squad. Thankfully it doesn’t take them long before they relax again. I have been deemed just another student. ‘Isn’t he dreamy?’

‘He’s by far the sexiest of all the lecturers.’ Blondie opens her body language to me, accepts me into their circle. I can feel Spencer’s eyes boring into my head, but from the sounds of it, he is still being inundated with questions from the girls. ‘No wonder so many people are auditing.’

Purple Glasses nods enthusiastically.

‘I just love his hands.’ I purr, twisting my lollipop in my mouth. The other two send me ‘omg tell me about it’ expressions, so I do. ‘The veins, the fingers. It’s almost so distracting I can’t focus.’

‘I know. He doesn’t wear a wedding ring, so we don’t think he’s married.’ Purple Glasses ducks her head towards me and I glance over at Spencer. He sends a glare in my direction, but I simply brush it aside. Hard luck.

‘I think you’re right,’ I murmur, the three of us conspirators. We share a knowing look, revelling in our shared secret. Part of me feels guilty, but most of me is having way too much fun to stop. ‘I’m gonna keep auditing this class if he keeps looking so damn good.’

‘I’m totally with you on that one.’ Purple Glasses gushes.

Spencer has managed to deflect some of the girls, a few of them giggling as they head towards the exit, but he has been surrounded by some more. It’s as if they wait in packs to ask him questions, and from the few snippets that I catch, hardly any of them are even related to the topic at hand. He feels me looking and sends a glare in our direction. In the few seconds that our eyes lock, I quirk a mischievous eyebrow.

‘Oh my God, I think he’s looking at you.’ Blondie hisses, grabbing onto my arm and hiding behind me. I do my best not to laugh, pressing my lips together into a firm line around the stick of my sweet.

‘Do you think he heard us?’ Purple Glasses whispers with wide, fearful eyes. I manage to not roll my eyes–Spencer is hyper tuned into me right now, there’s no way he can’t make an educated guess as to what we’re talking about.

‘I don’t know,’ I say, trying to keep the amusement from my voice and failing. I risk a glance at Spencer and am rewarded with a pointed glare. Apparently he’s not a massive fan of me pretending to be a student. ‘He probably thinks we’re being weird.’

‘We are being weird.’ Blondie replies, but there is no malice in her voice. In fact, she gives my arm a reassuring squeeze and a smile.

‘I don’t care.’ Purple Glasses shrugs. ‘He’s hot.’

‘So hot.’

It is at this exact moment that Spencer, evidently reaching the limits of his patience, decides that he has had enough. With a deliberate and resounding clearing of his throat that startles me and causes the flock of girls to scatter a little, he strategically manoeuvres himself. By putting the desk between himself and the persistent gaggle of admirers, Spencer creates a physical barrier that subtly but effectively identifies his need for space. His body language shifts, and when he speaks next, he addresses the group as a whole.

‘I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to answer any more questions at this time,’ he announces, tone firm but not unkind. His words are met with a chorus of disappointed groans from those still eagerly awaiting their turn. Spencer’s gaze sweeps across the group, making eye contact with each student in turn, though I notice he pointedly avoids mine. ‘I’m going to have to ask you all to leave. I have work to do.’

The girls grumble amongst themselves, their disappointment as malleable as putty in the air. Amidst their reluctant shuffling, I dramatically clap a hand to my chest, a silent question for Spencer and Spencer alone. His ocher eyes meet mine. His expression is inscrutable but somehow speaks volumes. You don’t have to be a genius to work out what I am trying to say: do you want me to leave too?

His response, when it comes, is succinct and leaves very little to communication.

‘Not. You.’ He enunciates each word with the utmost care. When the girls look to see who he is talking to, there is no doubt. Spencer’s eyes do not stray from mine, effectively singling me out from the departing crowd.

‘Oh my God.’ Blondie whispers in my ear. Her voice is a trembling combination of excitement and disbelief as the rest of the girls start to file out. I do not miss the dirty glares a few of them send my way. Blondie’s fingers dig into my skin, her wide eyes flickering between me and Spencer. ‘Oh my God. I am so jealous.’

‘Good luck.’ Purple Glasses says as she walks past me, her face a visage of awe and envy. ‘He’s never asked someone to stay behind like that before.’

‘Count me the lucky one.’ I breathe, barely sparing them a glance—I only look back once to find Blondie giving me one last lingering look before she follows Purple Glasses. Another small pang of guilt spears through me for deceiving these girls, but the thrill of this little game has far outweighed any remorse I might have.

The door closes and it is finally just me and Spencer.

‘You are supposed to be in bed.’ Spencer breaks the silence, stepping around his desk and approaching the edge of the dais. I have to tilt my head back to look at him, but there’s no hiding the shit-eating grin I flash his way. I flutter my lashes like a schoolgirl and he fights back a smile. My boyfriend doesn’t seem that upset at me, which I will take as a win.

‘But, Dr. Reid, how could I miss your lecture? I need it for my college credit, you know.’ I tease, unable to stop myself. ‘It truly was inspiring, as some might say.’

I take his offered hand and Spencer helps me up onto the platform. He looks amused as he ghosts a kiss to the back of my knuckles.

‘You already have a degree—several, in fact.’ He reminds me, clearly attempting to sound exasperated and failing spectacularly.

‘So? Perhaps I felt like auditing.’ I pull away from him and sidle over to his desk. Leaning back against the oak, I make no attempt to hide how much I am relishing every moment. ‘Seems like a lot of people—I’m sorry, girls—had the same idea.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Spencer sighs, running a hand through his hair and taking a step after me. His eyes trail down my outfit, to where the little pleated skirt has hitched itself around my arse. Spencer swallows.

‘I was bored.’ I shrug, crossing my legs at the ankles. Spencer’s eye dips lower. My grin widens. The lollipop is nearly finished so I crunch it between my teeth loudly. His eyes narrow playfully, now focused on where the stick twists between my pursed lips.

‘Bored?’ He repeats, raising an eyebrow and taking another step towards me. Spencer’s broad frame starts to dominate my view. ‘So you decided to crash my lecture, dressed like that, and pretend to be a student?’

‘Hey, at least I can still pass for early twenties.’

‘June.’

‘What can I say?’ I laugh, reaching out a free hand to thumb the lapel of his jacket. Tilting my head to the side, I allow myself free reign to check him out. He’s all fine lines and a firm frown, sharp angles that compliment each other so well. I could look at Spencer Reid all day and not get bored. The students are right—he is delicious. ‘I wanted to see you in action.’

‘You didn’t have to pretend for that.’ Spencer closes the distance between us, one of his hands brushing naughtily up my bare thigh.

‘In my defence, I didn’t come here with the intention of being a student.’ I grip his wrist and yank it away from where his fingers are now idly playing with the hem of my skirt. Spencer quirks an eyebrow. It’s rare for me to stop such an intimate touch. ‘It just kind of…happened.’

‘Mmhmm.’ He doesn’t believe me in the slightest.

‘Oh, come on, Spence.’ I straighten the collar of his shirt, still looking up at him from under my lashes. My fingers brush the column of his throat. ‘How could I resist? They were all fawning over you, I wanted to do that too.’

‘They weren’t fawning—’

‘Oh, Dr. Reid, please keep talking, I don’t think I’ve ever been so captivated,’ I pitch my voice up, making it soft and breathy, and he narrows his eyes again. ‘Oh, please, Dr. Reid, give me extra credit, I’d love to help you with your research.’

‘Juniper.’

‘Don’t ‘Juniper’ me.’ I grin, standing up so our chests are pressed together. Spencer peers down at me, wetting his lips with his tongue. He leans in. Before our lips meet, I dance away, putting the desk between us. Spencer scoffs in annoyance. ‘You can’t seriously tell me you don’t realise how fucking sexy you are when you’re being a nerd?’

‘I’m not a nerd.’

‘Yes you are, Spencer, we’ve covered this topic before.’

‘I’m teaching, it’s different.’

‘No, it’s not—you’re still a nerd, you’re just being paid for it.’ I lean against the desk, hands splayed wide. ‘Besides, I never said it was a bad thing. I love it when you’re a nerd—didn’t you hear what I said?’

‘They could have been interested in criminal psychology, you know.’ Spencer mirrors my movement, leaning on the opposite side of the desk. I can feel his warmth from here.

‘Only if criminal psychology is being taught by you.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Spencer insists, shaking his head. It makes his curls bounce.

‘Oh, come on, you remember what it was like to have a crush on a lecturer—fuck, I mean, I practically dominated Dr. Traver’s office hours when I was doing my PhD.’

‘I was fourteen in college.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ I put on my best innocent smile. ‘Well, then, what about your first crush? The rush of feelings, the ‘oh my god she looked at me!’ thing? The ‘oh, did she just touch me and if she did, did she mean it?’ thing?’

Spencer opens his mouth to reply, but pauses. His eyes glimmer with amusement. He straightens up, pushing his hands into his pocket, and angles his head. I feel as if I am a piece of artwork on a wall and Spencer is trying to decide if he likes me or not. My confidence wanes just a smidge. I push my shoulders back and try to bring the armour back over me, folding my arms across my chest.

‘I remember.’ Is all he offers, inclining his head. ‘I was like that with you.’

I’m touched. I bite my lip to stop my smile getting too wide. ‘You’re sweet. But you see what I mean, right?’

‘Alright, yes, fine.’ Spencer relents, rolling his eyes. He reaches out a hand and I move around the desk, a magnet pulled towards another. ‘Maybe they don’t have as much of an interest in the subject matter as I would hope.’

‘I mean, I can’t blame them.’ I let him take my hand, let him pull me closer to him. Spencer chuckles softly, hooking an arm around my waist and tucking me perfectly into the space between him and the desk. I slide my hands up underneath his blazer. ‘You really are the hottest lecturer I’ve seen.’

‘If this was a research study, you’d have an undeniable bias.’ Spencer pushes some of my hair away from my face, cold fingers trailing down the back of my neck. I shiver. He smirks.

‘So…’ I murmur into the small space between us. ‘Are you going to invite me to all of your lectures now? Or will I have to do this again?’

‘Don’t push your luck.’ Spencer retorts, voice firmer than it was before. ‘This could have gotten me into serious trouble.’

‘What?’ I recoil, frowning up at him. The idea that my (seemingly) harmless fun might cause Spencer a reprimand jars through me. There’s no way that this could cause him to not lecture any more, is there? It’s not like I’m not allowed to go see him teach, I’m part of the FBI for crying out loud.

‘Pretending to be a student? What if someone found out?’ Spencer laughs, using his hold on the nape of my neck to pull me back towards him.

‘You’re just being mean now.’

‘I suppose I’ll just have to keep a closer eye on you.’ Spencer teases me, using his thumb on the hinge of my jaw to angle my face up to him. My traitorous cheeks heat. He is so close he could kiss me at any second. ‘I will admit, seeing you in this little skirt was…quite distracting.’

‘Then it did its job.’ I breathe, wrapping my arms around his neck. My fingers curl in the long hairs I find there. I let a wicked grin spread across my face. ‘Who knew Dr Reid had such a thing for his students.’

‘Juniper.’ Spencer scolds, barking out a stunned laugh as he does so. ‘You can’t say things like that.’

‘I’m a profiler, Spencer, and some might argue a genius when I’m not standing next to you.’ I raise an eyebrow. Spencer purses his lips. He goes to protest but I keep talking. ‘I know how to read your brain. It’s not hard to see you’re hot for school girls.’

‘You are incorrigible.’ His grip on the back of my neck tightens, voice dropping to a husky, deep timbre that ripples through me.

‘And you are not denying it.’

‘Shush.’ Spencer scolds me, dropping a hand from the back of my neck and letting it rest on my hip. Fingers brush the pleats of my skirt. That also wasn’t a denying statement, and a thrill of pleasure at having worked that out pools in the pit of my stomach. He regards me carefully for a few seconds. ‘As nice as it is to see you here, I am kind of sad you’re not still in bed.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Mmhmm.’ Spencer brushes a kiss to my cheek so that his next words are murmured into my ear. ‘I was thinking of different ways I could wake you up.’

‘And what might those be?’

‘I suppose you’ll never know now.’

‘Spencer.’

‘I’m not the one who decided to crash my lecture and ruin the surprise.’ His nose brushes against mine, lips parted and so dangerously close. Spencer is clearly loving this. He’s got that annoyingly smug smirk on his face and it riles me up. The notion that Spencer had been daydreaming about potential wake-up calls only makes that feeling in the pit of my stomach grow.

‘Well, why don’t you show me anyway?’ I try. Hopefully the temptation will outweigh his desire to punish me for my antics.

‘Nuh-uh.’ Spencer shakes his head, even when my fingernails scrape his skull. ‘You’ve ruined it.’

‘I’ll even wear this skirt.’ I wheedle, rocking up onto my tiptoes so that his fingertips brush the warm backs of my thighs. His eyes flash. Darken. ‘Pretty please?’

‘God,’ he groans, so close that the breath I exhale is the one he breathes in. ‘You’ll be the death of me.’

‘Good.’ I purr, tugging on his curls. I’ve had enough waiting. Hopefully Spencer finally gets the hint.

And he does.

Spencer’s lips crash into mine with a hunger I wasn’t expecting. It speaks to longing, to pent up desire, almost as furious as the first time he ever kissed me. His hands grip the loose hem of my skirt as he pulls me closer to him, as if we are two clay bodies that he wants to become one. I can feel the heat of his skin, and that pool of tension in my stomach only serves to make me want more. He leans over me, forcing me to fold backwards—to stop us toppling over I have to latch on tightly.

Spencer groans against my mouth as he pushes me back into the desk. He’s so demanding, taking up every available thought I have until it is just me and him. I arch into him, desperate for more friction. The desk behind me creaks ominously, his hands sliding dangerously down my bare thighs. His body is a solid wall of heat. Spencer’s fingers dig into my flesh, and I wonder if he’s actually considering fucking me in a lecture hall, and if I’d let him.

Someone clears their throat.

The moment shatters.

Spencer jumps away from me as if burned, lips swollen and raw. I quickly brush my skirt down, flamed with embarrassment, trying to regain some semblance of composure. Our faces are flushed, our breathing heavy, as he turns to the door—there, standing with the look of a deer trapped in headlights, is Blondie.

Fuck.

Her jaw is slack, eyes essentially bugging out of her head as she takes in what must look very suspect. She looks between us, taking in the dishevelled state of our clothing, the heavy pants of our breath. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots and I physically witness her face march through a series of emotions—shock, disbelief, then crushing disappointment.

‘Oh,’ she breathes, her voice barely a whisper, but the quiet of the auditorium amplifies it. ‘I…I’m so sorry, I left—I didn’t—I’m sorry—’

Spencer, ever the gentleman, tries to salvage the situation. It would work better if his voice wasn’t so breathless. ‘It’s not—she’s not—’

‘It’s okay,’ I take a step forward, ignoring the way Spencer glares at me. I tug on the hem of my skirt, suddenly regretting wearing something so short. ‘It’s not what it looks like, I’m not actually a student here—’

‘Sure.’ Blondie says with as much sarcasm as she can muster. She lifts her backpack onto her shoulder, unable to look either of us in the eye. Her cheeks are a vibrant shade of crimson. The poor girl must be mortified, and I feel somewhat guilty as to putting her in this position. ‘I’m just gonna go. Sorry again.’

With one final lingering look of distrust, Blondie turns around and flees. In her haste, she leaves the door ajar, and we can hear the steady sprint of her footfalls all the way down the corridor.

I can’t help it. I burst into laughter. The tension has dissolved into uncontrollable giggles, and my laughter only increases when I see the mortification on Spencer’s face. He’s staring at the door like he’s seen a ghost, skin pallid and a motley shade of green. I double over, laughter filling the entire space.

‘It’s not funny.’ Spencer says, voice a harsh hiss. He storms towards me and grabs his bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder. ‘This could seriously get me into trouble—why the hell did you pretend to be a student?’

‘I didn’t know you were gonna practically fuck me on your desk!’ I retort, annoyed that he’s blaming me for this situation. It’s not my fault.

‘I wasn’t going to—Jesus, June.’ Spencer spins in an agitated circle, brain whirring away as he tries to process what just happened. He evidently decides what to do as he grabs my wrist and drags me towards the door. ‘Come on, we need to see the head, right now.’

‘The head?’ I gape, stumbling after him as he unceremoniously hauls me up the stairs to the still-open door. ‘What—why?’

‘Because I am not getting fired over this.’ He replies, a few steps ahead of me as he yanks the door open and starts to march down the hallway. I can barely keep up. Spencer doesn’t seem to care if I stack it as he pulls me through the Academy’s corridors, past several bewildered students and curious faculty members.

I have no idea where we’re going, but I’m 99% sure I’m about to witness Spencer get a bollocking from his boss. He hasn’t said a word since we left the lecture theatre, and that irritation tugs at my chest. If he actually thinks this is because of me, then he’s got another thing coming—and I have no idea why we have to go to the head of his department just to fess up that we were about to have a quickie on his desk and someone walked in on us.

‘Hold up,’ I say, gasping for breath. I manage to dig my heels in and Spencer stops, turning around to face me. Stress tightens his cheeks, sets his mouth in a firm line. ‘I don’t understand. How is this my fault?’

‘It’s not your fault, June.’ Spencer says, trying to keep his voice down. We have reached a door with a brass plaque declaring it the office of ‘Head of Behavioural Science’. ‘But I have to explain the situation before that girl tells someone and this all gets blown out of proportion—if people so much as think I’m having relations with a student, my entire credibility goes down the drain.’

‘You make it sound like we were actively having sex on your desk.’ I grumble, folding my arms across my chest. I only realise how petulant this action is when Spencer’s lip twitches.

‘We weren’t far off, now, were we?’ Spencer retorts, but the bite has gone out of his voice. He looks down at me and his expression softens, the tight grip on my wrist loosening. ‘Look, I’m not angry at you—well, maybe a little bit—but I need to sort this out, okay?’

‘Alright.’ I say, following it up with a deep sigh. ‘But if you get fired, I want the record to state that it was your fault.’

Spencer rolls his eyes but there is no heat behind it. He knocks twice on the door, giving my hip a gentle squeeze before folding his hands in front of him. The picture of a demure professor, ready to supplicate at the foot of his superior. I do my best to copy his position, but I’m well aware that my lips still taste like Spencer and cherry lollipops. Just don’t make the situation worse, that’s all you have to do.

The door opens to reveal a tall, somewhat imposing man with a neatly trimmed brown beard and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. Like most members of the FBI, he is dressed in a well cut black suit. The hem is a bit frayed at the sleeves, though, so probably an old faithful. He looks surprised to see us both outside.

‘Dr. Reid? Dr. Bishop?’ He greets us, stepping aside to usher us into his office. His voice is a deep baritone that commands respect—useful if you’re going to be the head of a department. He closes the door behind us with a click. ‘What can I do for you?’

I hover awkwardly as he makes his way around his desk and sits down, gesturing for us to take the two plush armchairs facing the desk. His walls are relatively bare, aside from a few paintings—Ophelia by John Millais dominates one side, mirrored with Samson and Delilah by Paul Rubens. Baroque and Renaissance, squaring off to each other. He has a miniature Venus statue on his desk, but not much else other than a file organiser and a small sign that reads ‘Dr. Jonathan Moores’ in a crisp gold font. The lamp behind him is switched on despite the sun streaming through the blinds.

‘Sir, I need to explain something.’ Spencer blurts out, ushering me into a seat. His words tumble over themselves in a rush. I have to bite back a laugh as I watch my boyfriend, the picture of composure out in the hall, devolve into a stuttering mess in front of his superior. If I wasn’t so nervous, I might have found it endearing.

‘Go on.’ Dr. Moores says, voice wary as he inspects the both of us.

Spencer proceeds to recount everything that happened—from the moment I walked into the lecture, mind, to the ‘misunderstanding’ with the students as he so kindly phrased it, to the very unfortunate situation with Blondie. Spencer chooses his words very carefully when he reaches that point, avoiding things like ‘making out’ to go with ‘a little peck’, obviously downplaying the situation. I choose not to say anything, instead watching Dr. Moores expression shift from serious concern to poorly concealed mild amusement. By the time Spencer has finished his sordid tale, I have a hand clamped over my mouth to muffle my laughter.

When Spencer finishes, Dr. Moores leans forward and steeples his fingers. He lets the silence stretch, practically torturing poor Spencer. My boyfriend is shuffling awkwardly in his seat, unable to sit still—in fact, he even cracks his neck as he waits, right leg jiggling incessantly.

‘Well.’ Dr. Moores finally speaks, clearing his throat and schooling his features into a look of bland disinterest. ‘I must say, Dr. Reid, I didn’t expect to be dealing with a case of mistaken identity and a potential HR violation on a Thursday morning.’

‘I know, sir, I’m sorry.’ Spencer hangs his head.

‘However, I appreciate your honesty, and thank you for coming to explain what happened.’ Dr. Moores relaxes his features and that, in turn, relaxes Spencer. Spencer rolls out his shoulders, shooting me a bashful look, and nods his head. ‘I must admit, this will make an interesting case study for my next lecture on personal dichotomies…’

Spencer’s eyes widen in horror. ‘Oh, no, sir, please don’t do that.’

‘Don’t worry, doctors.’ He chuckles, and all pretence of anger has dissipated from him. His laughter spurs me on. A giggle escapes from behind my hand and I fold my legs. Phew. We’re not in trouble. ‘I won’t actually do that, though I do trust this situation has taught you that you really shouldn’t be kissing on company time. I trust you’ll both be more careful in the future.’

‘Yes, sir, of course.’ I manage to say relatively straight faced, but I have to say the words to the desk rather than to the head of the department.

‘And Juniper, if you do decide to return to the Academy, perhaps I might be able to convince you to do a lecture or two yourself.’ Dr. Moores rises to his feet and we copy him. It’s clear that this conversation has finished. He leads us towards the door, looking at me for an answer.

‘I’d love to, sir.’ I grin over my shoulder at Spencer, who mouths ‘don’t even think about it’ as the head opens the door to his office. Spencer’s disapproving look vanishes as soon as the head turns around to look at us. I offer Dr. Moores my hand as I leave, ducking my head. ‘I’ll be in contact—and sorry, again, sir.’

‘It’s quite alright.’ He shakes my hand and gives Spencer’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze as my boyfriend trails after me. ‘You’d be surprised how often that happens. Enjoy the rest of your day off.’

And with that, he closes the door behind us and the situation as a whole.

‘Well, it was definitely unexpected.’ I say. We’re back home now and finally able to discuss the situation—Spencer had sent me home on Maple first and followed behind in his car. He’s currently sitting on the sofa with a cup of coffee and some chat show on the TV that he must have forgotten to change. ‘I didn’t expect it to go that way.’

‘You think?’ Spencer moves his blazer to let me sit down next to him, tucking my feet up underneath my skirt and cradling a steaming mug between my palms. There’s a glint in his eye that shows me he’s not mad. His arm falls across my lap in a casual display of intimacy.

‘I’m surprised he didn’t give us both detention.’ I tease him, bumping his shoulder gently with my own.

‘I think he was more amused than anything,’ Spencer hums, taking a sip of his coffee before smiling at me. ‘Though I have to admit, I was nervous.’

‘I know you were.’ I find my eye trailing down his collar. ‘I found the whole thing absolutely hilarious. But hey, at least you haven’t been fired.’

‘That is definitely a plus, though maybe next time, don’t pretend to be a student, darling.’

‘Well, maybe you should learn to control yourself around said students.’

‘Stop it.’

‘They already adore you, what are they gonna do when Blondie tells them you were practically balls deep in me on the fuckin’ lecture theatre desk.’ I chuckle to myself, taking another sip of my coffee. Spencer chokes beside me.

‘Oh my God June, your mouth is filthy.’ When I look at him, he’s gone bright red. Even after everything he has been through, everything we have faced together, he’s still embarrassed by a couple of naughty words strung together in a sentence. It’s so endearing that my chest hurts.

‘Seriously, Spencer? We’ve known each other for, what, ten years—’

‘Ten years, seven months, nine days.’

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever, and you’ve only just realised that?’

‘No, June, I’ve always known you to have a dirty mouth, but I think it’s weird when it’s relating to my students of all things. And I don’t think ‘adore’ is the right word.’

‘Alright.’ I lean back in my seat, lick my lips. With a careful, calculated gesture, I stretch my legs over his lap. His eyes drop to the stretch of skin just below the hem of the skirt, fingers brushing down to touch it. ‘What would you like me to say instead? That they’re desperate to shag you? That they love you?’

‘Stop. It.’ He grips my thigh tightly, giving me his patented exasperated look. I return it.

‘Why? It’s true.’ I shrug, leaning further back into the cushions and eyeing him over the rim of my mug. Spencer’s fingers trace idle, teasing patterns on my thigh, sending shivers down my spine. ‘I reckon half of them would become Unsubs to have you look at them the way you look at me.’

‘You are being ridiculous.’ Spencer insists, shaking his head, but the very tips of his ears have turned pink. A telltale sign. He clearly loves the attention, he just doesn’t want to admit it. He leans over and puts his coffee mug down with a thud. When he returns, he is significantly closer, his head nearly on my collar.

‘Am I?’ I raise my eyebrow, sliding my arm across his shoulders and letting my fingers fiddle with the seam of his shirt. ‘You can’t say that you didn’t enjoy it, at least just a little bit.’

Spencer sighs, letting his head rock back onto my arm. His lips are slightly pursed as he thinks over my words. The hand on my thigh continues to make idle patterns, though it is getting higher and higher towards the hem. He’s not inconspicuous in the slightest, though I don’t think he’s intending to be. Spencer licks his lips before he speaks.

‘Perhaps a little,’ he admits sheepishly, brown eyes locking onto mine. I grin in triumph. ‘It���s nice to be appreciated, I guess.’

‘See, I knew it.’ I press a kiss to his cheek, unable to keep the humour out of my tone. I don’t want him to think I’m making fun of him, so quickly continue. ‘You’re only human, Spencer, you’re still a man. Admittedly a man with Adonis-like cheekbones and a face Paris would choose, and a certified genius, but a man nonetheless.’

‘I am hardly a god amongst men, June.’ Spencer chuckles, but his cheeks turn pink. He plucks my mug from my hand and puts it on the table next to his. When he returns, he wastes little time in pulling me into his lap, large hand descending back to my upper thigh. The more he strokes my skin, the harder it is to focus. ‘And you’re the one who keeps calling me a nerd.’

‘Being a nerd and being appreciated are not mutually exclusive.’ I remind him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and speaking against his skin. ‘Besides, you’re my nerd, and I appreciate you more than anyone. Don’t you forget that.’

Spencer’s arm around my hips tightens, the other hand relaxing its ministrations. He just holds me for a moment, head falling onto my collar as he exhales shakily. We sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments. The only sound is the low chatter of the TV and Spencer’s unsteady breaths. I close my eyes, fully content to bask in the warmth of Spencer’s presence, the weight of his arms a comforting anchor in the sea of chaos that is the world.

‘I appreciate you too, June.’ He murmurs, voice a soft caress against my chest. ‘More than you know.’

‘I know, Spence, I know.’ I press a kiss to the crown of his head. My hand cards through his hair, the softness so familiar to my fingertips. It’s nice to sit here with him and share a moment of peace, especially after such a hectic morning. It goes to show how much stronger we are together than we are apart. I decide to be a bit cheeky. ‘So…about those wake up calls…’

‘Oh, I thought I told you’d never know about those?’ Spencer smirks cheekily at me, pulling his head away from my chest and raising an eyebrow.

‘Yes, but I also know that you find it hard to resist me.’ I retort, leaning in so we’re barely a centimetre away from one another. Spencer’s eyes drop to my lips, hand tightening around my thigh. It’s my turn to smirk. ‘I also know that I mentioned something about the skirt…’

‘You’re incorrigible.’ He groans, and leans in. I pull away with a cheeky grin.

‘You’ve said that already today.’

‘I thought it was worth repeating.’ Spencer retorts, pulling me back down towards him. ‘I suppose I could be convinced to show you what I was thinking of doing to you this morning…’

‘Please.’ Is all I need to say before Spencer is upon me.

He kisses me with a fiery intensity I have rarely experienced from him before. His pent up passion is palpable as he curves me backwards, pressing his lips against mine with fervour. It’s a little sloppy, an untamed urgency, and his tongue seeks entrance earlier than usual, pushing against mine with a newfound dominance. Evidently I had been getting under his skin.

The large, warm hand on my thigh slips up under the skirt to grip the meatiest part of it, a handful of skin that I have no doubt will be bruised tomorrow. The idea of bruises only serves to turn me on more, though, the idea that I will find evidence of our mischievous behaviour invigorating. I do my best to keep up, clinging onto him, matching his enthusiasm as best I can. I am way too pleased with myself that I have managed to get this to go my way.

Spencer’s lips leave mine and aim for the underside of my jaw, trailing a line of fire. He peppers open mouthed kisses to my throat, my chin, wherever he can lay his lips on. It’s as if he is determined to taste every single inch of exposed skin. The hand under my skirt ventures further, slips under the hem of my underwear and I have to bite back a soft moan of excitement. Spencer is everywhere, all at once, leaving me breathless and wanting.

‘Bedroom?’ I suggest, voice barely above a whisper. The living room is suddenly way too confined for what I have in mind.

‘Bedroom.’ He confirms, voice a husky mix of pleasure and barely restrained desire.

‘As you wish, doctor.’ I tease, a playful lilt in my tone as I extricate myself from his lap. I sashay towards the bedroom door in languid, deliberately provocative movements. Spencer, however, is quick to follow. Before I can open the door fully, a hand—the very same one that was exploring underneath my skirt mere moments ago—slams into the door. Spencer has effectively barred my entry. I blink up at him, confused. ‘Babe, that’s the door to the bedroom. I can’t go in the bedroom if you’re holding the door closed.’

‘Strip.’ He instructs, voice low and commanding. He leans against the door, eyes raking up and down my figure with unmistakable hunger. It’s a hunger I’ve seen many times before.

I chuckle, bemused, but do not deny him his pleasure. I start with his jumper, peeling it off impossibly slowly before tossing it somewhere over my shoulder. Spencer’s gaze is intense, searching me rapidly for any hint of exposed flesh. I turn and bend at the waist to remove my knee-high socks, fully aware of the view I am presenting. The deep groan that rumbles from the back of his throat tells me he’s appreciating the glimpse of my very skimpy underwear. Next to join the others is my shirt and bra, leaving me nearly bare. The chill of the air conditioning makes my nipples pebble, a testament to my ever-growing arousal.

I reach for the waistband of my skirt but something stops me.

‘Don’t—’ Spencer’s slightly strangled voice stalls my movements, and I raise an eyebrow at him. Spencer clears his throat once and scratches the back of his neck in a gesture that betrays a hint of the sheepishness I saw earlier. He schools his features and swings the door open, holding it wide for me. ‘Leave the skirt.’

‘I fucking knew you had a thing for it!’ A triumphant grin spreads across my face and my laughter—rich in smugness and amusement— rings through the apartment. I saunter into the bedroom. Spencer follows swiftly behind, slamming the door shut with such force that the vase on the windowsill shudders.

Looks like I might be in for it today.

Safe to say that this skirt has just become my very own secret weapon. Who would have thought that a little bit of pleated fabric and a smile could be so disruptive?

THANK YOU FOR READING! MORE SPENCER REID FICS ON THE WAY.

[rubendiasthoughts]

Hey besties! Hope you like this little headcanon 🤭 Thank you to the person who requested this ❣️

Sending so much love to all of you ❤

Ruben Dias being obsessed with reader's boobs - headcanon:

- Okay, so I feel like he would be very obvious about the fact that he loves your boobs. Like can you imagine maybe when he comes home from training and he says hi to you he would first wrap you up in his arms and kiss your lips, but then he's leaning down and pressing kisses to the top of your breasts before asking you "how's my girl today?"

-I could totally see the two of you having a dinner and maybe he sits on the opposite side of the table and you are telling him about something that happened to you that day, but you realise he isn't even paying attention to you and he's just blatantly staring at your chest. And you're like "Ruben, my face is up here" and he looks up at you, a smirk appears on his face and he goes "sorry, they just look so pretty, couldn't help myself" 🤭

-He would definitely be the type to take naps on your boobs. Especially if he had a bad day or something. I just see him coming back home and finding you laying on your bed, just looking through your phone and you can see something is wrong so you ask him what happened. And he would probably tell you he just had a hard day and you're like "what can I do for you baby?" and he goes "nothing, just stay like that" as he lays his head on one of your breasts, and then cups the other with his hand and he just closes his eyes, looking so content and comfy. And then he just sleeps, maybe you're gently scratching his scalp with your nails and he's just letting out these little hums.

- I feel like whenever you wear a low cut top he wouldn't be able to help himself but stare and he would tell you how pretty you look in that particular top and how it's his favourite and you should wear it more often. Or maybe if you are just doing something around the house and not wearing a bra, just a shirt I feel like he would go crazy (and especially if it's one of his shirts). Can you imagine him coming up to you from behind, wrapping one of his arms around you, while the other hand goes under the material of the shirt you're wearing and he squeezes your boob in his palm??!

- He would definitely cup one of your breasts in his palm sometimes when he's spooning you, and maybe even give it a little squeeze.

- He would 100% be sucking on them, biting them and kissing them whenever you are riding him. They are just right there in front of him, so he definitely wouldn't be able to resist. Maybe sometimes he would leave hickeys on them too. But also he would love to just stare at your tits when you're on top, watching them bounce.

-But also he would also suck and kiss on them before he fucks you as a part of foreplay. Can you imagine him hovering over you and he starts planting kisses from your neck and takes them down to the valley between your breasts and then takes one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tounge around it and then he gives the same attention to your other boob. And when he pulls away he would look up at you, thinking to himself how pretty you look, your head thrown back with a flushed face.

-Can you imagine if you were giving him head and he's like "take your top off for me, sweet girl" because he just wants to be able to see your tits. And he would so praise you, when you do take it off, saying things like "that's a good girl, you look so pretty".

-He would for sure love to cum on them and he would smear it around using his fingers and then he would bring them up to your mouth telling you to clean up your mess and suck his fingers clean. He would definitely love it if you let him take a picture of your breasts covered in his cum 🤭

-And he would so want to fuck your tits. Maybe you would be sitting on your knees on the edge of the bed as he stands in front of it. And he would say something like "push them together for me angel, just like that" and then he would slide his cock between them. And you would be looking up at him, his head thrown back, grunts leaving his mouth. And the things he would say to you!! Maybe something like "you are so good to me baby, so good" or he would just call you his good girl 🤭

[poraphia]

"I’ll Hold Your Hands."

Wilbur x anxious!reader 1303 words • 8.16.23 Request from @ax-y10! Reader has anxiety and picks at their hands and fingers. Reader is also overstimulated and nervous, but Will comforts! wilbur soot masterlist here :)

It's our first date, but you've shown me that even through anxious habits, you'll do anything to make me happy.

♡♡♡

“Hey, you ready?” A soft voice asked through the phone. Even with no effort his accent could send shivers down my spine.

“Mhm,” I hummed. “Give me a moment to come downstairs.” I took one final look in the mirror, making sure my outfit was pressed down enough to compliment my curves and gorgeous enough to let Will know there won’t be any regrets in asking me out. I slipped on the perfect set of shoes before walking out of my hotel room and toward the nearest elevator.

I was only staying in Brighton for two weeks before heading back home. Wilbur and I have been friends for a while beforehand. It wasn’t until recently that mutual feelings started to bubble up between us. It was a late night 2 AM call when Will asked me:

“Hey, (y/n)..?”

“Yes, Will?”

“Um… If you do come to Brighton anytime soon… I know a lovely place for us to eat dinner.”

I chuckled, noticing the shyness of his voice. “Are you asking me out, Mr. Gold?”

“Perhaps.”

After some packing and planning, I flew out to the United Kingdom to visit friends, travel to different locations, and most of all, go on my first date with the one and only, Wilbur Soot.

The elevator doors slid open. I walked out with the clicking of my shoes echoing down the hallway. Once I made it to the lobby, it didn’t take long to spot the dashing tall man sitting on one of the complementary couches. His legs were crossed with his glasses resting upon the bridge of his nose. I waved at him in an attempt to get his attention, and soon enough he spotted me as well.

Once he got up, I was able to see his outfit more properly. He was wearing black slacks with black dress shoes on, and he wore an orange dress shirt with the top three buttons unbuttoned. His hair was fluffier than usual, and his sleeves were folded up to show his forearms.

A big smile was planted on his face now as he outstretched his arms. I picked up my pace before nearly throwing myself in his embrace, hugging him tightly. His limbs wrapped around my waist before lifting me in the air and twirling me around.

“It feels good to finally see you!” He exclaimed through laughs. He put me down and stepped back a bit, admiring my outfit. “You look so beautiful..” He muttered.

A soft chuckle escaped my lips. “I could say the same for you.” I said, making sure I hid my hands behind my back. He raised an eyebrow before reaching for my arm and holding my hand.

“Come on, the restaurant is just a taxi cab away.” He said, to which I nodded in response. We walked side-by-side, but a bit of my confidence faltered. Did he notice my fingers? I painted them this morning so that from a glance, they looked perfectly fine. But I know that with a good look, anyone could notice the peeling skin, the bitten-off nails, and the swollen tips. It’s safe to say, I wasn’t opting to be a hand model anytime soon.

Wilbur kept my hand in his as we entered the taxi. After he directed the driver and paid him, he turned to me. “Hey, you doing alright?” He asked. He used his thumb to soothe the back of my hand, but his furrowed eyebrows and worried glance never left my face.

“Hm? Oh, I’m fine, Will, don’t worry.” I reassured.

I was very much not fine.

I didn’t have the realization that I was in an entirely new country, going on a date with a long-term best friend I’ve had on the internet, to what I presume to be a relatively fancy restaurant in the city—

until now.

Nervously, with my other hand, I started to pick off the skin of my thumb with my index finger, a little frustrated that I was unable to use both hands. Wilbur and I continued to have regular conversations as I absent-mindedly scratched off nail polish and skin.

Once we got to the restaurant, I made sure to hide my other hand in my pocket or behind my back. Anywhere out of Wilbur’s vision. The only time Wilbur let go of my hand was to check off the reservation he had for us as we followed the waiter to our table. In cushioned chairs, we sat across from each other. The white tablecloth and circular surface sat promptly in between us.

Our waiter placed the menus in front of us, and Wilbur immediately picked up the booklet to begin examining the options. I, on the other hand, quickly flipped it open and hid my hands under the table, still fiddling with swollen fingers. Once again, my heart was racing. The abundance of people in the room chattering with utensils clinking against plates, someone I consider important in my life sitting right in front of me, my shaking leg bouncing my hands up and down— I’m getting overstimulated.

“(y/n)? (y/n)!” His voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked up, only to notice our waiter was back with a pen and notepad. I glanced over to Will. His head was tilted, and he only looked at me with concerned glistens in his eyes. “Do you know what you want to drink?” He asked softly. I looked over to the waiter again.

“Oh— uh, can I just get a water?” I asked, stammering over my words. The waiter nodded before walking away to retrieve our beverages.

“(y/n), you haven’t been holding up so well and you look pale. Is everything alright?” Wilbur asked. His hands were placed on the table, almost reaching at me so that he may take my hand in his. I sighed, looking down at my lap in shame.

“You promise not to judge, right?” I said.

Wilbur shook his head. “No, no, of course not, love… Tell me what’s wrong.”

With a deep inhale, I placed my hands on the table. My nail polish was chipped, and the tips of my fingers were beet red. By the sides of my nails, my skin was peeling off.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He sighed. Carefully, he picked my hands up by the palm and brought them close to his lips, gingerly kissing each finger with the softness of his lips. My face flushed at the sight, not being able to look away.

“I-it’s just,” I started. Tiny tears started to prick at my eyes. “I didn’t realize how fast this was all happening, and I guess I started to get all… Panic-y. I-I’m just really sorry. I didn’t want to ruin tonight.” I stuttered out with a trembling voice.

“Love, I promise you, you didn’t ruin anything. Everything is okay. Do you want to get out of here? If this is all too much we can go back to the hotel and just hang out there. Anything you want, (y/n). Because what matters at the end of the day, to me, is that we have a great time together.” He planted one last kiss in the palm of my hand. “That’s all I want for us.”

I couldn’t help the small sniffle as the warmth of his words wrapped me tightly in a blanket. I looked at him with lovestruck in my eyes. I wanted to do nothing but melt in his embrace, bury myself in the crook of his neck every morning, to hold hands while walking around the big city. At that moment I knew—

I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.

With the sincerest smile, I looked at him.

“Just keep holding my hands, Will.”

In turn, his dimples nearly lit up my whole world.

“Only for you.”

♡♡♡

a / n ~ eep hope you enjoyed! Ax i hope this comforts you in some sort of way I lowkey had to do my research for this one loll

[boizandgurlzinthehouse]

𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮?

summary: y/n didn't fell well in the last year... and she probably never will feel herself well again. word count: 2.832k trigger warning: SUICIDE, SELF-HARM (really, don't read it if it trigger you please please please), psych ward, signs of mental illnesses, heartbreak, hallucinating, screaming, farewell letter

count your fingers. breathe in, breathe out.

"are you doing this again?"

y/n sat on her bed, smoking a cigarette as she read the newest tabloids. others were watching tv in the lodge, but she preferred to out out some titles and interesting articles. the date stated 1995, may 3rd.

"you are no longer in the newspaper. they're dumb, never writing anything in these papers, fuckers."

scratching her neck, her nail broke at the end. it was weak ever since she got here, sleeping and eating was difficult also.

"but they were true about me."

she looked at him, pulling her knees to herself.

"fuck you, they weren't."

kurt sat at the leg of the bed, now the closest ever. he always stood at the door, sat by the window, or sat on the ground, facing her.

just keep counting. six, seven, eight...

"you look like you need a rest, love. dark circles doesn't fit you."

something constantly buzzed in her mind, like a radio band is always on, even if there's no music and no jokes. or the tv in the lodge at 2am, no shows were playing, she always talked with kurt at night, until the nurses didn't guide her back to her room. she was alone here, at peace, doing what she liked to do --writing her diary, reading books, painting her nails. he wanted to paint kurt's too, but he never came close to her, never let her touch him. he was distant, but in a comforting way.

"who do i need to look beauty for?" y/n asked, exhaling the smoke. kurt smiled, pointing at himself.

"for me."

"yeah, of course."

take your medicine. place a pill on your tongue, then swallow it down with a gulp of water.

the next dose of pills were laying on the plate, waiting for her to take them with a cup of water. they trusted her enough to take it alone, since she almost scratched her wrists from freaking out too many times. the clock on her nightstand ringed, it was time.

"you know i'll never disappear, even if you take those?" kurt laid back on her bed, reaching his hand to the ceiling.

brushing her hair, y/n turned away her head from him. she didn't want to hear this, and to turn to her sane sense.

"if you live only in my head, why can't i just make you go away?" she whispered, her eyes lingering on the lace of the curtain, forming an angel and a bunny.

"because you don't want to let me go."

looking at him again, the buzzing was so intense and it wasn't pleasuring. the voice wanted to tell her something, but it never could. it was a void. she was a void.

am i telling this to myself too? y/n felt tired, picking a pill, popping into her mouth. she ate more pills than actual meals, in the first two months, it was strange to even eat after only living on little pieces of medicine for so long. she looked at kurt, he was still here. ten more minutes and he'll be gone, but the pills only made her tired, they never sent him truly away. or, maybe it was easy to crawl into her mind. laying down, she used her boney arm as an extra pillow, dragging the comforter up on her body.

"when i wake up, piss off."

"can't promise, princess." kurt said, leaning on his elbow as he saw her closing her eyes.

days went like this --waking up before 10am, taking pills, skipping breakfast because the pills always caused her nausea, playing and talking with the others in the psych ward, talking with her own psychiatrist, eating lunch, taking pills, resting in the afternoon, reading the tabloids every wednesday, watching the telly or reading a book before dinner, and then, taking the day's last pills, and then sleeping all night, but she often woke up, sometimes two or three times even.

a knock woke her up from her deep slumber, making her shake. looking around, kurt was not around anymore --at least he kept his poor promise. a nurse, dorothy was standing in the door.

"good afternoon, y/n. you have a visitor."

it was strange. she broke her connections with most people, only dave and christ knew that y/n was still in here.

"who?" she asked, getting up to put on her shoes.

"his name is dave grohl. do you know him?" dorothy asked, making her nod. standing up, y/n went out on the door, seeing dave. walking up to him, dave smiled at her, but it was something uncertain in his eyes. y/n gave up for caring about other's feelings a couple months ago, since she couldn't even deal with hers.

"hello, angel! how are you?" he asked in the sound like you ask from a child, hugging her lightly.

"totally fine." really, she was in a psych ward almost a year from now on, what could she say?

"can we go for a walk? that girl... maybe dorothy? said that we can go for a little walk, i want to know what's going on with you."

stepping outside, y/n breathed fresh air only when she opened her window, and went for a short trip with the others once in three months. the air was calming, and the sun didn't shine too bright, flowers grow on the edge of the sidewalk. dave was so strange, like he also lived in her mind. but he doesn't have to know about that.

"so, what's up? hanging around, uhm..." he wanted to continue, but y/n looked at him.

"chill, dave. i know this place is a horror house. i'm pretty fine, dealing with my things and stuff... and you?"

"i'm fine also. me and jennifer talked about having kids, but i'm not feeling the time yet."

"i felt that." she and kurt had frances, y/n loved her as her own daughter, even if that crazy woman courtney fretted her for being in the baby's presence.

"i have some pictures about bean, do you wanna see them? courtney was against it, but... i thought you'd like."

"that's really nice from you, dave."

seeing the pictures, she felt like the whole universe laughed at her. the buzzing started again, she tried to smile. "how big she is!"

"yeah, well, she is just like her fath-"

dave suddenly silenced. because everybody knew. everybody knew that y/n got in here because kurt died, her mind couldn't comprehend the fact, and she began to see him. she began to hallucinate, and most of the time, she just laid on her bed and looked at the ceiling, not eating, not drinking. if she wasn't crying or screaming, she was sleeping or just being like a sack of potato. the most miserable sack of potato. almost a year, and she didn't even made the smallest progress. she clearly, medically went crazy because of her lover's death.

"look, y/n... me, jen, chris and his wife is going on a trip... you should come too. it's much warmer there in california, you could loose up a little bit, don't you?"

y/n scratched her arms, looking at the stop sign at the end of the road.

"it's a really nice idea, dave. thank you. it's just... what if kurt-"

"what? what about kurt?" dave asked, getting angry. "sorry, but what fucking about him?"

"nothing, just... nothing, really, i just don't want to go."

"because of him? y/n, i don't want to be mean, but did you look at yourself? his death caused all of us pain, but you literally got sick from it."

"what about me? what about me, what about me?" she yelled. "don't say that he's dead, because i fucking see him everyday, and i'm not gonna let it slip!"

"do you see him right now, huh? do you see him? because if yes, then you are just the same as those girls who get shocked to be normal just a little bit!"

"and what if i saw him? what if i saw him and he just could see that how big of a cock your are, fuck you, dave!"

he laughed like he doesn't believed what he just heard.

"here we fucking are again, y/n! because i'm a good friend of yours, i'm gonna tell you that nobody fucking sees him, nobody who's normal! i thought that it's just some aftermath of your depression, but..."

"but what? i am crazy? i am compulsive? i am fucking hopeless? because you know, every fucking day was a menace since things got fucked up!"

"no, you are fucking worse than you were when he died!" dave screamed, trying to reach for her arm to get her back to the psych ward, but y/n clawed at him like a cat, while from the tip of her throat, an enormous shriek came from her, and then y/n just snapped.

"HE MAY BE DEAD! AND EVEN IF HE IS, I WISH I COULD DIE EVERY DAY JUST TO FREE MYSELF FROM ALL OF THIS VOID!" her vocal cords almost teared up as she screamed, crouching on the ground, holding her head. this was the end, the waves crashed above her head, the endless sea of her depression caged her in.

like a switch finally turned down, y/n tried to collect her breath, but it didn't helped. she went too deep, and the last breath of hope was sucked out from her.

"are you okay? y/n, fuck, are you alright?" dave asked her. y/n stood up, brushing her hair from her face.

"yes, i think everything's okay." she felt her own voice static, but it didn't matter.

"okay, then... shall we go back? you must be tired."

"yeah. let's go back."

dave didn't even know that he saw her the last time alive.

"i hope you get a little rest. i think it wasn't a good idea to come, but... i care about you. we all do." he said inside, y/n pulled up the muscles of her lips.

"it's okay. it was good to see you, dave." giving him a hug, it lasted a little bit too long, but he wanted too, so it wasn't a problem. she just wanted to feel loved after so long.

"see you later, y/n."

"yeah, see you too, dave!" she waved to him from the window, dave got out his camera from his car.

"do this again! wave and say, 'hi everybody!'"

"hi, goodbye, good morning, good afternoon everybody!" she sang while faning with her hand, smiling. dave waved to her the last time, then he got in his car, riding away.

do kurt miss christ and dave just as she?

1am. 1995, may 4th.

not a soul walked on the hallways of the ward. it was peaceful, only the small droplets from the fountain harmed the silence. only one bathtub, filled with water, a hand hanging on the side of the white porcelain. little curls of steam floating in the air.

"are you sure about that?"

he was here again, with her. kurt leaned on the brim of the tub, looking at y/n as she collected the pills. she's gonna swallow all of it, with two gulps of water, and then... she didn't know what's going after this, but she couldn't handle it any longer. life was too heavy, she felt it on her shoulders, her spine, her head, it crawled it's weight into her guts from day to day, a new day, a new weight.

looking at him, she stopped in her movements.

"did it hurt?"

kurt only smiled at that, saccharine in his smile.

"did life hurt?"

"only when you weren't there." she replied, then, placing the first dose of pills into her hand. "i wrote a letter. i hope they find it. and i hope i'll find you."

because she hoped, really. she had hope, not for life, but for him. she felt dumb every time she saw lame romance movies about people can't live without each other, but it turned out that it was true. she literally died without him, and air got much more suffocating.

looking at the pills, she looked up to the cross on the wall in front of her. so this is the end.

"i'll look for you, kurt. i love you." she said, not even paying attention to the fact if he was there or not, even if he just lived in her head. downing the pills, chug, another doze of pills, chug. just a couple of minutes, and no days will be spent with agony and crying, screaming, watching shitty movies, trying to live.

somehow, it was comforting to her.

laying back in the warm water, she saw kurt coming closer to her. her vision began to get blurry, and she felt stomach churn, her heart and liver exploding, but it was only a little pain. her lover bend over her, and maybe he touched her, kissing her forehead, but she didn't felt it. there was no movie in front of her eyes, playing her whole life, there weren't any so special things from books the writers always talked about. it was just laying down and resting for awhile.

in her last moments, she felt nothing else but warmth.

dear everybody, or anybody who finds this,

i never wasted too much words about anything. maybe i should have done, but i'm not gonna change this, so please, don't judge me. it's rude to judge dead people anyway.

everyone who thinks that my actions is in connection with kurt, they're right. i don't want to brag about my mental state, let's just say, i didn't feel well in the last couple of months. people around you change you, taking you to a ride, and i guess that i wasn't ready for the end of the ride. in the end, i only want you to remember that how wonderful and gentle, unique and perfect creatures we are. i loved myself, always, i just didn't love the way i felt.

some words to the people, because i was too much of a scaredy-cat to talk with them in the last rounds: dave and chris. you two are truly wonderful, the best guys i could ever imagine. i'm sorry that you have to get to know about this in a letter, but please, never let kurt's memory die, and maybe, don't even let mine. i didn't do a lot of good things in my life, but i loved. i loved and cared, and maybe that can be valuable even for you. courtney, i know we've never been good friends, but maybe, we never could be. i just want to wish you strength and courage for the rest of your life, i've never invalidated your feelings. maybe i felt just like you, excluding the fact that i don't have a lovely supergirl. frances bean, you little star; you won't remember me, but i'll remember you. you are the most fantastic girl i've ever known, and you'll gonna rock the world, just like your father did.

i don't want you to be sad. i wasn't sad, just a little crazy. living our lives without our loved ones claims us to be strong and brave, but i'm not enough brave for it. you're gonna do it instead of me, and my gratitude will chase you forever.

never forget to love and care! i did the same.

y/n y/l/n

she opened her eyes, sun shining through her eyelids. where the hell she was? feeling something soft under her touch; she laid on sand. little rocks pressed into her palms as she sat up. she didn't know where she was, and she wasn't even certain if she did what she did. coming to her senses, the waves crashed in the ocean only a few foot apart from her. washing the shore, it almost get wet her too. it was peaceful and unusual.

but she was not the only one sitting on the beach.

a figure, 60 feet from her sat just like her in silence, looking at the ocean and the dawning sun. could it be...

standing up, she was unsure in her steps, but somehow, she managed to go closer. it was him. instead of screaming and jumping, she simply crouched beside kurt, looking at him, so she was sure that it's really him. the wind blew his hair, his lips surely were salty from the air. brushing through his hair at the back of his neck, the blonde curls felt like silk. he was an angel.

without saying a word, y/n leaned her head on his shoulder. she could touch him now, watching as the sun bleed through the sky. she felt something warm in her chest–

–sure it wasn't reality. but it didn't even needed to be.

a/n: this is my first oneshot in this genre, and to be honest... i don't want to write more. i just had a very depressed couple of weeks, and this just came into my mind. i won't write fics like this, it turned out that i like domestic comfort and fluff more. if you liked it, or want to request, write in the comments, dm me or write here

stay safe, love yourself girliez,

louisa

[contentloadingandstuff]

Ah. I didn't finish the last one, so you could discard that one. Maybe a few girls of your choosing plus Yelan with a super nice, caring, and gentle S/O that doesn't want to have sex and the reason to that is because he has a 4 inch pp. Maybe he feels insecure that when they found out they would leave him? Maybe some reassurance from the girls that they wouldn't leave him or something.

Powerful Genshin girls comforting a small S/O

A/N: I hope you like it, anon!

Characters: Yae Miko, Yelan & Ningguang

CW: Male!Reader, smutiness.

Miko narrows her eyes as you speak. When you're done, she keeps still, staring you dead in the eye. Then, she blinks once. Twice. 

"You can't be serious."

You look down, ashamed. But before you can apologize, Miko quickly steps towards you, aiming her finger at your chest. Her eyes glimmer pink with Electro. You instinctively raise your hands and start backing up. With every word she jabs your chest. Not nearly enough to hurt you, but painful all the same. 

"You are telling me you didn't bed me because you were insecure about your dick? Is that right??" 

You nod shyly. "Yes…" 

"And…" She looks you square in the eye. "... you were scared that I would leave you for a dick???" 

"I… yes…" 

You're against the wall now. Miko growls, and pins her hands on the wall on the sides of your head. 

"Oh, this is not only idiotic, but downright insulting."

You look down, blushing slightly in embarrassment. It really was stupid of you to think that. You open your mouth to apologize, but she immediately covers it with her hand. 

"You've said enough. To think so low of me… Hm! Let me make something clear, Y/N." She points at your crotch. "This? The appeal of this is that it's attached to you, and not the other way around. I don't care if it's microscopic or monstrous, because as long as it is yours, I want it. Did I make myself clear?" 

You nod. 

"Good." She grabs your chin with her hand, forcing you to look in her eyes. "Now… I want to take you, you big idiot, for a test ride. You'll be lucky to have a single thought after what I'll do to you, my dear."

Yelan smiles softly. 

"Oh? Is that right?" Yelan chuckles. "That's a relief, actually. You got me thinking that you want to break up, or you don't really like me."

"Well… sorry."

Your girlfriend raises her brow and smirks. "For what exactly?" 

"For being this way, I guess. For not being able to satisfy you."

“You're really quick to make assumptions, aren't you? What makes you think that?"

Yelan moves behind you, dragging her fingertips over the curve of your back."I… well, if it's small there's no fun, right?" 

She laughs, and snakes her hands around your stomach. You feel her chin rest on your shoulder. 

"You're so cute, you know that? And a little oblivious as well…" She caresses your chest, scratching at it lightly with her nails. "You can use much more than just your shaft, hm? How about those hands? They give the best massages I've ever experienced… You're also a great kisser with a more than agile tongue… Oh, just look at me. Daydreaming about just what mileage I can get out of your body…" 

She slowly pulls her hands and face away. Before she fully retreats, she gives you a small kiss on your cheek. You turn around, blushing. “Yelan…?”

She laughs, mockingly, but there’s no bite to it. 

“What? Now you want it? Oh Y/N…” She stretches out her hand towards you. “Alright, but no more of those pointless anxieties. I love you no matter what you have or don’t have. Can you do that for me?”

You take her hand.

“I will… thank you, my love.”

“No problem. Now come on, there’s no time to waste. I need some… answers.”

Ningguang inhales her pipe calmly, looking at you with her signature, expecting expression. She exhales the smoke, and shakes her head. 

"You men are all the same, aren't you?"

"What…?" 

She sighs. "It's all a competition for you. Even the stupidest things. Like who has the biggest salary, status, cock. It's so infantile."

She raises from her seat, and approaches you slowly. Her every step echoes through the Jade Chamber. She stands before you, hands crossed over her chest. 

"It's foolish because you never compare what actually matters. You never compare what's here." She places her hand on your chest, right over your beating heart. "You never compete over how big your heart is, how beautiful and colorful your soul is. Loyalty, passion, devotion… Do those not matter to you?" 

You avoid her eyes, embarrassed. 

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Ningguang." 

"No, don't be. It's a natural concern. Does it make you feel any less of a man, perhaps?" 

You don't answer right away, instead taking your time to think over her words. Before you can answer, she continues. 

"A man's value doesn't lie in what he carries between his legs, my love. It lies in what he holds dear, in his values and his personality. You are caring, loving, protective and loyal. You know how to treat me right. Is that not enough proof of your validity?"

"I… suppose you're right. Thank you Ningguang." 

She smiles, and sets down her spent pipe. She places her hand on your cheek, and closes in for a kiss. 

"You're welcome. Any time you feel like you're not enough, come to me and I'll remind you of just how valuable you are to me. Alright?" 

"Alright."

Your lips meet in a soft kiss.

Thanks for reading!

[mncxbe]

𝙏𝙬𝙤 𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨 // 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

𝑻𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

"You like me, babydoll" he'd often tease. And he was right.

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut/fluff

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: season 4 spoilers / mentions of blood

His hips were rocking back and forth at a relentless speed, fingers digging into my thighs.

"Mmm so good baby. I missed this so much" he moaned lowly.

I was laying on my back, legs wrapped around Tachihara's waist, gazing at this pretty features. His eyes were shut tight, his mouth slightly agape as he was whispering sweet nonsense. Strands of his rusty red hair were drenched in sweat.

'That's quite a sight' I thought to myself.

We first met when I joined the Black Lizard as a division commander ten months ago. My arrival was met with reluctance, but after a few weeks everyone was fond of me. Well, almost everyone. Tachihara Michizō, the angry redhead, always kept his distance. This was mostly due to the fact that I got along quite well with Gin.

There was also my ability, which allows me to manipulate my enemy's heartbeat provided I touch their blood. Naturally, people tended to avoid training with me and Tachihara was no different. Gin sometimes sparred with me but her skills in battle were way above mine so she was in no real danger.

The first three months were packed with missions and operations. But as soon as summer started it seemed that even the criminals went on vacations. Weeks passed without one single mission. I was bored beyond belief. It was on one of these days that I ended up using my ability on Tachihara.

When I walked into the empty warehouse I saw the redhead cleaning his guns.

"Hey there. Wanna spar with me?" I enquired.

My colleague didn't bother to lift his eyes from his pistols as he replied in a flat voice.

"No. Leave me alone."

"I need to blow off some steam, Tachihara. Please." I whined

The man rose to his feet, drawing a knife from his jacket.

"Okay then. Bring it on" he said as he ran towards me.

I was so taken aback by his sudden actions that I barely managed to dodge his attack. Taking my own knife, I put some distance between us, trying to form a plan.

"What? That's all you got?" he mocked with a wild grin on his lips.

We fought for a couple of good minutes. At first Tachihara went easy on me, but when he realized I wasn't an easy match, his attacks got more violent. His eyes had a feral glimmer as he gritted his teeth, desperately swinging his knife.

Eventually, his attacks got sloppier and I managed to find an opening. The blade of my short knife sliced through the fabric of his jacket, cutting his arm right above his elbow.

The redhead ceased his chaotic movement, an astonished look on his face. Blood ran down his arm staining his clothes.

"Oh shit I'm so sorry." I apologized.

I dropped my knife to the floor, running to him. "That's a lot of blood please let me-"

"No no don't~" interrupted the man but it was too late. My hands wrapped around his bleeding arm, sqeezing tightly.

He froze, his eyes shooting open. A familiar feeling took over me as I felt his rushing heartbeat in every cell of my body. Tachihara yanked his arm from my grip, taking a few steps backwards. None of us uttered a word until the rhythm of his heart returned to normal.

"Aren't you going to kill me or something?" he asked

"Why would I kill you?"

"You literally have my heart in your hands. Don't tell me that you don't want some payback for how badly I treated you"

"I actually don't" I replied confidently "All I want right now is to help you stop the bleeding. Will you let me?"

After that we met up regularly to spar after stressful days. Soon though fighting wasn't enough to release the tention so we did other stuff too. I often found myself wrapped around him, nails digging and scratching at his back like there was no tomorrow as I moaned his name in the night.

"You like me, babydoll" he'd often tease.

And he was right. Before I knew it I had fallen in love with the redhead. And the feelings were shared. Although Tachihara seems like a cold, distant person, he is the sweetest partner one could ask for. He would always look out for me and even his short temper was quite adorable. Two months and a half after we started dating he moved in.

Nothing on earth could do us apart. We decided to overcome any hardship we ever came across. That's why when he confessed to me that he was working for the Hunting Dogs, I was totally unfazed.

"Poor choice but ok." I replied, taking his hand in mine. "I guess I'll just have to quit the Mafia."

And so I left the organization, switching over to voluntary work at the ER. My ability was quite useful when it came to helping patients with heart problems.

Up to this day we continue living together at my place, going about our days as usual.

I ran my fingers over the scar on his arm, fragments of the time spent together coming to me in flashes. His thrusts grew sloppier, signaling how close he was to his release, each of his grunts and low, desperate moans only adding to the fuel.

"I'm so close Hara" I uttered between whimpers. He brought one of his hands to my belly, pressing down with his palm.

"You feel how deep I am, pretty?" His thumb drew circles on my clit. "Cum for me, dear" he added in a ragged voice.

I felt the knot in my stomach snap, my back arching as I jolted in pleasure. Tachihara's eyelids gently fluttered as he felt me tighten around his cock. After a few more thrusts he came, his warm seed filling me.

The man rested his forehead against mine. He took his time to catch his breath and then opened his eyes, his amber gaze locked with mine.

I pulled him into a deep kiss and he snaked his arms around my waist. As soon as he pulled away from the kiss, he flopped to the side.

"I love you, baby" was all he uttered before drifting into a dreamless sleep.

I watched his figure, sprawled on my bed. My fingertips made their way to his back, tracing shapes all over his skin. Then I leaned in and kissed his shoulder.

"I love you too, Hara" I whispered into his ear before falling asleep next to him.

[k2ntoss]

so my day literally just started, like im on my way to uni for my classes rn (which btw kinda sucking rn cuz its literally -40°C out), but i have so much jason brain rot i need to share

- jay absolutely would get a kick out of flirting like hell but would also immediately go redder than his helmet if it got turned around on him (he'd be so cute, i love flustering men lmao)

- i am in love with your idea of him just utterly messing around with constantine's sidekick!reader like yes, peak comedy right there, but also i think he'd be so so just heart eyes, fully entranced watching them do their magic especially for the first time

- i keep having this image of messy haired jason just curled up in bed, reading his favourite book and it's golden hour and he's wearing glasses (for actual sight purpose or for aesthetic only idk) but the sunset's making him all glowy and majestic and ugh i wanna play with his hair so bad

anyway that's it from me for now lol

-🦊

i kinda miss going to uni MMMM but anyways how tf are they making you go with that weather????? i would def throw myself on fire, in my country 24° C is already a bit cold....... (we do live in hell, yeah)

now thanks for sharing now i feel the urge to kiss your brain, please

i can totally see jay being all shy when he is indeed flirting with you because he does likes you so as soon as you call him "pretty boy" for the first time he's about to explode !!!! does he even needs the red helmet to be called red hood???

AND FUCK YES, HE WOULD BE SO STUNNED AND UHHHH i can totally picture jay sitting there listening to every story you have, to every adventure you've lived with constantine and he's so into listening to you he smiles widely because you sound so passionate about it i want to cry i need him so bad to be my bf and i– 😭

okay........ okay i can can i mmmmmm i can get why, just him being all cozy and calm, reading because he's so into the book almost as if nothing else around him existed besides you, he enjoys reading while your fingers brush his hair and your nails scratch his scalp, he can even feel himself getting sleepy but the book is just so good and your company makes it even better

dear 🦊 anon, please keep the jason brain rot strong, do this for all of us make the world a great place (plus have a good day, hun)

[rosepinksky]

Pay For My Time (pt. 4)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female reader

In which Ghost's neighbour drags him in for dinner, and then ruins his life.

Warnings: not my best work BUT thigh-fucking, slight degradation, aftercare but it's not outstanding, slightly more explicit alcohol misuse

word count 2.2k

part 1 (smutty!)

part 2

part 3 (also smutty)

--------------------------------------------

Ghost had left an hour or so after we had collapsed on the sofa together. We had spoken softly as we basked in the sweet afterglow of our climaxes, and he had dressed quickly but not said anything when I elected to sprawl naked with my legs across his lap.

We said goodbye casually, in the way that friends who already knew they would see the other tomorrow would, both content in the close proximity that we lived in.

But jesus, the wine was doing something to my body tonight. I had taken a shower, pulling at least five orgasms out of my aching pussy as I tried to recreate the feeling of his cock inside of me with my dildo. And then I took a cold shower, shivering as I stood in front of the mirror trying to talk myself down from this nymphomania-fuelled ledge I’d found myself on.

I shook my head as I tried to clear it, burying the empty bottle in the bin as I grabbed the vodka, pouring a hefty shot and downing it in an attempt to dampen my senses. It didn’t work; the alcohol coursing through my system only heightening the throb between my legs and the sensitivity of my hardened nipples against the towel. I groaned in frustration, abandoning the shot glass in favour of just taking a large swig straight from the bottle.

It helped a little; some of the shame starting to ebb away. The arousal was nowhere near dimmed, though, still coursing through me like an itch that I just could not scratch.

Fuck it. What’s the point in having a gorgeous Goliath of a soldier living directly above you if you can’t text him dirty pictures to get him over?

I dropped my towel as I positioned myself in front of the bathroom mirror, my back to it to show off my bare ass as I turned, hand just covering my nipples. I smiled coyly at the camera, wet hair still curling over my shoulder as I took the picture.

Water’s gone cold. Building wide plumbing issue? : (

I texted as I sent him the picture, biting at one of my nails nervously as I watched it go through. I really didn’t know what had gotten into me- I had sent countless people much dirtier photos in the past, but my heart was beating out of my chest as I saw the read receipt pop up on the screen.

Dirty girl.

That was all I got in response. I bit my lip, furrowing my brows in frustration. I leaned my phone on the windowsill, angling it so that I could hop up onto the counter and have my lower half in perfect view. I pressed record, grabbing my dildo and sliding it into myself.

I let out a low moan as I fucked myself with the toy, his name slipping from my lips as I leaned back against the mirror. My back arched as I found my sweet spot, thrusting into myself faster and using my other hand to squeeze my tits and run my fingers across my sensitive nipples.

 I pulled it out before I could let myself cum, ending the video with a wink to the camera, sending it to him with trembling hands.

Less than 30 seconds later, a loud knock sounded on my door. I squealed in delight as I wrapped myself in the towel again, opening the door breathlessly.

He stared down at me with a cold gaze, eyes raking over my scantily clad form before returning to my face.

“Are you drunk?” He questioned, his eyes narrowing at me.

I giggled lightly, tugging him inside. “I’m horny. That’s all you need to worry about.” I ran my hands up his chest.

He caught my wrists in his grasp before they could reach his collarbones. “I’m serious, Lucy. Are you drunk right now?”

I scoffed, bringing my hands back to my sides. “I’m fine.” I drawled, rolling my eyes at him.

He stiffened. “You’re wasted.” He concluded, stepping away from me.

I groaned as I walked through to my room, discarding the towel in favour of a silk robe. “You’re so stuck up.” I grumbled as I returned to him. “I’ve been so needy since you left.” I reached out to him as I pouted.

He swatted my hands away. “You’ve been drinking since I left. Go to bed.” He responded flatly.

I tilted my head at him. “You’re no fun.”

He chuckled, catching me as I stumbled slightly. “Sit down.”

His commanding tone had me obeying him before I even processed the thought, sitting obediently on the couch as I watched him with anticipation. “I’m serious, Ghost. I’ve came like five times and I can’t settle.”

He tutted as he sat opposite me. “I don’t fuck drunk girls.” He told me firmly, eyebrow raised.

I threw my head back in frustration. “Screw your little rule. You had your dick in me like six hours ago, what’s the big deal?”

He remained silent, reprimanding me with his eyes.

“…I should spank you for that. Hard.”

I blushed, thighs pressing together as his threat sent flutters between my legs. He chuckled again as he spotted my reaction, standing up to kneel in front of where I sat, somehow still towering over me.

“Go to bed, Lucy. And I’ll fuck the brat out of you in the morning.” He murmured lowly, eyes searching my face. I whined, a hand coming up to stroke his cheek.

“Why not now?”

He sat back on his heels, moving his face away from my touch. “I told you- I don’t fuck drunk girls.” He replied simply, and I could have screamed from frustration.

“…whatever.” I muttered, crossing my arms across my chest as I buried my grumpy face into the couch cushions.

“Good girl.” He whispered as he rose to his feet. “I’ll see you in the morning. Leave your door open, I’ll keep an eye on it for you.”

I didn’t respond, but watched him curiously as he turned to leave, closing the door softly behind him.

Bastard. I was most certainly not used men rejecting me, and I was most certainly not enjoying the way it only heightened the needy feeling deep in my core.

I fell asleep with my robe splayed around me; my vibrator abandoned somewhere beneath the sheets.

-

I didn’t wake up to the sound of the door opening and locking behind him, nor did I wake when the sheets were pulled off of my body.

I did, however, wake up when someone rolled me onto my stomach.

I whined weakly as I cracked my eyes open, twisting my head to try and catch a glimpse of the figure behind me. A chuckle reverberating in his chest sent vibrations through my back as he pressed his weight into me.

“You hungover, pretty girl?” He taunted, his voice low. I was hit with a vivid memory of his morning voice from the first time we’d met, his lidded eyes staring back at me as he’d padded through to my kitchen.

I groaned as the sunlight streaming in made my head throb. “What time is it?” I mumbled.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

I couldn’t even bring myself to be mad at his teasing as I felt his hands ghost across the skin of my ass. His calloused fingers dug themselves into the flesh, his thumb extending out to brush through my folds. I let out a soft gasp and arched my back to push myself higher into his touch. He pressed my hip back down into the mattress with one hand, the other still caressing my skin.

“That little video of yours came in very handy last night.” He murmured down to me. “Had to fuck my fist twice just to get the sound of those little moans out of my head.”

I shivered at his words, the thought of him touching himself to the image of me making the lingering discomfort of my hangover suddenly much less difficult to bear.

“It wasn’t the same as that sweet, tight cunt, though.” He leant down to whisper in my ear. I wriggled slightly under the pressure of his hands, a needy ache throbbing in my core. “Still…I don’t think you deserve my cock. Think you deserve to be left just as frustrated as I was last night.”

Another smug chuckle from him, his hands venturing from my ass to the tops of my thighs. He pulled them apart, his fingers dipping into the slick coating my pussy. A desperate whine escaped my lips as he brushed against my clit, but the sensation was short-lived.

He took the hand that glistened with my arousal and stroked himself with it, his trousers shoved haphazardly around his hips. I heard, and then felt, him spit on the top of my thighs, before he pushed his dick between them, groaning behind me. He caged them tightly together with his own legs, his left hand still keeping me still beneath him despite my struggling to angle my hips upwards towards his length.

“Come on, pretty girl. I told you I was gonna fuck the brat out of you. Didn’t say what I’d fuck.”

He moved slowly, torturously so, his tip only ever just brushing against where I needed him most with the lightest of touches.

“Ghost, please. I-I’m sorry. Please just fuck me properly. Need it so bad.” My raspy voice was muffled against the pillow. I could feel his grin even through his mask as he rested his face against my cheek, shaking his head.

“Not after the stunt you pulled last night, princess. Biggest blue balls I’ve ever had. That stupid fucking video…those sounds. You’re such a fucking whore, getting me so riled up and then being too drunk for me to use properly. Need to make you understand how frustrating that is.”

He sped up, the feeling of his dick sliding between my thighs, the slick dripping down them only making it wetter for him, sending me into a lusty haze. I pushed my hips upward with all of my might, but his single hand kept me pressed into the mattress firmly. A stark reminder of just how much stronger he was than me. And the worst part? That only turned me on more.

I could feel his pace faltering, his breaths growing heavier, the small grunts that escaped him so loud when his face was so close to my ear. I cried out sharply when he landed a stinging slap to my ass, clenching my thighs tighter. He let out an honest-to-god moan at that, his cock twitching. He spanked the other cheek, even harder than the last, and the sound of the hit rang in my ears like a bomb had gone off.

I was a flustered mess, unable to do anything except babble out pleas for him to fuck me, but it didn’t matter. His thrusts became harder, faster, more insistent.

“Shit, I’m gonna come on your ass. Such a pretty sight for me, Lucy. So wet, fuck, so wet.” He groaned lowly, pulling away from my thighs to stroke himself.

When he let out a final gasp, his cum spilling onto the handprints on my ass cheeks, I could have cried. My clit was swollen, needy, and I could feel the patch of arousal I’d left on the sheets below me. I was so turned on it hurt, and yet he sat back on his heels, soothing the skin on my ass like we’d made love.

“You okay, Luce?” He asked softly, his thumb drawing little circles on the sensitive flesh just above the back of my knees.

All I could manage was an indignant whine.

He chuckled. “I’ll take that as an ‘I’m sorry for getting too drunk and I won’t booty call you unless I can properly consent next time, Ghost’.”

Another indignant whine.

He smoothed my hair down and grabbed a box of tissues from the bedside table, cleaning away the worst of the mess with a tender touch. He pulled the sheets back over me once he was done.

“I’ll lock your door. I’m sure you could use the sleep.” He murmured, buckling his trousers back up as he stood. “You’re okay? Genuinely?”

I huffed as I turned to lay on my side, glaring up at him.

“I mean…no. But yeah. Can…can I booty call you tonight? Properly?” I was self-conscious of my puffy, hungover face, covering the lower half of it with the duvet. I could see his eyes crinkle up as he smiled down at me.

“Get in the shower, get some sleep and call me later, Lucy. I’ll be here.”

Oh, I’ll call you later, you asshole.