#but I’ve been itching to post something

[themoonlitquill]

Whispers Woven in Shadow. (1/?)

𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝘼𝙧𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧? 𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙫��? 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚? 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 ; I’m terrible at summaries, so please don’t hate me for that! This is an OC that I’ve been playing around with for literal ages and I finally made the choice to really dive in and develop her, and then the ideas just started flowing in and I couldn’t stop writing! I’m already working on a second chapter for this, but it all depends on if anyone even likes it. 😅 I don’t post my writing too often, so be kind if you don’t mind!! Oh, && special thanks to @coffeebooksrain18 for the moodboard! 🩵 Enjoy!

𝖳𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 ; 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿-𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗺𝗼𝗶𝗹.

𝖶𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 ; 3802.

Everything is different now, Ariadne Archeron blinks as she looks out the window to the clear skies of robin’s egg blue with rays of sunlight streaming through to cast a golden hue that emitted warmth and yet, she had never felt so cold, so empty. Her mind was spinning around in circles, jumping from thought to thought, never settling and making her skin itch with such an intensity that she had to refrain herself from digging her nails in and ripping flesh from bone.

It was all wrong. Every single bit of it. And she couldn’t understand what was going on and why she was feeling this way.

The simple answer was because she had been thrown into a massive pot that stripped her humanity from her without consent and replaced it with immortality, which was something she had only wondered about in the stories that Elain used to show her as a little girl; she never imagined that it would come true and become her life.

Feyre had accepted being Made into High Fae graciously, almost eagerly, while Nesta seethed and resented, focusing her pent up emotions into care and concern for Elain. That left Ariadne to deal with it alone and if she were to be honest with herself, she wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

She was broken, lost, and confused, nearly a shell of her former self. How was she to handle this? What was she to do? There wasn’t a set of rules for something like this and there was no one to turn to for advice, not that she could anyway with her inability to speak.

It seemed that magic couldn’t heal everything.

Ariadne had been born deaf and could only communicate through gestures and looks, which made everything that much harder for her compared to her sisters. She couldn’t get her mouth to form the words that ran rampant in her head, not that she didn’t try, and eventually, she gave up, coming to the realization that what she so desperately wanted to say would never be heard by anyone other than herself.

She had never felt sorry about her ailment before, knowing that Nesta understood when she was irritated by the way her eyes narrowed with a hand placed defiantly on her hip and that Elain knew when she needed a moment away from their father when a frustrated huff emitted from her nose, followed with the incessant picking at the skin around her fingernails.

And Feyre, well, she was able to decipher what Ariadne wanted before she even did.

But it was different now. It wasn’t the same and the changes she was going through had to be dealt with, with no help from anyone. It wasn’t fair.

She wanted to scream and yell and cry and throw things, but she couldn’t, and if she could, she wouldn’t want to. That wasn’t who she was and it definitely wasn’t how she acted when life didn’t go the way she wished for it to. Instead, Ariadne kept it hidden away from prying eyes and suffered in silence, because that’s what this all was.

Suffering.

Agony.

Without any end in sight.

Ariadne works to swallow the dry lump that had formed in her throat and she withholds a wince, knowing that she needed something to drink and she was already dreading the fact that she’d have to leave the bit of safety in the room, that was now hers, to go get it.

Unless she wanted to stick her mouth under the faucet again and she most definitely did not.

Downstairs it is, she gnaws on the inside of her lower lip until she tastes the unmistakable tang of copper on her tongue, the nerves already setting in. You can do this, Ari. Just stand up and walk. It isn’t that hard, her fingers clenched into a fist, nails biting into her palm. Get UP! Get up, get up, get up!

Why couldn’t she move? What was wrong with her?

Ariadne sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment, then releases, her eyelids fluttering as she struggles to keep herself composed. The tears were right there and there was no way she would allow them to fall; she had to be strong like Feyre would be, not letting anything knock her down, and if it did, she’d get back up to try again. She could do that, couldn’t she?

It’ll be quick. Start with putting your feet on the floor. That’s easy enough to do, she reopens her eyes and stares straight ahead for several minutes, working on keeping each breath steady. On the count of three… One, her skin prickles, but she manages to sit up straight, legs unfolding. Two, sweat forms on her brow as she moves her feet to hover over the carpet. Three!

The distance closes and she freezes when she feels the plush material against her skin, finding that it was kind of… nice. See, not so bad, right? One thing at a time. You can do that no problem.

A small bit of confidence surges through her and she quickly rests her arms on either side of the chair, bracing herself before pushing herself up; her knees wobble and her brow furrows, but Ariadne - more determined than she realized - finds her balance and straightens, taking a deep breath in order to calm down a little.

Hey! Look at that. You did it, there’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth, which she dutifully ignores. Now, another deep breath. Start walking, was it too soon to do this? It had only been a week since- Don’t go there, Ari. You’re doing so well. You aren’t there anymore. You’re fine, she lifts her chin and turns towards the door. Go on, she takes a step.

Ariadne keeps going, one foot at a time, and becomes more steady, making her way across the - her - room to the door and stopping to stand in front of it. Her hand wrapped around the handle, halfway turned, but she froze again. Completely immobile. Why was her heart beating so quickly? This wasn’t normal. It made no sense to feel like this and she couldn’t find a way to understand it, which was incredibly frustrating.

It’s good that you want to see something else besides these same four walls. Nothing wrong with that. No one is even going to be out there, she turns it the rest of the way. Nesta is with Elain, and Feyre, her heart clenches painfully. Feyre isn’t here right now, so you’re going to have to do this yourself, she pulls and it opens. There you go.

Ariadne peers out into the hall and looks down both ends, not seeing anything other than the rest of the doors, all closed, and the sconces that emitted a warm light. She slips through and begins to walk, her feet padding softly against the floor and she was hoping that the kitchen was in this direction or else she was going to be wandering around for a while; the House of Wind was huge.

She continues on with her hands clasped together in front of her, the pad of her thumb rubbing soothing circles onto the top and she can’t help but look around, never having seen anything like it before. Not even Archeron Estate. The amount of money that Rhysand had to build something like this? He must’ve grown up rich. Her gaze roams over the intricate carvings on the large columned archways, head tilted in quiet admiration. They were pretty.

The hallway comes to a set of stairs, only four, and Ariadne pauses before taking each one down to find a kitchen to the left that led to what she assumed was the dining room, and held a grand table in the center with multiple high-backed chairs.

Yeah, definitely rich from birth, she walks further in and flicks her eyes over the cabinets, realizing that she had no clue where anything was. Look through all of them. It isn’t going to matter anyway, she reaches up on her tip-toes and her fingertips barely brush against the handle. Oh, great, she sighs. Where’s a ladder when you need one?

She notes the sink only a few inches away and she moves to crouch down in front, beginning to search through and eventually coming up empty. Please don’t tell me I have to climb on a counter, Ariadne stands back up straight. Again, there was really no other way, was there? Of course not.

Her brow furrows as she surveys the correct way to do it without getting hurt, knowing that no one was there to help if things went awry; she finally settles on using the shelf that went across the middle of the bottom cabinet to use to give her a boost and then she’d be able to get her leg up by bracing her weight against the wall.

It seemed simple enough.

After getting into position, Ariadne takes a breath and places her hand to the left as she pushes her foot against the shelf. She grunts from the effort to lift her leg, managing to get her knee onto the counter and use what strength she had to pull the rest of herself on top.

She grasps at the handle on the cabinet to steady herself before she adjusts her knees and leans over a little to open it, only to find plates. An annoyed huff makes her nostrils flare and she carefully shuts it. I should’ve just drank from the faucet again, her arm extends and her fingers wrap around the next handle as she moves over. This is way too much to do for a cup, she keeps her spine straight and prays to whatever higher power hailed over Prythian that this was the right one.

Ariadne pulls, and she doesn’t notice the fabric of her dress shift or when she starts to slide; she peeks inside and her eyes brighten when she sees what she had been hoping for. Yes!

Her body goes to lean like she had done a couple minutes ago and her knees give out from under her, a surprised sound leaving her lips as her other arm flails, unable to find anything to hold onto. No!

Everything went sideways and Ariadne began to fall, the top of her foot hitting the edge of the counter and she hisses through her teeth, eyes squeezing shut and bracing for the impact of her body against the tiled floor. But it never came. There was something looped around her waist, cool and soft, flowing like silk and holding with a gentleness that she had never felt before. What is it? Where did it come from?

Whatever it was had decided to turn her upright and place her down safely, which is when she decided to open her eyes; the first thing noticed were the wings, massive and actually really beautiful, but holding a power that matched that of the one, two, three, four… seven siphons, which reminded her of sapphires, and then it was the deep bronze skin that was littered with dirt, grime, and only the Gods knew what else, followed by a tousle of dark hair, slightly curly.

Though, what Ariadne noticed the most was the golden glow that faded into hazel. There was a mixture of guardedness, curiosity, and worry - maybe? - swirling within the shifting shades of green and brown, but she wasn’t sure if she could trust it. Azriel, I think. The other one is who Nesta can’t stand. Cassian? This is the… Spysinger, her lips pressed together. No, that isn’t right. Oh! Shadowmaster. Yeah, that makes more sense.

She blinks and realizes that she had been staring at him for longer than she should’ve and quickly refocuses to see that he had come around from the other side of the counter to stand a few feet away from her.

It looked like the Shadowmaster had been in a few fights and then slept on the ground afterwards, which was weird to her because she swore Cassian was the aggressive one. Never judge a book, Ari. People look at you and think you’re not capable of anything or that you’re stupid, she lifts her chin and finds that she could now only see his chest when she did that, so she tilts her head back further until she finds his face again.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

Azriel watches in silence as the youngest Archeron sister - Ariadne - nearly breaks her neck in order to meet his gaze, the warm honey of her eyes full of questions, trepidation, and a sadness that was trying to hide itself and he was certain it was much larger than what he already caught. He found himself wishing he could ask her about it, but that was impossible for two important reasons; one, Azriel didn’t do things like that and two, even if he did, Ariadne wouldn’t be able to hear him.

And who was to say that if she could, she would answer?

He resorts to raising a single brow, inclining his head towards the counter as he keeps his sights set on her, surveying her expression for the slightest change; it starts with a flicker of surprise before shifting to neutral and she nods, the smallest of sighs emitting from her parted lips and she glances at the still open cabinet that held the cups, then tapping her fingers at the base of her throat.

Ah, he steps forward and reaches inside to grab one, lowering it down and handing it to her. There’s a moment of hesitation, though it doesn’t seem to be an aversion to him. It was more so of someone unsure how to accept help when they had been doing everything without it for a long time. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?

The ever-present shadows that swirled around Azriel became tense at the thought and he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind to be locked away.

Now wasn’t the time.

Ariadne was staring at the glass and he realized that she had no idea that the House of Wind would provide anything she wanted. After all, how was she going to know anything about a world she had been thrown into? Stories that passed over to the human lands weren’t always accurate.

Will you- He hears a quiet gasp and he cuts himself off, attention snapping back to the small Fae in front of him that was watching as… orange juice filled to the brim. Apparently, she figured it out a lot quicker than he thought she would. The corner of his mouth twitches. Smart girl.

Azriel takes a couple steps back and leans his hip against the counter, arms crossed over his chest with his wings tucked behind. Ariadne turns her head and blinks at him, observing his position before giving a single dip of her chin and he had a feeling that it was her way of saying ‘thank you.’

He returns the gesture and she begins to walk by, more than likely heading back to her room, and that’s when he smells it; cherry blossoms. It was sweet and soft, hints of creamy vanilla bean and almond with a warmth that made him want to reach out and touch her.

It’s his turn to blink now and he waits for Ariadne to pass before he looks over his shoulder, hazel returning to that golden hue as she makes her way back up the steps and disappears down the hall. His shadows begin curling around his neck and ears, whispering to him in cool breaths, some louder than others.

She is special. Yes, special. And alone. Afraid. She is lost. No way to understand. She cannot ask. She wants to understand. Must help her understand. Yes. Help her.

Azriel gives a small tug and they fall silent, though they flick against his skin in protest and to show their evident distaste for his dismissal. He rolls his eyes with a heavy exhale, giving his head a shake before he pushes himself away from the counter and disappears into the same temperamental darkness that matched that of himself.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

Ariadne was unsure how to feel about her brief interaction with Azriel; he understood what she’d been trying to do and had even helped her, which was odd for her, but it made him better than most people she had met. He didn’t invade her personal space either, didn’t try to do anything at all that would make her the slightest bit uncomfortable.

In fact, he seemed to be a fairly decent male. She couldn’t remember a single instance over the few times she had been around him - even as a human - where he had ever acted out or caused any sort of problem. And if he did, she had an inkling that it would have to be over something important.

Her eyes lifted to the window and found that the sun had set, painting the sky in magenta and lavender with bursts of burnt orange and yellow; it reminded her of something that Feyre might like to recreate on canvas. There’s a sharp pang in the center of her heart at the thought of her sister and she winces, reaching up to rub the spot with her hand.

It was hard without Feyre. Yes, Nesta and Elain were there, but they were handling being Made even worse than Ariadne was. At least she had left the room. Granted, it was only once and she wasn’t gone for that long. It was still more than what they were doing.

And that had to count for something, didn’t it?

Ariadne had been the closest with Feyre, in age and in every other way. They were inseparable and a lot of love was shared between the two of them, along with a deep-rooted loyalty and respect for who they each were. And now? She felt like she was missing a vital piece of herself that she didn’t know how to get back and the longer the stretch of days went on, the more painful it got.

She picks at the skin around her nails and shifts her gaze to the floor, not wanting to think about any of this anymore. That was the thing about having no way to talk to someone; she tended to inner-monologue and go too into detail about things, overwhelming herself until she disassociated from it all.

Not the best solution, but it worked for her.

A flicker of movement in the corner catches her attention and she zeroes in on it, eyes narrowing slightly. Don’t tell me this place has ghosts now, Ariadne stands, noting how it was darker than it should’ve been with the way the light was streaming in. Because I will find a way to get out of here. There can’t be that many stairs.

She takes a couple steps forward, head tilted with curiosity and a bit of fear if it was actually a ghost. Whatever you are, I’m not going to hurt you, so that means you can’t hurt me either. That’s how this works.

The unknown something moves again, causing a shift in the air that her new Fae eyes are able to detect; it looked like smoke, though more refined and smooth, shimmering with an iridescence that reminded her of the stars. She reaches out. What are you?

It slithers forward and Ariadne watches as it brushes against one of her fingers, almost as if it were curious about her too, and that’s when she feels that same softness that had been around her waist earlier, silken and surprisingly strong.

You’re one of Azriel’s shadows, it curls around her finger and Ariadne hums. What are you doing here? Did he send you?

The shadow moves further up until it’s wrapped around her wrist, the end curled between her fingers and she feels something push at the back of her skull. It didn’t hurt, but it was strange; it sort of felt like someone was trying to fit the wrong key into a lock.

Ariadne keeps her eye on the shadow and takes a breath. Are you trying to get in? Feyre mentioned that before, but I can’t remember what it’s called. It’s mind reading though, isn’t it? Are you saying I can do it too?

There’s an instantaneous pressure around her wrist and she sucks in another breath. Okay, that’s… Okay, her brow furrows; how did the shadow know before she did? Was it because of Azriel being their master? But then that would mean he would know too, wouldn’t he? And he had never given any inclination that he did, so how?

She wished she knew all of the information that Feyre had given back when she first showed them that she was High Fae. Ariadne could read, some, from the few books Nesta was able to get when they lived in the small cottage and then even more so when their father had suddenly been offered a business deal that made them wealthy again, not that she remembered any of that part of their life, and was given lessons; she didn’t like them and proceeded to have a glare off with her eldest sister until it was made clear that there would be no changing her mind.

Ariadne would teach herself.

And reading turned into writing.

But it had been slow going at first and when Feyre had arrived with Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian, she had only gotten so far and there was some of it that had been written down that she either got mixed up or couldn’t remember at all. It was all bits and pieces.

The tightening around her wrist draws her attention back to the present and she shakes her head. Right. Focus, Ari. If the shadow is trying to tell me what I think it is, I have to try, don’t I?

Ariadne closes her eyes and recedes back into her mind, maneuvering through the jumbled mess of thoughts before she comes across an opalescent wall, shimmering with a moonlight glow and she couldn’t help but think how pretty it was. Why had she never noticed this before? Her head tilts and she probes further, searching for some way to open it.

It brushed softly against her just as the shadow did and she gave an instinctive squeeze in return before the wall of light brightened, beginning to shake and shift, soon revealing a small entryway for a single person to get through. She gasps.

Whoa! How did I do that? Ariadne opens her eyes and looks down to see the little thing was weaving between her fingers. Can you hear me now?

Yes.

[heartsoremania]

Johnny is a greedy kisser

He’s like an untrained dog, humping your thigh while he slobbers and licks into your mouth. He’s so gross about it too, groaning and grunting into it, pinning you in place with those big paws of his.

He’s grabbing at your waist, fingers digging into your skin until you’re squirming under the pressure of it, that feverish intensity.

And he’ll whine and complain when you try to pull away for air. Like a needy puppy that’s too damn big for his own good.

He’ll let you take one breath, staring at you with those half-lidded eyes, glazed over in delirious voracity, and then he’s back on you. Biting at your bottom lip, cock throbbing when you whimper in protest—he likes when you put up a bit of a fight, likes cradling the back of your skull as if you’re not pushing at his stupidly burly chest and arms.

And he does it while he’s splitting you open on his cock too. He’s breathing into your mouth, drooling all over your lips, and sucking on your tongue as if he’s trying to suffocate you :( he loooooves making a mess of you

[camping-with-monsters]

am I gregnant

[spencerreidenjoyer]

addicted to you | spencer reid x reader

Spencer isn’t inclined to be affectionate with you. He’s a socially awkward germaphobe, and you’re perfectly fine with it. However, being three months into your relationship, you can’t help but want more. Once Spencer gets a taste, he wants more too. A lot more.

part 1 | part 2 - insatiable

wc: 6.1k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: established relationship, first times, virgin!spencer, early seasons spencer, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering praise kink, morning wood, morning sex, sex in unconventional places (like, not in public but not the bed lol), cunnilingus, creampie, implied multiple orgasms

a/n: no excuse for this insane fic but i was strangely inspired by a post i saw on twitter that i wanted to put a lighthearted (and horny) spin on. i definitely felt crazy writing this and i feel crazy posting this now so i sure hope you enjoy this insanity! (p.s you can also find this fic on ao3!)

You don’t mind that Spencer isn’t touchy. You understand, with Spencer being a germaphobe and a little socially awkward, that he isn’t inclined to kisses on the cheek or holding your hand. You’ve only been dating for three months, and he’s already getting better at doing these things, which makes your heart sing. 

Spencer is sweet, willing to do whatever it takes to make you happy. He used to shy away from your touch, but he’s gotten more comfortable with you. He lets you hold his hand when you’re out on a date, or he’ll kiss you chastely out in public. He lets you drape yourself over him when you’re sitting on the couch together watching a show, his arm around your waist to pull you in close. 

While you can understand Spencer’s hesitance towards public displays of affection, due to his awkwardness and anxieties about germs, you’re surprised he hasn’t initiated anything more in the privacy of his apartment (or yours). You’re starting to itch for it, something more, your attraction to Spencer Reid simply too overwhelming for it to simply be sweet and innocent anymore. Your body craves him desperately, because he’s so lovely and so fucking handsome. You’ve caught yourself staring at his hands more than once.

Tonight, you decide you’ll get what you want. You’re going to fuck Spencer Reid.

With your head buried in his shoulder during movie night, your hand runs down his body, getting dangerously close to his crotch – he jumps up off the couch, almost comedic, and stares at you like your touch had burned him. He looks positively freaked out. 

“Spencer,” you say, very confused that he’s not into this. What kind of man doesn’t like his girlfriend initiating sex? Hell, what kind of man doesn’t like sex? 

“I just–” Spencer pauses, like he’s struggling to find the words. “I can’t. Not right now, I–”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You assure him. “We don’t have to. Ever, if that’s what you want.”

His eyes widen again. “No! I want to, just– It’s difficult, right now.”

You cock your head slightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Spencer frowns slightly, seeming to know that talking about it is the most rational thing to do, but it’s not like that makes him want to do it. “Well, I– I’ve never done it before.”

Your mouth falls open, just a little, and you look up at him. While you don’t mean to judge, it certainly isn’t surprising. Spencer was fourteen when he was starting university, and his general awkward demeanour and extreme nerdiness would likely rule out any sexual encounters for him during his time in college. Spencer’s line of work would clearly make it difficult for him to maintain a relationship – you definitely lucked out with getting to date him – and he’s too much of a softie for one night stands. So, Spencer Reid being a virgin at twenty-seven definitely checks out.

“That’s okay,” you say softly. “It’s totally normal.”

Spencer’s lips press into a thin line. “Well, you know it took me a while to get used to being affectionate with you, so I think–”

“Being intimate with someone else is going to be a hurdle you’ll need time to cross, too?” 

Spencer looks up at you, eyes wet, looking at you like you’ve read him like an open book. He whispers, “Yeah.”

“That’s okay,” you repeat, even though you’re trying to come to terms with the fact that you’re not going to fuck Spencer Reid tonight. “I’ll– We’ll take it slow, if you want to try.”

“Yes, please.” He has a small smile on his lips as he looks up at you. “I– We could try doing something tonight, too. I just– I wasn’t expecting it earlier. I’m sorry for pushing you off like that.”

You shake your head, reassuring him that you aren’t offended by it by any means. Then, you ask, “You’re sure you want to try? Tonight?”

Spencer nods, as he reaches for your hand. He holds it gently, resting it on his thigh. “Yeah. I haven’t– It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone, but I want to, with you.”

You lean in to kiss his cheek gently. “I’m glad you trust me.”

His eyes are soft and syrupy when he meets your gaze. “Of course I trust you.”

You squeeze Spencer’s thigh before pressing your lips to his, the familiarity of kissing Spencer making you both ease up a little more. Your kiss is gentle, sweet, just like every other kiss you've shared, but you let your hand slide up his thigh as you kiss him, and you can feel Spencer tensing up under your touch. You squeeze his thigh to reassure him, and you feel Spencer wriggle underneath where you're leaning your body weight on him to loosen up. 

Your hand skirts over his crotch, a hardness under your palm that makes you feel somewhat proud of yourself. Spencer’s breathing is heavy as he keeps kissing you, and keeps letting you touch him. You think he’s so cute. You just want to make him feel good. 

You push the waistband of his sweats down, tugging him out of his pants. His cock is the same shade of red as his cheeks, his shyness turning you on extremely. 

He doesn’t look down at himself, where you’re holding him – instead, his eyes are intently focused on your face. You don’t push him about it, instead leaning forward to kiss him as you start to stroke his cock. 

This time, it feels desperate. Spencer kisses you with more fervour, like a fire’s been lit within him, the pleasure running through his veins almost like liquid courage as he kisses you deeply. You’re more than happy to be doing this, letting Spencer lick into your mouth while you jerk him off. You appreciate the weight of him in your hand, imagining him inside of you – but perhaps you’re getting ahead of yourself. 

“You can touch me, Spence,” you say, in between Spencer kissing you fervently. His hands have been cupping your face, but otherwise he seems awkward with them. You pull back slightly, and while it’s adorable that he’s still holding your face sweetly, you drag his hands down to your chest, in the oversized t-shirt you’d stolen from Spencer’s drawer. “Like this.”

Spencer’s large hands cup your breasts through the shirt perfectly. He squeezes tentatively. You bite your lip as his palms brush over your nipples, as he manhandles you just a little. It’s more force than you’re used to from Spencer, kneading and squeezing and feeling you, and that makes your head spin. 

Daringly, Spencer’s hands slip under your shirt, as he leans back in to kiss you. You feel his calloused hands on your skin as he feels you up, making you shudder. His touch isn’t demanding nor pushy, simply exploratory as he feels your soft skin under his fingertips. 

Your arousal is pumping through your system, Spencer’s gentle submissiveness like a drug you can’t kick. The more you touch him, the more he reacts; touching you more, whimpering and gasping against your lips, into your neck.

“Come on, baby,” you coo in his ear, your hand speeding up on Spencer’s hardness. He’s leaking pathetically, wet in your palm, and he squirms underneath you. 

“I’m– It’s too–” Spencer cuts himself off with a helpless whine, like he can’t control himself. His hands grip your waist tight. “Please–”

“Mm,” you hum sympathetically, while you thoroughly enjoy seeing Spencer like this. “Wanna cum like this, baby?”

Spencer’s breathing hard. He can’t get the words out, but he shakes his head. You slow your strokes, to an excruciating pressure on his length. “No? Then tell me, Spence.”

“Inside you,” He gasps, eyes squeezed shut. 

You absolutely should not let Spencer fuck you for the first time on his couch, but he’s desperate and your resolve is steadily crumbling. “You– You’re sure?”

“Please,” Spencer gasps, his eyes pleading with you helplessly.

So, you pull your hand back and push your shorts off instead. Your panties come off in one fell swoop, and you sit back onto the couch with your legs spread. Spencer’s eyes are wide and his lips are parted as he looks at you, takes the sight of you in. 

Then he’s like a baby deer, standing up and fumbling to get his sweatpants off. You can’t help but giggle at his awkward movements, in his excitement and eagerness to get to touch you, to get to fuck you. He’s quick to get between your legs, his hardness nudging at your entrance already. 

“Mm, not yet, Spence,” you hum. You reach for his hand, taking his wrist as you guide his fingers to your clit. “You know what to do, right?”

He turns his wrist so his fingers – God, his fingers – are poised almost elegantly above your clit. He presses down and starts to circle his fingers against you. You gasp.

“Thought you didn’t– oh– Didn’t have much experience,” you gasp. You hold onto Spencer’s forearm tight, throwing your head back as Spencer pleasures you.

Spencer huffs out a laugh. “I might not be experienced, but I’m not a prude– I remember the… stuff I’ve seen. Eidetic memory and all.”

“Stuff,” you laugh. “I’m sure the porn you’ve watched must’ve helped, darling.”

He slips his fingers into your wetness with an unsurprising ease, considering how turned on you are by him. He hits spots inside you you’ve never thought were possible to reach, but they make electricity zip up your spine. You moan as he crooks his fingers into you, rocking them in and out with a wet squelch.

Spencer grins at you. “You were saying?”

“You’re a cocky bastard, you know that?” you huff, your tone teetering between awfully turned on and mildly annoyed. 

“You like it,” Spencer says, assured of himself, and you smile, because you really do.

“My love,” you moan, as Spencer presses his fingers into you, back out. “You should try fucking me now.”

Spencer’s fingers are still inside of you, and his eyes are wide as he looks up at you. “You think so?”

You smile at him. “If you think you’re up for it.”

You mourn the loss of Spencer’s fingers, but as he’s mumbling to himself and lining his cock up with your entrance, you can only coo at how adorable you find all of this. And how turned on you are, but that’s more than obvious to the both of you by now. 

He looks to you, like he’s looking for reassurance. You nod. Even in the silence, he’s gotten the confidence to push his cock into you, the thickness of his tip breaching your hole. You gasp as you stretch around him, your cunt making space for him as he slides in, excruciatingly slow. “Spencer–”

Spencer lets out a whine as your tight heat engulfs him, his length swallowed up by you as he sinks deeper into you. “Oh, my God–”

“Just like that, baby,” you moan, your leg hooking around Spencer’s leg to coax him forward, closer to you. “Fuck.”

“Do I– When should I–” Spencer gasps, unable to form a coherent sentence with the pleasure swimming through his bloodstream. 

“You can start moving when you don’t feel like you’re going to blow your load if you breathe the wrong way,” you joke, but Spencer does seriously look like he’s going to finish any second. “Hey. Deep breaths, baby.”

Spencer’s brows are furrowed and his eyes are squeezed shut as he breathes in hard, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He’d told you to do that when he’d helped you through a panic attack one time, and while you feel bad that he feels so nervous about all this, it’s extremely amusing to you right now. 

“Look at me,” you say, trying your best not to laugh. “You’re doing great, love.”

Spencer pulls his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes looking to you for validation. 

“So good for me, darling,” you coo, your hand on his hip, while your thumb draws little circles into his skin. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer shudders, voice high-pitched and a little breathy. “I– You feel really good.”

“Yeah? It’ll feel even better when you start moving, sweetheart,” you hum. “You think you can do that for me? Slow, out then back in.”

Spencer whimpers, nodding, and he takes another deep breath in. His hands on your waist, he pulls out halfway before pressing back into you, and he moans so loudly your ears ring. “So– So tight, you–”

“That’s good, yeah? Feels good?” you coo. “Come on, baby. More.”

Spencer rests one of his arms on the back of the couch, holding himself steady and getting him that much closer to you. He starts to thrust in and out, starting off slow as he finds a rhythm. 

His thrusts are erratic, but you’re so wildly turned on and it still feels amazing, because it’s Spencer. 

Spencer is frantic, desperate, bracing himself against the couch as he fucks into you. Maybe pounding into you is a better phrase to use, because he’s fucking you like a madman, till the couch is squeaking under both your weight. You cry out, feeling Spencer drilling into you – and it feels so good.

“Oh, God,” Spencer whines. “You– It’s so good, oh–”

“Yeah, baby?” You rock your hips along with him, burying Spencer deeper into you. You clench so each thrust is a little tighter, and each time Spencer fucks into you, he moans a little louder. 

Amidst Spencer’s whines and pretty noises, you watch his face morph with pleasure, feeling assured that he’s enjoying this as much as you are. In fact, he’s probably enjoying this more. As you’re lost in your train of thought, admiring Spencer’s gorgeous face, you’re startled when you feel Spencer’s load inside of you, hot and slick. His hips flush against your ass, Spencer shudders as he rides out his orgasm, body trembling from the force of his pleasure.

“Oh, Spence,” you giggle, a little dizzy from how turned on you are, from watching Spencer lose himself just like that. You reach up to cup his face, your thumb gentle on his cheek. “Was that good?”

“Oh,” Spencer mumbles, seemingly brought back to reality. He pulls back, taking the sight of you in. “I’m– I’m good, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t be,” you say. “You’re so cute. It’s so hot.”

“I mean, you are too, but– But you haven’t–”

“You wanna make it up to me, then?” You smile, gentle and warm and Spencer nods like he’s eager to please you. 

You kiss him while he pulls out, replacing the thickness of his cock with two fingers, which fit into you easily. Like before, Spencer presses his fingers into you, slick and wet and squelchy. Spencer curls them and fingerfucks you like a pro, like he’s done this a hundred times. With his face pressed into your shoulder and your arms slung around his neck, Spencer fucks you on his fingers until your toes are curling and you’re screaming his name. You cry out as you orgasm, shaking as Spencer fucks you through it. 

You’re almost embarrassed when you finally come back to your senses, no longer reeling from the intensity of your orgasm. Spencer is kissing your jawline sweetly, his clean hand stroking your hair.

“Hey,” Spencer says softly, somehow knowing you needed to hear him. He parrots you from earlier, “Was– Was that good?”

“So good, my love,” you murmur into his shoulder. Then, after a quiet moment, “I thought you needed some time to get comfortable with being intimate.” 

Spencer pauses for a moment, like he’s pondering it, before he says, “I know. But for you, I think I’d do anything.”

That’s all Spencer manages to get out before you kiss him again. It’s tender and sweet, the intensity behind your kiss no longer lustful but full of adoration and love. You feel like you could sob right now, but you manage to hold it back.

Spencer gets into the shower with you, which you’re surprised by, but his hands are soft on your body as he cleans you up. You shampoo his hair for him, even though he has to lean forward a little so you can reach. 

You end up falling asleep in Spencer’s bed, curled up in his arms. 

You don’t dream at night, but when you wake up with a hardness poking against your thigh and Spencer’s gentle snoring in your ear, you think you might be. 

In your dreariness, you reach behind you, the angular sharpness of Spencer’s hip bone under your palm. He’s warm, cuddled up against you, and the tickling of his breath on your neck tells you that this isn’t a dream. 

“Spence,” you whisper, shaking him slightly. You watch as he blinks himself awake, drowsy as he comes to focus on your face. “Hey.”

“Good morning,” Spencer says, his voice rough with disuse. “What’s up?”

“You are,” you smile, a little too pleased, as your hand snakes down toward his crotch. 

He squeaks at the contact, your soft hand on his hardness, “Um, sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” you laugh. “Had a good dream?”

He pulls his lower lip between his teeth. “About you, yeah.”

“Wanna tell me about it?” you goad, wiggling your eyebrows. 

Spencer’s cheeks somehow get even redder than they already were, but he shakes his head. “I want– I want to have sex, though.”

Your eyes widen. “Now?”

“Do you have the time for it?” He asks, sheepish. “I– I want to fuck you again.”

Your cheeks flush at Spencer’s sudden crudeness. You think about what Spencer could’ve possibly dreamt up, wonder how Spencer could possibly be confident enough to tell you straight up that he wants to fuck you. That phrase probably hadn’t been in Spencer’s lexicon until about twelve hours ago – while Spencer was smart – a literal genius – his innocence was completely understandable. 

“We have time,” you exhale, looking back into his eyes after looking at the clock. “I only have to be at the office in a couple of hours.”

“Good,” Spencer says, leaning in to kiss down your neck. His hands are frisky already, slipping underneath your shirt. Spencer splays his hands over your stomach, before reaching up to cup your breasts in his hands. 

“You like touching me like this, don’t you, baby?” you chuckle breathlessly, already feeling weak in the knees from the way Spencer holds you. “Mm, I’m surprised.”

“Why is that?” His words are slightly muffled against your skin, too busy kissing you to make himself sound coherent. His hands are rough against the softness of your skin, and you moan from the way he’s handling you.

“Yesterday you couldn’t even tell me you wanted to fuck,” you croon, thoroughly pleased. “And now you’re touching me like you know what you’re doing. It’s so hot.”

“I– I just can’t get enough of you,” Spencer admits, his earnest words turning you on extremely.

“Now you’re just horny,” you laugh, feeling Spencer’s hand slide over your underwear.

“Mm, you’re so wet right now too,” Spencer murmurs in your ear, his warm breath and raspy voice sending a shiver down your spine. Where’d he learn to talk like that? You squeeze your thighs together, but that doesn’t stop Spencer from feeling the wetness between your legs, soaking through your panties. 

“All for you, baby,” you gasp, as Spencer’s fingers slip past the band of your underwear, deftly stroking your clit. “Spencer–”

“Can I fuck you? Please?” He pleads, breathy, his hips already rutting forward against your ass. 

His eagerness makes your head spin, his sudden confidence in the realm of sex surprising – maybe it’s cockiness, but you still find that stupidly attractive – but it is certainly welcomed. 

“Yes, Spence, please,” you shudder, the word yes leaving your lips enough for Spencer to pull your underwear down, over the swell of your ass. He fumbles with his own boxers for a moment, but soon you feel his hard, leaking tip pressed to your butt. He rocks his hips back and forth, desperately seeking whatever friction he can get. 

Lost in his own pleasure, Spencer is quick to slide his cock between your legs, the wetness from your cunt making it easy for him to rut into the tight, slick space. Like this, his length rubs up against you, the head of his cock nudging at your clit with every thrust of his hips. It feels primal, Spencer so far gone that he isn’t even fucking you proper, content with the slick, tight space between your thighs and your pussy. You wonder if you need to tell him, but Spencer’s groan in your ear is shaky as his tip catches on your hole.

His arms wrapped around you, both of you moan as Spencer finally sinks his cock into you. He slides in too easily, so easily you almost think he’d hadn’t meant to do it. Maybe he hadn’t, but you’d gotten there in the end, where you both need to be; Spencer buried inside of you.

It’s so different from yesterday, the angle when he presses into you from behind so exhilarating, so good. He’s just as desperate as last night, but there’s a sort of reckless confidence in his movements. His hands slide under your shirt to grab at your tits again, rocking his hips while he practically gropes you. It’s so hot your head spins. You feel like you’re going to explode.

“Spencer!” You cry out, your voice ripping its way out of your throat. Pleasure surges through you like electricity, Spencer’s thick cock hitting all the right spots from this angle. His eager desperation turns you on to no end, as you let him take you from behind. While you weren’t expecting lazy, morning sex at all, the intensity and desperation he fucks you with right now makes you think you could get used to this.

Spencer’s whine has your head spinning. His hips don’t slow, more rhythmic than yesterday but still as needy. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Yeah?” You coo breathlessly. You’re so fucking turned on, and every time Spencer drives his hips into you you can hear how wet you really are. “You’re doing so good for me, Spence, fucking me so good.”

“You like it? Is it good?” Spencer gasps, always so eager to please you.

“So good,” you moan. You’re still sore from last night, but the pleasure Spencer is giving you right now overrides all of that. You would love for him to wake you up like this every day. “I’m close, baby.”

“Oh,” Spencer says, like he’s surprised you’re already getting off on this, on him– “What do you need me to do?”

“Just keep going, Spence,” you gasp. “Keep fucking me just like this.”

Spencer’s hum is breathy, high-pitched. Somehow, his grip on you gets tighter, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The force he fucks you with is so wildly arousing. You’re so enamoured, and so turned on.

Your orgasm creeps up on you, slow and steady as it bubbles up inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the dirty, rough way Spencer fucks you, and then you feel his soft lips on your neck again. He isn’t properly kissing you – more like slobbering all over your neck, but you cry out as he does so, thighs pressing together as you reach your orgasm. You’re shaking through it, clenching around Spencer as you come, and Spencer’s gasping as your tight pussy pushes Spencer over the edge too. You feel his come inside of you, cock twitching as his load spurts hot and heavy into your cunt. You sob, feeling Spencer slow his thrusts as he rides out his orgasm.

“Holy shit,” you say, your voice coming out ragged and hoarse. You feel like a different woman, being fucked ruthlessly by your boyfriend in his bed for the first time. You can’t get enough. 

“I love you,” Spencer says quietly, earnest. It makes you shudder. 

“You’re crazy,” you laugh, taken aback at how Spencer’s returned to his gentle, soft self. “I love you too, you madman.”

“I can’t resist you,” he murmurs in your ear, the vibrations of his raspy morning voice almost soothing.

You turn around to face him, Spencer still holding you in his arms. He smiles warmly at you, and you lean in to kiss him. “You’re so cute.”

“Wanna go again?” he asks, somewhat timid. 

Your eyes widen. You try to hide your grin, but it doesn’t work. “Someone’s desperate, huh?”

Spencer flushes a gorgeous red. “Maybe a little?”

“I have to get ready for work,” you sigh, actually a little bummed that you can't spend all day fucking Spencer. “Maybe tonight?”

“Okay,” Spencer smiles. “Want me to drive you back to yours?”

You grin. “You’re the best!”

Work is relatively uneventful, numbers and Excel spreadsheets; and all you can think about is Spencer’s rapid change in demeanour over the last twelve hours, his innocence torn away by you, leaving behind a horny, insatiable man. You’re kind of proud of yourself for that. 

So, you can’t blame yourself for being excited to get back to Spencer’s. Lately, you’ve been staying over more, your apartment simply a place to house your wardrobe. Maybe you’ll talk to Spencer about living together.

“Hey, Spence,” you say, pleased when Spencer kisses you as he greets you at the door. 

Even with all the probable germs on you from being out all day, Spencer’s surprisingly clingy, hands on your waist as he stumbles in behind you, as you set the takeout you’d brought over on his dining table. Spencer leans in behind you, kissing your cheek then down your neck.

“Hey, what’s with you, baby?” you chuckle, very much enjoying the way Spencer’s hands slide down your waist to your hips, grabbing the meat of your thighs through your dress pants.

“Missed you,” Spencer answers simply, but even you can tell there’s something in his voice that implies he’s looking for something more. 

“I’m sorry I had to leave you alone the whole day, my love. I’m sure you must’ve found something to busy yourself with, though?” You hum, teasing. You have a good idea of where this is going.

Spencer’s quiet for a moment, so you turn to look at him. His lips are pressed into a thin line, looking almost nervous, and his cheeks are flushed red. Spencer finally presses his body close to yours, and you feel it–

“Spence,” you grin, “Someone’s happy to see me.”

“Thought about it– Thought about you all day,” Spencer mumbles. “You promised.”

“What did I promise, baby?” you egg him on, eager to hear him say it, even though you definitely know what he’s going to ask. 

“That we would do it again tonight,” he answers, but you shoot him a look. “You said we would have sex again tonight.”

“Twice in one day? I don’t know, baby,” you pretend to sound disinterested.

Spencer looks at you with wide eyes. Respectful as ever, he clears his throat. “Please? If you’re tired we don’t have to, but I really want to. Only if you want to, though. This involves both of us, I don’t want to impose–”

You giggle, reaching to hold his hands. “God, you’re perfect.”

“What–?” Spencer barely gets the word out before you’re kissing him. He’s happy to do so, holding your face gently, matching your energy perfectly. You feel his cock pressing against you. 

“I turned you into a sex fiend,” you laugh, between kissing him, “And you’re still thinking about making sure I’m into it too.”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Spencer’s brows furrow slightly, like he can’t comprehend how he could be into it if you weren’t too. “And I- I’m not a sex fiend, I just–”

Smiling, you whisper sultrily, “I think you should take me right here, baby.”

“Oh–” You cut Spencer off with another kiss, and he squeaks as you reach for his half-hard cock through his sweatpants. You’re positively delighted that Spencer’s like this, for you.

Spencer kisses you deeply, leaning forward until the small of your back hits the edge of the table. His hands coming up to your ass, he lifts you up, getting you to lay back on the table. You gasp, as Spencer kisses down the column of your neck, his hands making quick work of the buttons of your dress shirt. His lips are soft against your skin, at the swell of your breasts. Your shirt gets pushed off your shoulders. You feel him unhook your bra with a surprising ease, tossed aside, and then his hands are grabbing your tits like they were made for him. His thumbs brush over your nipples, a little forceful as he kneads at you, and your head is spinning. 

“Spencer,” you moan, as he kisses down your stomach, unbuttoning your pants to reveal your soaked-through underwear. He smiles up at you, his messy mop of hair a lovely sight. 

“Can I…?” Spencer’s big brown eyes dart down to where you’re soaked, then back up at you.

Your eyes widen. “Yes. If you want to.”

Spencer grins. “Of course I want to.”

His fingers are gentle on your hips as he pulls your panties off, wasting no time in spreading your legs so he can get between them. Your eyes are wide as you watch him, feeling kind of self-conscious over how eager he is to be doing this. Knelt between your thighs, he lifts one of your legs and swings them over his shoulder. You can feel his stubble on the soft skin of your inner thigh, his nose nudging against your clit. His tongue comes up, wet and hot, as he tastes you for the first time. “Spencer–”

He presses his face impossibly closer, more urgent in eating you out. You watch as his eyes flutter shut, his jaw flexing as his tongue works on you, and you’re trembling already. Spencer’s extremely good with his mouth, and you’re surprised at how good he’s making you feel, considering he likely hasn’t done this before. The sounds of his mouth are wet and squelchy and so obscene, and you would feel almost embarrassed, were it not for how into this Spencer seems to be too, 

With your hands in his hair, you cry out when Spencer’s tongue circles your swollen clit, jolts of pleasure sent through your body. You can’t think straight when Spencer’s face is buried between your legs, eating you out like he was made for this. All you can think about is how gifted Spencer is with his tongue, and how you wish you could do this all night. 

“Please, love,” you moan, “Need you to fuck me.”

Spencer hums in approval, the vibrations between your legs making you jump. He makes a little wet slurping noise before he comes back up, and you feel your cunt throb when he looks up at you with his lovely, wide brown eyes, and his chin wet and messy with your slick. Spencer wipes his face with the back of his hand, and you’re so turned on you might just explode.

“I love you,” you tell him earnestly. “I think this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done. I love you.”

“What is? Having sex on my dinner table?” Spencer quips, as he sets your legs down and stands back up. He has a cocky grin plastered on his face. 

You roll your eyes playfully. “First time for everything, right?”

Spencer nods, smiling, before he leans forward to kiss you sweetly. You watch as he pulls his sweatpants down, his cock bobbing up, red and angry and rock hard. You feel yourself salivating at the sight, but decide that he needs to fuck you right now.

“Spencer,” you mewl, feeling breathless as you watch him wrap a hand around himself, stroking his length. Concentration is written all over his face and it makes you want to kiss him. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” Spencer says, pressing his cock forward until he’s lined up with your entrance. It’s so tantalising, the way the blunt head of his cock threatens to slip into you. You’re so wet and so loose for him, and you need him inside of you now.

You gasp when he finally pushes in, his thick cock splitting you in half as he slides into you. The pressure is so perfect, the slow draw of his hips as he takes care not to rush, wanting to take care of you. Even with all this still being new for Spencer, he still focuses on you, puts you first. You’re not sure if you’re swooning over him, or the way his cock fits inside you perfectly.

You don’t need to encourage him to start moving. He rocks his hips slowly, somehow already familiar with your body, and makes you feel like you could explode with pleasure. 

He leans forward, pressing his body to yours as he kisses you. Like this, Spencer presses into you deeper, fucks you slow and deep and loving. The edge of the table is absolutely digging into your back, but you don’t care when every sense of yours is filled with Spencer, getting to taste and touch and hear him. You taste yourself on his tongue, hear the sloppy way he thrusts into you, your skin burning wherever he’s pressed up against you. 

Burying his face in your neck, Spencer pants in your ear, hot and heavy as he fucks you, giving you everything you need. Your head is swimming with arousal, as Spencer presses you against the table and fucks you like his life depends on it. “You feel so good, fuck, so good–”

“I’m so close, baby,” you cry out, the pace absolutely ruthless as Spencer fucks you. You didn’t think his stamina would be this good, considering your boyfriend’s lanky stature and abhorrence towards exercise. You certainly wouldn’t mind doing this kind of cardio with him more often. “Please, Spence–”

“Let go, I– I’m here for you,” Spencer stumbles over his words, but he’s so sweet that you’re losing yourself, your orgasm crashing into you like a tidal wave. You scream as you reach your peak, your toes curling while Spencer fucks you through it, shaking as pleasure and arousal zips through your body. Spencer’s hips stutter as the tightness of your pussy has him reeling, too close too quickly. 

While his hips keep a steady pace, you’re feeling loopy as Spencer continues to fuck you. You hold his head close to you, kissing his forehead as you murmur, “You’re so hot, Spence. Made me come so quickly, and you held out for me? So good for me, baby. Are you close?”

Spencer whines, a pitiful noise in the back of his throat. “Please, I’m so close, need you–”

“I’m right here, baby,” you coo, stroking his sweat-matted hair sweetly. You’re so enamoured with him. “Gonna cum inside me, Spence? Fill me up with your–”

You don’t even get to finish your dirty talk before Spencer is moaning, coming inside of you. It feels like he’s released so much inside of you, hot and messy as he fucks you through his own high. His chest heaves as he pants, trembling as he reels from the intensity of his orgasm. Spencer’s hips slow to a stop, and he mouths at your neck mindlessly until he seems to get his bearings back. You imagine you must look a mess, sweat and spit all over you, your makeup from a long day of work likely running by now. 

Spencer gets up off of you, so both of you have space to catch your breaths. You feel Spencer slip out of you with a slick ‘pop’, and feel his release trickle out of you just moments after. You stifle a quiet moan, but when you look up at Spencer, his eyes couldn’t possibly leave the sight between your legs. His lips are parted slightly, pupils blown wide, as he watches you drip with his release. You feel Spencer’s cock, resting against your inner thigh, twitch slightly. 

“Woah there, cowboy,” you chuckle, out of breath. “Give me a minute to recover.”

His eyes practically twinkle when they dart up to look at you. He’s like an excited puppy as he asks, “Again?”

You shake your head, laughing, and sit up to kiss Spencer again. “Maybe we could try something new?”

Spencer grins, nodding eagerly. It definitely seems like he’s down for whatever, as long as it’s with you. 

[shiny-jr]

I’ve just had a vision, what if a yan (e.g riddle or vil because they are most princess-ish) was a trapped in a castle away like in one of those stereotypical fairy tales and the reader decides to save them because they are a ‘damsel in distress’ and reader is like a hero… only to realise there is a reason why they were locked away (because they were batshit crazy)

Warning: Yandere. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Vil Schoenheit.

Summary: You are a thief with freshly stolen goods. Chased and hunted down, you avoid capture by finding a castle hidden in gloom and fog. Locals told legends of this place, saying a royal had been trapped within. Of course, you don't quite believe such tall tales. That is, until you discover the royal and learned that they were purposefully sealed inside...

Note: I think I'll call this one, not your valiant savior. It's just a placeholder name for now. Just a quick post, so sorry if it's bad.

It was too easy. What did they expect when they left out a priceless object owned by the royal family and estimated to be worth a fortune? Of course a famed thief on the loose such as yourself, would just be itching to snatch the relic. And snatch you did, living up to your reputation of thief. Each member having unique abilities to assist in stealing. Your mother had speed to outrun anyone in a chase, your grandfather had the talent of picking any locks, your great-grandmother could sweet-talk anyone then rob them blind. And so on and so forth.

And of course, you had your own talent. As quiet as a mouse and with fingers that stuck to valuables like glue, stealing became like second nature. Literally. However, it wasn't exactly a talent valued by the wider community, and if you stole enough you could end up on terribly drawn wanted posters. Which is why staying in one place wasn't wise.

From place to place, you went taking and claiming anything of worth. When you got very low on cash, you set your sights high: on the vault that stored the royal's priceless treasures. There was bound to be endless riches stored within, if only you could get your grubby hands on them. Well, after careful planning, you had. It wasn't a giant gem or sack full of gold.

Time was short, so you had grabbed the closest thing you could before guards could find you. A golden box encrusted with jewels. Who knew what was inside? Maybe some family heirloom, a magical artifact, or something else of high value. And with the box, you bolted, and the chase had begun out of the city and through the woods.

As fast as you could, you ran through the mystic woods, a forrest travelers and locals alike were all wary of. It was the safest place you could go when chased by frightening palace guards on horseback that would do anything to take back what you stole and drag you back to the gallows. Even the woods heavy with fog and dark from the clouds overhead, had deterred your pursuers enough for you to slip out of their reach and deeper into the forrest where there was no way they would be able to track you. Here, you would have to wait until tomorrow and depart early. Then, you'd be home free and rich beyond your wildest dreams.

After what felt like hours of walking, you stumbled upon a bridge over a gloomy lake. In the middle, sat an old castle of gray stone and dark windows. A castle once said to hold a royal captive, but of course, you didn't believe such stories that were so old they were told to your own grandparents. This castle would be your sanctuary for the night. And maybe, just maybe, you'd clutch the jeweled box and dream of simpler times when you were told fairytales of locked away royals waiting for a savior.

The castle was exactly like those set in spooky tales, haunted by vengeful spirits and claimed by ghosts. It appeared abandoned, that much was obvious by the crumbling stone bridge and the battered old wooden doors that once protected the inhabitants.

Cautiously stepping over the splintered debris of the front door, you didn’t bother boarding it up since no one would be stupid enough to follow you inside.

There was wreckage and ruin everywhere. If you had to guess, whatever happened here, whether the people were driven away by conflict or time, it was followed by the destruction of time. Time with weather were likely all factors that led to the disarray of what was probably once a grand estate. Strangely enough, there was furniture and decor. Everything coated in dust and grime, but still here. Had people been too afraid to enter the grounds? There were so many valuables that could've been looted!

"I'll definitely have to come back here later." You scoff, turning over a few clothes or broken furniture with your foot to uncover possible hidden goodies. Maybe something as small but valuable as a ring was lost somewhere on the ground.

Proceeding to carry the golden box under your arm, you decide to search for the cleaniest, not-so-moldy room where you could spend the night. On the third floor halls, you see ripped curtains and frames where portraits loosely hung. Every rug was brown with dirt and dust.

There were items left behind, which showcased the life one led here. A piano too big to steal, the skeleton of a chandelier and broken gems hanging from its limbs, empty glass perfume bottles now filled with dust. The place must've been wondrous once, but now it was like a tomb. A setting frozen in time.

When you found moonlight filtering through the open balcony of what looked to be the master bedroom, you paused to see the space wrecked more than the others. As if more than just weather and time had affected this place. The owner of this castle likely slept in this very room, on that very bed where the sheets were ruffled and unkempt.

"I wonder who used to live here..." You murmur to no one in particular, as you approach the balcony looking over the bridge and woods. This would be a good vantage point.

A heavy fog settled over the woods, extending over the bridge like water. Good, an extra layer for cover. You stepped back into the room, analyzing every carved piece of wooden furniture, makeup and brushes stored on tabletops, a separate room as long as a hallway and filled with all types of articles of clothing.

If all this was still here, then was it possible some jewelry was left behind? You scoured the room, looking for hidden compartments while murmuring to yourself to fill the ominous silence. As you pulled back a curtain against a wall, you furrowed your eyebrows when you saw an uneven lump underneath the wallpaper.

Could this be handle leading to a vault of treasures? With that in mind, you ripped off the old wallpaper. A glimmer of gold made your heart soar with hope, but when you caught sight of your reflection, you stopped and stared. A mirror. It was a large mirror, oval shaped, with golden borders so intricately decorated. However, when a hand suddenly appeared on the other side of the mirror, like a ghostly apparition, you screamed and stumbled back.

A hand– there was a hand in the mirror! You stared with widened eyes full of shock, as the hand pressed its palm against the surface of the glass. You couldn't see anything else, no one behind the hand. After a second, the slim pale hand delicately pointed a long dainty finger at the box you were holding in a vice grip.

"What...? This? You want this? But..."

You had worked hard to procure this golden box from the royals. Pursing your lips, you contemplated your options, with so many questions running rampant in your mind. What was that thing? A magic mirror? A magic mirror would be priceless, much more valuable than any gold. However, if it was magic, it would be tricky. Possibly even sentient. So you'd have to gain its favor.

"Alright, alright, the box. You know, I went through hell trying to get this."

You informed the mirror, unsure if it even understood you. You carefully set down the heavy box in front of the mirror, and watch as the hand made a motion with its fingers.

Click!

It had unlocked the box, without even a key or tool. A grin broke out on your face. Had it done it for you? Apparently not, because the box opened on its own and a heavy thick tome floated out from it and into the air. The hand beckoned the tome closer, and closer it came, until it was literally phasing through the glass.

"Hey! Wait––"

The glass shattered, the sound booming and ringing out in the silence like an explosion. You only had a second to react, instinctually using your arms to shield your face from the glass flying out in every direction. When it stopped, you looked around. The mattress was shredded, the curtains torn to shreds, wooden furniture cut as if done by an axe, but miraculously you were somehow unharmed.

A breath, not of your own, caught your attention. Your eyes darted over to the now broken mirror, awestruck at the vision of a figure stepping over broken glass. They were beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, more than any words could convey. Their hair like gold and eyes an alluring shade of purple like two amethyst stones, soft pink lips, and a tall slim pale figure clothed in odd robes. For a moment, whoever this person was, appeared disoriented for a brief moment, but they clutched the tome like a lifeline. The tome that came from the box you had stolen.

"Thank you––"

He breathed, his voice quiet as he attempted to stand tall and upright. When his legs nearly gave out beneath him, you were there to catch his hand and prevent him from falling as he looked at you with appreciation. You were just stunned, bewildered, in pure disbelief.

"You... You freed me. You returned my stolen tome...!"

He exclaimed in disbelief, as he restored his posture. Somehow, he was able to stand in heels, but heels were currently one of the least important details.

What did he mean freed?

There was no time to ask any questions. The loud sound of the shattering must've alerted any of your pursuers that had followed you thus far, because from the balcony you could make out the torchlights weaving their way directly towards the bridge.

The mysterious man from the mirror took notice of your expression of dismay as he glanced at the distant torchlights. Smoothing out his robes, he looked back at you and took in your expression. "Enemies of yours?"

"Yes..." You nod slowly.

"Now that just won't do. I can't have anyone harming, or even killing my savior. I've yet to even learn your name." Tapping some well-manicured fingers against the spine of the tome, he appeared to contemplate something. When he stopped tapping his fingers, he smiled so sweetly. "I am Vil Schoenheit, prince and prodigy. Here's my proposition to you, my savior: I will destroy your enemies for a small price. You must tell me your name, and I will grant you my protection."

Of course you gave him your name, and almost immediately you saw the fog below turn an odd color. The torchlights flickered out, you no longer heard their encouraged shouts to move forward but instead their screams echoing in the dark woods. All after Vil murmured a few words in a foreign tongue read from his tome, as he continued to gaze at your intently. What exactly was he to cause so much death in a single instant with hardly any effort...? And you were stuck in this abandoned castle with him.

The prince had no plans to abandon you, he's made that much clear when you attempted to casually part ways after thanking him for getting rid of your pursuers. Stay. I can make it worth your while. Once I reach my former glory, you'll be able to bask in it with me. Is what he said as you swore you heard the front of the castle be sealed shut.

The entire time he looked around the castle with disdain, cross as he complained about the state of his home. While helping him clean up some rooms, he told you more about himself. Vil was a prince who once lived in this castle, set to inherent the throne shortly after the death of his father. However, he was widely feared due to being a prodigy in dark magics and genius at brewing concoctions. For attempting to steal the life of a younger kinder foreign prince who specialized in good magic, he was trapped in a mirror with his tome being the only key to grant him freedom.

Vil actually appeared to be much too fond of you, which you attributed to his isolation. If you were imprisoned all alone in a mirror for centuries, you likely would've gone insane. It was a miracle Vil's mind was intact, but maybe he wasn't there entirely. Because what sane person killed people with the snap of their fingers while smiling so kindly at the one who set him free?

Pridefully he listed off his feats and accomplishments. Living prodigy. Most beautiful man in the land. Prince of the land. It felt too much like flaunting, as he wanted you to realize how truly great he was. He replaced your clothes with his own, and while combing your hair he reminded you that what's rightfully his will be returned to him one day, and you would be there beside him that day.

The crown was what he wanted, a crown he believed was stolen from him and passed down to the descendants of the very good prince he attempted to kill. He spoke of a future in the castle restored to its former glory, where citizens would be loyal to him once again, and those that wronged him will receive a fate worse than death. Positions were open for applying once he became king, he told you one day. He was still searching for a vassal, a knight, a jester, or a partner to wear a crown as well.

Was it the isolation that had driven him to become so attached to the one who set him free? It was possible, but you couldn't even be sure. For all you knew, he could've been like this before he became trapped in the mirror. What mattered now was that he did not make any effort to hide his attraction towards you. Vil was offering a thief all the riches he would attain after his plan for vengeance, and his heart in a golden box.

"Keep the knives I gifted you, although I doubt you'll have to resort to lifting a finger. Just allow me to handle it when the time comes. I want to extract vengeance slowly and painfully, make them hurt just as they did to me... And at the end of the day, you will be there, you little thief who stole my affections, to comfort me and drive away those memories of cold lonely centuries in darkness. You'll be there for me, won't you, my valiant savior?"

[bloodblanks]

do homicipher characters experience arousal?

i want to preface this by saying that i am not in any way, shape, or form criticizing other homicipher writers and/or their headcanons. i absolutely adore the work i’ve seen from everyone and am grateful to be able to read it! this is simply my personal thoughts on this topic so i hope it doesn’t come across like i’m trying to demean anyone else’s work.

additional note: i write reader insert so i will be referring to us as the reader rather than mc, but my post should work for both interpretations ^^

this is something i’ve been thinking about a lot since i’m working on some nsfw homicipher headcanons myself. from what i’ve read, a lot of homicipher work headcanon the characters as not really experiencing and/or knowing what arousal is, at least until they meet the reader (which is extremely endearing and flattering, i love the concept, and there’s nothing wrong with it!) but i personally came to the conclusion that homicipher characters do experience arousal, and have experienced it before meeting the reader. however, i believe their perception of arousal differs from ours.

to start, the reason i think they experience arousal to begin with, is because arousal isn’t just an emotional or mental response, but also a physiological function. similar to other physical needs (ie: food, sleep, water)—which i think they also require though that’s for another post—arousal doesn’t necessarily require conscious thought or emotional processes. arousal can be merely a response to touch or certain sensory inputs, something that happens regardless of how we think or feel.

while i think arousal is a natural function for them, i don’t believe they are likely to have had sex with other homicipher characters. the reason for that is also why i say they experience arousal differently—they don’t understand attraction. this is based on both my personal bias of wanting them to ourselves, but also the in game interactions with mr. hood and mr. silvair, where they fail to grasp the concept of ‘liking’ an individual.

since they don’t experience attraction (yet!), i imagine their perception of arousal would be a mechanical or instinctual one; just something their bodies respond to. much like thoughtlessly scratching an itch, they likely address it more as a physical need to take care of, rather than associating it with any deeper desires or having it directed/related to another person.

my silly little reader insert loving self does insist that they feel some sort of attraction towards us, though, which i believe will be a newfound feeling for them that can change how they experience arousal. with them able to feel attraction towards us, their once neutral and unassuming need can become something more intimate, romantic, or even obsessive depending on the character.

tl;dr homicipher characters have always experienced arousal but only as a bodily function, as they don’t understand attraction until meeting and developing interest in the reader, which changes their perception of arousal to something more complex and intimate.

thank you everyone for reading my silly little shower thoughts. i hope this was coherent enough and made sense! (>^ω^<)

feel free to leave any of your thoughts below if you have any comments on this! and feel free to argue with me if you think i’m yapping nonsense... (･･;)

[ariel26c]

🎀Things I’ve learned about Shifting 🎀

1. Background noise doesn’t matter. I come from a Hispanic family household and let me tell you hun it’s freaking loud as hell. It’s like a zoo lol but guess what? I still shifted. At some point you will start to feel your CR kinda “fade away”. I have been in this state where I am in between my CR and DR. I can hear background noise from my CR but I still feel like I’m in a different room or I hear sounds from my DR as well. Has anyone experienced this?? Let me know, I’m curious 🤨

2. Have patience. Allow yourself to relax and naturally connect to your DR. Don’t stress about having random thoughts or having an itch or things like that. Have patience with yourself like seriously you got this babe. Sometimes for me it’s feels like it’s takes 1 or 2 hours until I feel fully connected to my DR. (It’s different for everyone btw) you may take less time than I do. Those things don’t matter if you decide that those things don’t matter.

3. Methods really aren’t needed. If you think about it all methods consist of the same thing usually. It usually consists of affirmations, visualization, subliminal audios, meditation, counting, blah blah blah. If you want to use a method, then do that but don’t force yourself to do a method that doesn’t resonate with you. If you don’t like counting, then don’t count. If you don’t like visualizing, then don’t visualize. Change things up a bit and listen to music that reminds you of your DR or do something that you think is fun.

4. Just because some people like to lie about their shifting experiences doesn’t mean that shifting is fake. Just like in every community there is going to be people that are dishonest or don’t have the best intentions but that doesn’t mean that shifting is a big inside joke. Don’t allow these people to discourage you from shifting to your DR or make you doubt in its existence. Don’t depend on other people's content to feel motivated or believe in shifting. Just KNOW it’s real and motivate yourself to shift. (even though motivation isn’t needed to shift)

5. Shifting is Real. I think we all should know this by now, but I don’t think people really fully understand just how REAL shifting is. I mean you are going to be able to use all of your senses. You will be able to taste food, see your reflection in the mirror, talk to people that may be considered as fictional in this reality, etc. The process of shifting is safe but if you are shifting somewhere that has violence or gore make sure you script your own well-being. High pain tolerance, no trauma, etc.

6. Time isn't important. Just because it's been 4 years or 5 doesn't mean you can't do it. Time doesn't apply to shifting because time is just man-made thing. We created the concept of time not the Universe. Don't blame the Universe for your "Failure". (Spoiler alert: it's not failure) You just need to realize that no matter what, it will happen. It is completely inevitable. Some people have shifted after 5 years so don't give up! It will be worth it.

7. You can't fail at shifting. When you do your method, you will shift to your DR or shift to your CR. You shift all the time. We are constantly shifting consciously or unconsciously. Manifestation and shifting are very much closely related. (But that's another discussion for another time) Just like how we are manifesting on autopilot we are also shifting on autopilot. So, when you do a sleep method, and you wake up in this reality instead of your DR you still shifted. (Just not to your DR) (Get it?)

I hope you found this post helpful! :)

[caseykeshui]

They r all friends talking before work hehe

—————————

YALL I did not want to die again but school work like projects and midterms caught up with me gdi 😭 I’ve been itching to post something - I don’t post on Tuesdays but hey that’s okay 😌 hope you guys are doing well mwa ❤️

Anyway I’ve been watching gameplays of these 3 games and thought it’d be nice to draw them together

[gatorlovebot]

inspired by @ghouljams ghost distribution system posts <3

thinking about neighbor simon who watches you move in to the little 1 bedroom rental property next to his own. it takes it a few days for it to sink in that it’s just you living in the home. seemingly no partner, no roommates, no family. it makes his skin itch and his fingers twitch.

he doesn’t know why he introduces himself to you, but when he walks out his front door with riley, leash in hand, his feet start moving himself closer to your porch. you're struggling to hang a potted plant on a hook and even though he desperately wants to take it from you and hang it himself, end your struggle, he stays firmly planted right in front of your porch steps.

the look of triumph on your face sets something off in his stomach before you finally notice him. he can tell you're taken aback by his presence on your stoop and he's not surprised. but your eyes cut down to riley whose standing at attention by his side and your eyes soften and a smile threatens to split your lips because of his boy.

"oh, hi," you greet him, still kind to him regardless of his intrusion.

"hi," his voice is gruff, not the kindest it's ever been. he doesn't want to give away too much, how he felt compelled to come to you. "you just move in?"

he watches as your eyes slip down to riley again, probably easier to look at the grinning dog by his feet than him. "yeah, just last week." you confirm.

"just you in there?" he's prying and he knows it, but he couldn't stop even if he wanted to.

you look back up at him and he allows himself to look at the column of your throat. "yeah, just me." you sound weary, good, he thinks. "is it just you and the dog, then?"

tit for tat. "ya', just me and riley."

your face softens and a smile graces your lips as you look back down at riley. "riley?" your voice is soft, like you're talking to something precious and small, it makes riley's ears perk up. "good name for a good boy."

simon huffs a breath, a tiny little chuckle of a thing. he can only imagine how ths interaction would go if he hadn't had riley with him. he would have hoped you wouldn't have been that forthcoming with a complete stranger at your doorstep. his mind is screaming at him to leave, to get off your stoop and to leave your life as quickly as he inserted himself into it. but your kindness eats away at him, settling low in his gut. he's always had an easier time listening to his body than his head.

he watches as you reach your hand out for riley to sniff, it’s not often that him and riley get approached by strangers so riley revels in the attention, nosing at your hand for pets and scratches. “i’ve been thinking of getting a dog, maybe riley can have a friend in the neighborhood.”

of course you’re thinking of getting a dog, a young thing like you on your own for the first time, your first taste of freedom getting something of your own. he shouldn't make assumptions, but he does. you had only been in your own place for a week and you're already thinking of getting something to take care of. maybe he'll have to get a tight leash to keep you on.

"haven't been on your own for very long," he doesn't phrase it as a question, instead it comes out as a statement, a fact, because it is. somehow he just knows this is your first chance at independence.

"yeah, you're right," you agree, still rubbing riley's ears but your eyes look dejected.

he can't bare to look at your far away eyes and down turned lops any longer, tugging riley closer to himself clearing his throat. "well, we should get going." he watches you give one last per to riley, cooing at the dog with a little wave. he feels something in him shift.

-

the next day when he leaves his house with riley his feet take him back up your walk and onto your porch. you aren't out today, so simon needs to knock on your door. he doesn't expect you to answer after he raps his knuckles against the wood grain, but out the corner of his eye he sees you peek out the front window to look out your porch. good, can't have you opening up the door to strangers.

you look surprised to see him, but your eyes brighten when you see riley. "oh, hi guys," you greet the both of them, your voice sweet and polite. simon takes in your appearance, wrapped up in soft, comfy clothes. he knows he should feel a bit of remorse at interrupting your time, but he doesn't, too preoccupied with the way you crouch down to stoke over riley's ears.

"thought you may want to join us," he says in lieu of a greeting. you look up at him with a confused expression, eyebrows furrowed. all he does is tug loosely on riley's leash as explanation.

"oh," you put the pieces together, smart girl. "really?," you question, "i don't want to bother you-"

"if i didn't want you to join us, i wouldn't have come over." he contends, shutting his mouth before begging words are able to slip past his lips.

your expression smooths out despite his gruff words and you give riley a meaningful look before asking him, "can you give me a minute to put my shoes on?"

[luveline]

Hii! How are you?

I love all ur fics especially Hotch and his adult daughter ones. They are just brilliant<3 Can u please write something with Hotch being worried about his daughter as faints or get injured? Thank you!

thank you for requesting! <3 fem, 2k

There are silver-linings to your concussion. Not many, and he’d much prefer you were better, but silver linings all the same. 

You, unable to look after yourself with on-again off-again dizziness and shortness of breath, have no choice but to stay at Aaron’s house. (Well, you could’ve stayed home, and he could’ve come to visit you a few times a day while your mother worked, but this is easier on his gas tank and his heart.) 

The silver lining is that he actually gets to spend time with you, large swaths of it, and that he gets to see you without your smart formalwear for the first time since you’d met all but four months ago. It will never not be strange to have a daughter and to be her acquaintance, but Aaron feels that this time is perfect to get to know you beyond two hour dinners and texts. 

It is admittedly occasionally awkward, but he doesn’t expect it to be easy. He doesn’t need you to pretend that you’re more comfortable with him than you are, or that he’s been there for you as you deserved. He wishes he was, and he can’t forgive your mother for keeping you a secret, but he can understand her reasoning (to some extent), and he can try to give you what you deserve, because it is about you. You’re a young woman who deserves a father and has one now. He’s determined to prove that it isn’t too late. 

You curl on the family couch with a new pillow under your head. You wear pyjamas he bought you, socks you’ve borrowed, and a big blanket covers your legs. Jack sits on your feet eating grapes from a bowl. 

You look younger without makeup. Aaron can almost see you as a kid. 

“You want another grape?” Jack asks you. 

“Please, buddy,” you whisper, holding out your hand. 

You’re trying not to talk or move too much, as movement hurts your nose, which was broken. Aaron still can’t believe someone hurt you —you were assaulted in the subway during a city riot and passed out as result, where you hit your head, and ended up where you are now with post concussive syndrome.

A bad fall can do such great harm, he can’t imagine how awful it would’ve been to have met you and had you stolen from him that swiftly. He’s a lucky man. 

Aaron almost hadn’t answered when you called, about to change into Kevlar and prepare the BAU for an anti-terroism strike that Strauss shoved into their laps. He’d smiled briefly at your contact photo and thought of the phone call he’d have with you later to apologise for missing the first, but then he got a strange feeling. What could it hurt for him to make sure you weren’t in the centre of it? 

“Do you want water?” Jack asks. 

You hold out your hand again, searching for Jack’s. You find it and give his fingers a squeeze. “No thank you. You don’t have to worry about me, I just want you to watch your movie.” 

“I’ve seen it a hundred– hundred times,” he says, taking his hand back to eat another grape. After a moment, he lays his cheek against your legs where you have them bunched up. 

“Don’t choke on your grapes,” you say. 

“Don’t worry,” he says. 

You laugh quietly. “I won’t.”

Aaron closes his laptop, having failed to work from home in the armchair beside you both. He might need some help to get back to a functioning place when he returns to the office, but his hands itch with a different need today. He checks his watch. 

“Time for another dose, if you want it?” he asks you. 

“Please.” 

It’s only anti-nausea and painkillers, but you’re quite dependent on them. He’s staying on top of them, because on your second morning here, you’d woken up and forgotten the anti-nausea. Being sick with a broken nose is agony. He doesn’t wanna see you crying again. (Though again, that had made you closer. To get to rub your back, and promise it wasn’t too disgusting, he could deal with it no problem.) 

Haley hums in the kitchen. She’s happy to have her way, which is to have him home, if vaguely bitter that it’s for you. He understands her annoyance, but it’s different. If Jack were attacked and recovering, of course Aaron would be home with him, as he’s home with you, but he won’t stay home for much less and lately, it's been a point of great contention between them. 

Still, she’s a good woman who looks after everyone the best that she can. Your pills are waiting on the counter with a glass of apple juice and a muffin, and your laundry is being folded from the dyer next to Jack’s. 

Aaron ushers her in for a grateful hug, a kiss pressed to her soft cheek. “Thank you, honey.” 

“You’re welcome. She shouldn’t take so much tylenol when she’s barely eating. You’re gonna have to convince her.” 

“I will. I was thinking I’d make soup. You know, my mom’s split pea. What do you think?” 

“Does she like split pea soup?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Just ask, Aaron,” she says, not without sympathy. 

“I was going to.” 

Haley gives a long sigh. “I’m sorry.” 

He rubs her arm. They’ve been very far apart lately, so far that he’s wondered if they’re not going to make it work, but for today they seem back in sync. 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says. 

“No, I am. I know it’s impossible, but I keep imagining how I would feel if it happened to me.” She wipes lint or maybe nothing from his collar. “What if I had a baby out there and I knew nothing about her? It’s not… not fair on either of you.” 

“Worse things have happened, Hale.” Because it really is awful, but he doesn’t need anyone to feel sorry for him. You, yes. Poor girl, your poor nose. Aaron gives Haley a quick kiss. “We’ll be okay. Don’t worry about it, hm?” 

“Okay, honey. Well, find out what she wants for dinner.” 

“I’m gonna make it.” 

“I can make it.” She moves back to her pile of laundry. “I don’t have much to do, with you home. It’s nice.” 

He winces, grabbing your pills, your juice, and the muffin. Aaron has no qualms sharing duties, but he can’t have this conversation again. Of course it’s nice to be home, that’s not the issue. 

You and Jack are exactly where he left you eating grapes and watching TV, but you’ve shifted upward a little to make more room for him, the blanket now over his legs.

“Are you looking after your big sister?” Aaron asks. He can’t help himself. 

Jack grins at him. “Yeah, dad. We need more grapes.” 

“Yeah?” Aaron walks around the couch to pass you the few pills into your hand. He crouches in front of you. It hasn’t stopped feeling alien, suddenly having two kids, but it has started to feel right. “It’s dinner time soon, Jack, can you wait? I don’t want you to have a full tummy.”

“What’s for dinner?” he asks. 

Aaron passes you the glass of juice for you to wash down the pills. “I was thinking we’d let Y/N choose…” He taps your knee gently. “Do you have a craving for anything?” 

“I can’t choose,” you say. 

His hand turns to cup your knee, hoping it isn’t too much. “Sure you can. Jack chooses dinner all the time.” 

“I’ll eat whatever.” 

“You’ve barely eaten all day, isn’t there something you love? Something soft?” 

You look like him when you’re not happy. Unsure, you look to Jack. “Can’t Jack pick, please?” 

“It’s your turn,” Jack says. 

Aaron puts the muffin he’d been given for you on your knee. “Honey, just think about it. There’s no rush. You and Jack can live off grapes for the rest of the night.” 

“Mean,” you murmur. 

Jack slips off of the couch with his bowl. He makes for the kitchen, his wobbly declarations of love cute and ringing when he sees his mom. “Hi, mommy. You’re pretty. Can I have grapes?” 

“Hi baby.” 

You smile, fingertip playing with the muffin’s paper casing. “He’s so lovely.” 

“I know.” 

“It’s okay, right?” 

Aaron holds your gaze. Not commanding, but listening intently. “What’s okay?” 

“For us to– you know. To cuddle.” 

“Yes, it’s okay. Jack makes his own mind up about things, and if he wants to cuddle with you, he will. If you don’t want him to cuddle, you can ask him for space.” 

“It’s strange,” you say, laying your face against your pillow, muffin ignored, “to have a brother now.” 

“Bad strange?” he asks. 

You smile. Almost hopeful. “No.” 

Aaron does know what you’re thinking. He has four months of evidence on your behaviour, and you aren’t dishonest, so he believes his frame of reference to be correct. Right now, you’re feeling unwell, maybe the pain in your face is flaring or your concussion is giving you grief, but you seem to already love your little brother. If not love, then to be very fond of him. You have similar feelings about Aaron, but you’re shy about showing it. 

He understands that you might not feel very close to him so soon, he understands that you’re practically still strangers, but he loves you. Maybe it’s something innate in being your father, but he really does love you. 

It’s like being passed your baby —you don’t know your baby, they’re a baby, but you love them. Aaron doesn’t know if you like vegetable soup more than French onion, if you like buttered bread or a dinner roll or toasted baguette on the side, but he’ll learn. 

“I’ll make you anything you want for dinner,” he says softly, looking for your hand in the blankets, and taking it with similar care. “You just have to tell me what you like.” 

You look down at his hand. 

“Sorry for making things difficult.” 

“You’re not making anything difficult.” His thumb rubs your hand of its own accord. “You aren’t difficult. You’re remarkably easy to look after.” 

“Thank you.” 

“If you could just pick what you wanted for dinner…” 

You both laugh at one another, and you wince at the soreness in your nose. Aaron stands from his crouch with aching legs to pat you on the shoulder. 

“I’ll figure something out,” he says. “I’m a good guess, usually.” 

“Okay. Thank you, Aaron,” you say, resting with a sore squint back against your nest. 

In the kitchen, Jack sits in Haley’s lap, his bowl filled again with more grapes. She’s chewing on one when he comes back. “Hey, did she decide?” 

“Not yet. I’m working on it.” 

“Well, we have time.” 

[hoshifighting]

Hi. I love your writings. After I discovered Tumblr and your account... I don't know if I've had any day without coming back here... I had a request.

Bathroom sex with Minghao. It has been going on in my mind all day... Either bathtub or shower.

Even though he's not so masculine like others... I feel like he has an incredible core strength. So maybe putting the reader against the wall? Also if you're comfortable, could you add the reader as someone who's overweight and gets insecure from time to time.

It's like Minghao is comforting them through showing how beautiful they are through intimacy? Feels like something he would do.

Love your writing. Take care

bath sex with minghao

WARNINGS: bath sex, insecurities, praising, nipple sucking, penetrative sex, a tear dropping here or there...

a/n: thank you my love for making me part of your routine 😭🙏 I luv seeing you here, you are soooo sweet!! sorry for making u wait for so long 🥺 love you too, take care of yourself, and drink lots of water plsss

you’d been spiraling about it all damn day. the way minghao’s hands just felt—long fingers brushing your skin in passing, his touch so casual but also so intentional. it stuck to you like a tattoo, made your brain fuzzy. you didn’t even realize it, but the itch of your insecurities had been gnawing at you. maybe it was that girl in line earlier with the perfect ass and the confidence to match, or maybe it was just the mirror, the way it always reflected every single thing you couldn’t fix.

but minghao sees you, actually sees you, and it ruins you every time.

“you’ve been quiet all day,” he says from the bathroom doorway, his head tilted like he’s already piecing you apart, trying to read the shit you don’t say. “what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

you don’t answer right away—can’t, really—because he’s standing there in just his sweatpants, waistband hanging low, hair still damp from his post-workout shower. fucking unreal. and you hate it, the way you almost flinch at the word “pretty,” because yeah, he means it, but your brain won’t let you believe it.

“nothing,” you lie, but your voice cracks. his eyes narrow.

“bullshit.”

you huff, looking anywhere but him. “it’s not a big deal. just—ugh, i don’t know, okay? can we not do this tonight?”

but of course, minghao doesn’t take that. doesn’t let you slip into your head and drown in it. instead, he steps in, closing the door softly behind him, like he’s locking the world out. “you know you can’t bullshit me, baby. talk to me.”

and then he’s right in front of you, hands sliding over your arms, thumbs skimming your skin like he’s earthing you.

you mumble, “i just—i don’t feel good today, okay? like… about myself.”

his brows pull together, and you hate that he looks hurt on your behalf. “y/n,” he says, his voice softer now, “what the hell are you talking about?”

“you wouldn’t get it,” you mutter, but the words catch when he lifts your chin with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“try me.”

and fuck, he’s patient, doesn’t rush you, just waits while his thumbs start rubbing little circles on your hips. finally, you crack. “i just… sometimes it’s hard, okay? i see all these girls who look perfect, and then there’s me. i don’t even know why you—”

“don’t,” he cuts you off, firmly. “don’t finsh it, don’t do that. don’t talk about yourself like that. do you know how fucking beautiful you are? like, actually?”

you laugh, but it’s bitter, because it’s not something you believe. “hao—”

he doesn’t let you finish, leaning in to kiss you, like he’s trying to rewrite whatever nonsense’s looping in your head. his lips move with yours, one hand sliding up your back, the other curling around your waist, and it’s so easy to melt into him, to forget everything else.

“i’m serious,” he murmurs against your mouth. “you’re the most gorgeous person i’ve ever seen. i love every. fucking. inch. of you.”

you want to argue, but then his hands are tugging at your shirt, and the air shifts. he pulls back just enough to look at you. “can i?”

your nod is shaky, he peels your shirt off like it’s a ritual, and when he sees the hesitance in your eyes, he leans in to kiss your shoulder, your collarbone, every patch of skin he uncovers.

he’s backing you up against the shower wall, his breath hot against your neck as he trails kisses down your jaw.

“hao,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out before he’s hooking your legs around his waist, his strength catching you like it’s nothing. “wait, i’m—”

“you’re fucking stunning,” he says, cutting you off, his lips crashing into yours again. “and i’m gonna make sure you never forget it.”

the sound of the water hitting the tile was loud, drowning out every thought in your head except him. minghao was everywhere—hands firm on your thighs, lips pressed to your chest, tongue teasing your nipples until you were squirming. the spray soaked through what little clothing you both had left, making the fabric cling before he shoved his pants and boxers down with one hand, the wet heap hitting the floor with an exaggerated plop.

“didn’t know your pants were that heavy,” you giggled. he smirked before leaning in to kiss you again.

“focus,” he murmured. his hips pressed forward, and you gasped when his cock brushed against your pussy—hard and ready, like it always was when it came to you. it was one of those things that made you feel… better, somehow. like maybe he really did mean all the things he said about how he wanted you, how he needed you. not that you’d ever admit it—god, no, he’d never let you live it down.

you squirmed against him, suddenly hyperaware of how high he had you hoisted. “hao, i—”

“relax,” he interrupted. “i’ve got you.”

“but what if—what if i fall?”

his jaw tensed, his hands tightened on you. “you won’t fall, y/n. do you trust me?”

you nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him. his eyes narrowed. “say it.”

your voice cracked. “i trust you.”

“good,” he said, but there was a shimmer of guilt in his expression when he saw the tears welling in your eyes. his voice softened immediately. “hey, baby—fuck, i’m sorry. didn’t mean to sound so harsh. you’re safe, okay? i promise.”

his lips brushed your cheek, catching the tear that spilled over, and you sniffled, clinging to him tighter. his forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, “you’re safe with me. i swear.”

and then he rolled his hips, sliding into you, and whatever insecurity you’d been holding onto was gone—just gone. all you could feel was him, thick and deep, stretching you until your head spun. he groaned, his breath hitching as he bottomed out. “you feel so fucking good, baby. perfect. perfect.”

your fingers dug into his shoulders, a whimper slipping past your lips as he pulled back and thrust again, deep. the angle made you gasp, made your whole body shake in his arms. “hao,” you choked out, overwhelmed, and he just smiled against your neck.

“that’s it babe,” he murmured, picking up his pace, his hips slapping against yours. “see? i told you, baby. you don’t have to worry about anything. i’ve got you. always.”

his words melted into the steam around you, and soon you weren’t sure if it was water or sweat trailing down your body. he fucked you, his grip on you steady and unrelenting, making it impossible to think about anything but the way he filled you, the way he made you feel like you were his.

“shit—fuck, hao, i’m gonna—”

“i know,” he cut in, his voice thick and breathless, but that smug grin never wavered. “let go for me, baby. you’re so fucking beautiful when you cum. let me see you.”

and when you did—when your body clenched around him and your moan echoed in the steam-filled space—he followed right after, his hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could go. his head fell to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin as he held you close, neither of you caring about the water still raining down around you.

“see?” he said after a moment, pulling back enough to look at you. his smile was soft now, tender. “told you I wouldn’t let you fall.”

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Hi! Spencer Reid x reader where reader is kind of panicking because she’s worried Spencer will get tired of her and find someone that’s more like him personality wise? But then Spence reassures her that he loves her and only her? 🎀🚬🤍🤎

fem bimbo!plus size reader, wc: 589.

a/n: no i am not going to let bimbo reader sleep, but also i've been posting so much aaron recently, which is funny because i've been so obsessed with spencer recently. thank you for your request!

cw! angst :(

“I guess opposites really do attract huh?”

It was just a joke. A harmless, well meaning joke that completely spun your world off of its axis.

You were aware of the differences between you and your boyfriend, but you never felt bad about it, nor did he ever make you think that you weren't good enough for him. You would have liked to think that your differences was what made Spencer fall in love with you; but now you’re not too sure.

Yeah, sure, you needed help with understanding certain things, and your processing was a bit slower than others, but that didn’t make you stupid or annoying… right? 

What if you talked too much? What about that time that you kept interrupting Spencer while he was reading? Did you irritate him? Did he think about breaking up with you? You’d never had thoughts like these before because you never had a reason to. You always felt secure in your relationship with Spencer, like you were his equal. 

Spencer wasn’t used to your silence, it was unusual and quite frankly it raised the red flags in his mind. He was so used to your rambling about anything and everything that the quietness of his apartment was making him itch. 

“Sweetheart?” He called out softly.

It was almost as if his words scared you, your body jumping at the sound of him breaking the serene atmosphere of his almost dark academia-esque apartment. 

“Yes?” Your voice was hushed and meek and Spencer absolutely hated it.

He set his book down on the side table where he uncurled his legs and patted the spot on the couch next to him. “C’mere.” You looked almost hesitant to move, but nonetheless you got up and sat down. 

He grabbed your hand and held it firmly, but you didn’t make any effort to hold it back. It made Spencer nervous; did he do something?

“Sweetheart,” He reiterated. “Is something wrong?”

“Am I too much?” Your panic was quick to build. “What do you mean?” Spencer’s brows were furrowed inquisitively. “Like - like do I talk a lot? Or - or are my clothes too colorful? Do I ask too many questions?” Your speech fired out rapidly, almost as if you didn’t say what you wanted to know you may never do.

“Hey, hey, hey… no, no, stop.” Spencer was quick to shush you, opting to hold your face instead of your hand. “Did someone tell you that?” You shook your head, “No, yes? I don’t know. It - it was just because of that stupid joke Morgan had made.”

Ah, he remembers now.

“The one about opposites attracting?” You nod feebly. “And it got me thinking… what if I’m - what if I’m not a good match for you? You might want someone that’s similar to you,  one that knows how to play chess and understands all those super cool facts you know.” 

“Honey,” Spencer interrupts with a light laugh. “No.”

He wasn’t laughing at you, he was laughing at the sheer fact that he couldn’t imagine ever wanting someone else.

“I want you. I’ve only ever wanted you. I - I do admit that we are different, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I like that you aren’t like me. It’s comforting, and I just… I just love everything about you. I love you.”

“You promise?” You asked wetly with a pout. His lithe thumbs swipe at the tears trickling down your cheeks as he nodded, “Of course.”

“I love you too, Spencie.” 

There you were. His girl.

[courtingchaos]

I’ve been thinking about eddie who’s in the early pre relationship stages with you. but in his mind he’s married to you he’s been pining after you for so long. he doesn’t want to scare you though so he’s pumping the breaks and trying to take things slow.

you’re spending the night at his and he’s managed to keep enough distance from you that he deems respectful in his courtship of you. but when he wakes it’s to your hand high on his thigh, and you’re out for the count. and he’s hard as a rock and needs to move you before you wake up and see what state he’s in.

not wanting to wake you and alert you to his issue he thinks on his feet and decides he has to become soft asap, then he can move you. then if you wake up it’s not going to be to him feeling like a complete pervert.

so he’s reciting his favourite passages from all of the books he’s read.

only it’s not doing much. the pretty girl in his bed is winning this round.

he starts reciting them backwards to increase the difficulty and hopefully distract the ache away. but in his ingenuity to up the anti he’s inadvertently made it so tough that he’s now whisper shouting the words out loud. waking you. eddie still hard as a rock reciting poetry in a wicked order that makes no sense to man nor beast, is stopped abruptly in his tracks, gasping at the feel of your palm squeezing the meat of his inner thigh. Mortified and yet. Still painfully erect with no hope of going down anytime soon

sorry to vomit this at you but it seemed like fate that you’d asked for a request (this is far too long and detailed I’m sorry) and I was thinking about this at the same time

1. Don’t apologize, you’ve struck gold. You have not dug too greedily nor too deep.

2. You’ve written this really well so I could just post this with a bunch of reactions under it but, if you’ll allow me to expand upon this.

Picture this with me okay? He’s reciting Jabberwocky to himself. It’s a nonsense poem. He had an English teacher once give out a project for them to learn and recite a poem and of course he chose this. It has fun words in it like vorpal and borogoves. It’s become one of his bits actually when he’s trying to command a room.

“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:”

Everyone will sigh. Jeff and Gareth and Frank will drop their heads onto their desks or over the backs of their chairs in long groans. Dustin still thinks it’s fun, he hasn’t gotten tired of it yet, and Mike likes it he just won’t admit it. Eddie loves it though, likes the way slithy toves slides off his tongue when he puts on that creaking voice he uses for warlocks durning games.

Now though he mumbles it to himself in the dark, his ludicrous attempt at bringing down his mood. Something had woken him at the witching hour, 3:07 shining a bright green from across his room. He wasn’t cold, his window shut against the chill earlier when you’d come over. He wasn’t overheated, quite content with you softly cuddled up next to him. No itch or ill folded sheet causing him discomfort. He had seven solid minutes of waking, a few he spared to revel in the heat of you lying next to him. To feel your shoulder lying on his as you pressed your face into his pillow. Your knee bent up and almost over his own and your hand planted firmly on his thigh.

Oh. That.

Those fingers he liked to twirl around his own and lick salt off of when you were done with your fries? Those fingers were under the hem of his boxers and a very much pressing into the meat of his thigh. You don’t move except to breathe but all he can focus on is that hand literal inches from his dick. The dick he’d kept in check for weeks now in the hopes he wouldn’t chase you away with the absolute need he felt. Kind of like right now where it lays heavy and hot against his thigh just like your hand.

So Jabberwocky it is.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

But in the dark with a hard on, slithy toves makes him chuckle. Almost full on giggle and he slaps a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. Slithy toves sounds like a euphemism for pussy and he can’t help the huffs of laughter pushed through his nose. He looks down in the hopes that this has distracted his dick but apparently laughter makes him harder and he files that away to look into at a later date. Borogoves floats through his brain and he immediately thinks about giving your boobs a new nickname and he has to put a foot down for himself.

Next verse.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!”

Bandersnatch has to be a euphemism, there’s no goddamn way, it has the word snatch in it. He rolls his eyes and before he can sigh you shift beside him in your sleep, closer with your nose in his curls on his pillow and that soft hand he’s thought about when his own is too boring in the shower scoots another inch closer to the problem.

Maybe if he whispers it out loud?

“He took his vorpal sword in hand;-”

Absolutely not. Nope. New plan when he feels your sleeping breath across the front of his throat. It ghosts over his adams apple and all he can think about is your lips on his neck last week and how he’d pulled at his hair after you’d left just because it drove him insane.

Maybe if he recited it backwards it would confuse him enough all the blood would need to race back up into his brain.

“Outgrabe…raths…the-no…mome the and…” He’s squinting hard in the dark, reading invisible words on the ceiling in this new attempt to circumvent disaster.

“Borogoves…ha. Damn it. Borogoves…the were…mimsy all.” A headache is all this is giving him but for a moment he’s forgotten your hand and where it was. He’s searching the next line in his head and trying to jumble it so it isn’t so halting in the early morning quiet.

“Wabe the in gimble and gyer did!” He almost claps his hands when he makes it through without pause but he stops himself for fear of waking you up. Instead he spends 20 minutes working his way backwards through his poem, whispering to the night about the Jabberwock.

O frabjous day indeed when he realizes his dick is half soft now, not such a nuisance and a terror after he’s distracted himself. He thinks about waking you gently, a hand brushing your hair away from your face or running lightly over your leg but then you move. You move of your own accord and hook your leg over his. Kneecap bumping your hand higher and if he breathed wrong right this second you’d be brushing fingertips over his balls.

“And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,”

He mutters without whisper. It’s not full volume speaking but he really doesn’t want you to wake up and find him hard and awake with your hand shoved up his shorts. As much as he would really love to feel your hands on him like that he’s been trying his best to be gentlemanly. Only necking on your timetable when you steal him away to a quiet corner. A little over the pants stuff, heavy petting but you’ve never pushed it and it won’t make you uncomfortable, no matter what his dick wants him to do.

“Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!”

Eddie sighs. “Jesus Christ.”

“Hm?” You hum at him. A high note in the back of your throat that has him whipping his head to see you stirring. Adjusting to your side and dra-a-agging that hand. He doesn’t know what to do as you come around and blink up at him in the dark. He can see the edges of your expression from the light filtering in from outside, smooth brow and faint smile until it isn’t.

“Di’ yousay sumthin’?” Slurred against his shoulder where your mouth is pressed.

“Uh, kind of.”

“You okay?” You press up against him, your pelvis into his hip and he’s about to be caught. There’s no way you aren’t going to notice the outline in his boxers or the way he’s gotta be sweating gallons just in nerves.

“I…yeah?”

“What’s the ma-” You shift to prop yourself up so you can sleepily inspect him and he wants to subsequently die and sigh happily when your hand meets trouble. “Oh.”

Oh. Oh? Oh yeah, no big deal, it’s just his dick showing up to ruin the party like the world’s worst frat guy. “Look, I was trying to make it go away and I-“

“Why?” Having just woken up your voice is soft in a deep way. Scratchy from dry air but it fits the mussed hair and the rucked up t-shirt you have on. His gaze falls on the sliver of stomach that you’re showing off between the covers and he’s having a hard time coming up with an answer.

“Why?”

“Is there an echo in here?” You laugh and slide your palm over his stomach that tenses. “Yeah, why.” Your pinky catches the hem of his thin shirt and pulls it up to reveal his own section of underbelly. “We’re alone right?”

“Y-yeah.” It comes out like a hiss though because your nails scratch across that newly revealed skin and right over the trail of hairs below his belly button. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t uh, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

Your fingers move back and forth over his stomach before you let them dip back down to the waistband of his boxers, fingertip seeking under the elastic ever so slightly. “You’ve been very patient Eddie.” The rings on your hand are body warm but hold a child to them when they glide over skin. “I think we just had a little misunderstanding at first though.” Fingers comb through wiry hairs on their search for their prize. “I’ve been trying to do this since you asked me out, but I thought you wanted to wait.”

“Oh my god, no. I mean yes, because I thought that’s what you wanted but I read into things too much sometimes bec-ause fuck.” He was running his mouth but then you’d grabbed him. Wrapped that dreamy hand around his cock and sighed into his cheek like you were the one experiencing earth shattering euphoria.

“Eddie I’ve wanted to do this for months.” A slow tug to the tip and you do something with your fingers that makes his mouth hang open in a silent plea. Another twist before you run your thumb over his slit and he grabs your wrist.

“This is gonna be over so quick if you keep that up.”

“Well that’s not so bad, I was still a little tired.” Highlights pick up the line of your lips and that sleepy smile that’s all for him. Heavy lashes flutter when he lets you go and shoves his shorts down to give you room to work. “You can get me back when we wake up.”

He throbs in your grasp at the promised idea of getting you back and all that entails. He can’t help himself but think of wet and warm places while your hand moves in languid strokes. Hot puffs of air across his chest where you lay your head to watch and then he’s watching you watching yourself and falling into a vortex of horniness. He wants to weave his fingers into your hair for some reason. Wants to feel the softness between his fingers while you rub velvet skin through your own.

“Eddie?” You pant into his shirt, lips catching and dragging on the cotton.

“Yeah?”

“What were you reciting?”

It almost pulls him out of his pleasure it’s jars him so. Briefly he thinks about lying and saying Shakespeare but you’re already giving him a 3 am handjob so he thinks he might not have to fib. “Jabberwocky.”

“Alice in Wonderland?” Your hand leaves his cock suddenly but he doesn’t get to whine about it before he’s whining about you licking your palm and getting back to work. He nods above you like you could see him but it earns him a chuckle from you and a stray few fingers that tug at his balls.

“God damnit yes.” He does push his hand into your hair then, the other fisting into the sheets beside him. You make a passing remark about reciting it then but he honestly might not even know his own name. The way his legs move restlessly against the bed and his fingers grip into your scalp. The damp slide of your palm over the head of his cock, the twisting motion you keep doing, it’s all rocketing him towards his finish. The burn of it in his belly clouding his senses and making him buck his hips up into your touch. The air of your breath keeps breezing over his overheated skin and your panting laughs are shoving him closer and closer until he’s squeezing his eyes shut and going stiff.

Warm lines splash up his stomach and he knows in a minute or two he’ll feel shame unmatched by man heretofore known but right now he couldn’t care. Soft hands drag him through the aftershocks while you make praiseworthy noises into his chest. You coo at him for a job well done and he can feel the heat rise on his cheeks. Sitting up again to look back at him your drag a finger through the mess he made and when you take three seconds to inspect it he doesn’t expect you to bring it to your lips.

“I-“ He what? What can he say while he watches you suck on your index finger like he does? When a slick grin hooks the corner of your mouth up into something devilish and he has an awakening at almost 4 am.

“How was that, huh? Glad we got that over with?” You drop your cheek to your shoulder to give him a smolder but Eddie needs to taste your lips after you’ve tasted him. It’s a need not a want so he rushes you, pushes you back into the bed and gets his mess everywhere but it doesn’t matter. He kisses you deep until you both have to come up for air and then he’s peppering your neck in them until your giggling is too much.

He uses his shirt to wipe himself off, promising a shower in the morning, and pulls both of you under the covers to conspire in the afterglow.

“Do you think reading that poem is gonna Pavlov you now?”

“How so?”

“I mean,” your laugh cuts into your explanation, “slithy toves kind of sounds like a name for-“

“Pussy! I know!” He laughs with you. “And Bandersnatch!”

[gilverrwrites]

would love to hear more of ur thoughts of jason... ANY jason thoughts, virgin, getting pegged, dom, on top on bottom, angry, emotional, loving, clingy...

any jason thoughts are appreciate tenfold pls i love the way you write its so sensual and enjoyable (//ω//)

Virgin!Jason/Sex Worker!Reader, 1.9K Words Why thank you anon, you're too kind. It’s funny you sent this in because I have been thinking about Jason a lot recently. Bit of a an odd one actually, I’ve been thinking about how easily he could get hooked on OFs or something similar. Stay with me here...

‘Jason loves cars, and girls, and getting into fights…’

The problem is, ever since he came back, he doesn’t know how to talk to or act around women.

Think about it. He was a teenage boy when he died, still going through puberty, never truly finding closure on all those changes. Now he’s a man.

A man with emotions, and desires, and urges that he doesn’t understand and has no idea how to satiate. The not knowing makes him nervous, angry even.

The first and only time Roy tried the “Have you met Jay?” line it was painful. Like giving water to a hydrophobe. Dying of thirst, wanting it so bad, but his hands are shaking, he can barely even make eye contact, let alone hold a conversation. Or touch her. Man, he wanted to touch her, she had such a pretty smile and glowing skin and the most brilliant laugh. He wound up muttering a ‘sorry, bye.’ To the floor and walking out. When Roy finally caught up, he got one hell of an earful. Yelling was all Jay could do not to start throwing punches he'd regret later. Roy had only had the best of intentions after all.

It was Dick who’d mentioned that the posters of half-naked women splayed across car bonnets or dowsed in lite beer might be a bit distasteful. He’d wanted to argue, if they’re bad, why do they sell them? But he was smarter than that really, and Dick was right, if he ever did bring a girl home, he wouldn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. Though the mattress without a bed frame and the lack of amenities might do that anyway. Regardless, he takes them down and throws them out along with a stack of vintage Playboys from his youth. He’ll rely on the words of D. H. Lawrence, Cleland and the likes for that sort of thing.

And just reading works, for a while. But there are itches books just can’t scratch, and like hell is he mortified himself trying to talk to women in public again. He’d almost gotten up the courage once since the debacle with Roy.

At the library, looking for classics and checking out their damaged clearance sale. He’d noticed her the moment he’d entered, such a sweet, sharp woman, teaching seniors how to use computers. He’d lingered for a while, until the class was over, determined to make small talk with her while getting his books checked out, but then he remembered what he was checking out. Immediately he was flooded with doubt. She'd think he was a perv. He put his books on the put-back trolly and left without a word.

That same night, feeling sorry for himself is when he falls down the rabbit hole of social media. Scrolling endlessly through post after post of girls on Instagram. His own page consisted of only a faceless gym selfie and the engine of a bike he’d been restoring, but he followed a lot of accounts. Book reviewers, muscle car enthusiasts, musicians. It wasn’t purely coincidental that most of those content creators were women.

His heart jumps out of his chest when he gets a notification, that doesn’t happen often, and usually it’s from Dick sending him funny dog videos, or Steph tagging him memes but this one is a ‘follow back’.

He’d been following you for a while, liking all your posts and occasionally commenting. Nothing flirty, he didn’t wanna seem like one of those creeps saying gross, inappropriate shit, but that often resulted in him sounding lame for praising the high amount of protein in your home-cooked meal, or something else mundane. Today he’s pointed out how nice the clouds in the back of your group selfie looked but apparently that was enough to get your attention.

You like his two photos and drop him a message. “Hadn’t noticed but you’re right. Those clouds were very pretty.”

‘Not as pretty as you.’ He types out then quickly deletes it. You were very pretty, exactly the kind of girl he would choke up around. You didn't have a lot of followers, and your posts weren't really curated to a theme or gimmick. You just documented your life. For some reason though Jason had been drawn to you ever since your smiling face had popped up in his recommended following.

Instead replies with a very creative “Yeah”

“Sorry, hope I’m not bothering you. You just seem cool.”

“You’re not bothering me.” He answers instantly, not wanting to put you off but unsure what to say.

“Good! If you’re ever feeling chatty, hmu 😊”

Easier said than done, but he massively appreciates the offer. He just doesn’t know how to take you up on it. Looking for inspiration he looks at your account again, noticing a link in your bio that he’s sure hadn’t been there when he’d first followed you. He does a spit take when it leads him to an OF page. No, that definitely was not there before.

Now he’s even more unsure what to do. Would it be weird for him to subscribe after you’d just spoken to him? Or was that what you wanted? Surely you put it there because you want subscribers, right? Should he ask you or would that make it more awkward? Why is taking down drug lords and killer clowns less scary and confusing than this?

He stews on the conundrum for a while, but eventually, he takes the plunge, signing up with the same username as his Instagram, irlgothamzombie. He could spend all night looking at your posts, and he does. Judging by your post history, and low interactions, you’ve not been doing this long, but he circles through the same handful of posts over and over, keeping his own hands full throughout. wink wink.    

He can’t get enough of looking at your body, squeezed into little costumes, draped in colourful lingerie, naked and stark against your bedspread. There’s one video in particular he can’t get enough of though, it’s you in a lacy green slip, giggling as you play with the hem, teasing the camera with a cheeky glint in your eye but never really showing anything. He plays it over and over again, fisting his cock as he images it’s his hands sneaking up your thighs, making you laugh over and over until he cums into his hand.

Even though the caption is specifically asking him your followers what type of content they’d like to see you make while in that outfit, he only comments “nice wallpaper” and logs out, cheeks burning with shame as he cleans up.

It’s a few days before he works up the nerve to log back in. He’s still high on adrenaline after a face-off with Black Mask. Feeling bold and looking for release, it’s the first thing he does when he gets home but seeing two notifications from you is like having a bucket of ice water thrown at him.

You’d replied to his comment, “😂Hadn’t noticed but you’re right.”

When he hadn’t said anything else you’d sent him another DM. “Losing interest, or are you just the shy type?”

“The ‘you’re so hot I don’t know how to talk to you type.’” He’d read through the other comments you’d gotten, that felt tame. A little out of his comfort zone, but safe enough to press send.

“That’s actually so sweet.” You get back to him quickly, sending multiple messages at once. Hopefully that means you’re glad to hear from him. “You can talk to me however you like.”

“You never said what you wanted to see me do?”

“If you’re comfy answering.”

Shitshitshit. His throat is painfully dry as he thinks up a response. “idk but I like it on.”

“green is my favorite color.”

“looks good on you”

“Do you want to see me fuck myself while wearing it?” The question is accompanied by a racy picture of you wearing the slip in reference that you hadn’t posted anywhere else.

YES! “yeah”

“Should I use my hands, or something naughtier?”

“whatever you like best” it probably seems like such a cop-out answer but he means it. “want you to enjoy it as much as I will”

“Can’t tell if you’re my nicest subscriber or not, but I got you, sweet stuff 😉”

The next day you upload the results, and he watches it straight away, not that he’d been waiting for it or anything. He’s already half-hard when he hits the play button. Then you say “This one’s specifically for you irlgothamzombie” straight into the camera with a wink and he can’t get his dick out of his pants fast enough.

He tries to take it slow, wanting to enjoy the whole video but that’s easier said than done. He’s leaking pre-cum minutes into watching as you run your hands along your body, dipping your fingers between your legs, over your covered nipples but never revealing anything.

His resolve wavers when you start to rub yourself through the fabric, cooing and moaning as you build friction. He bites his lip so hard to ground himself that it starts to bleed.

Then you bring out the big guns, he doesn’t know what it’s called, but it’s some kind of toy. Long, with a round head that you hold to your clit and fuck, do you enjoy it. You’re practically drooling as you buck your hips and roll your eyes back. Your orgasm is loud and wet, and he almost breaks until he realises there are still a few minutes left.

You keep going, so he does too. Holding out until the very end. Is it possible that sex could feel better than this? Wild.

He messages you first this time.

He buys the green slip and the matching thong, still dirty after you’d cum all over them. Under the bawdy smell of sex he can just make scent of your perfume. It's intoxicating. Maybe he should ask you what brand it is so he can get a bottle and spray it all over his apartment.

He spends all day in bed, clutching the delicate lace to his chest and sucking on the underwear until his dick aches and he physically can’t cum again without hurting himself.

He isn’t sure how he feels about your return PO Box being in Blüdhaven. It's exciting and terrifying to think that you're real, and out in the world, within driving distance even. He could just bump into you one day. He could probably track you down if he wanted to but he kind of likes the comfort of you being behind a screen.

Eventually, he buys every service you offer, custom videos, a dick rating, your private Snapchat, and he practically purges your wish list. Not just the sexy stuff, but the gift cards, the clothes, the collectables, anything you want.

With every purchase you send him your thanks, ask him about his day, his interests both sexual and in general. You offer him services for free or heavily discounted, expressions of your gratitude for all he’s done but he always declines.

A part of him believes that you’d still talk to him if he stopped financing you, you're practically two steps away from asking for it outright, and he knows that. But the money is like a safety net. Like his helmet; a barrier between him and heartbreaking humiliation. As long as he keeps doling out the cash, he’ll never have to know if you’d reject him without it.

[daisymbin]

hihi! literally in love with all the fics u've been posting like .... ur brain is wonderful

could i please request angst prompt #28 with mingyu? maybe if mingyu was saying it to the reader? you can decide if u want a happy or sad ending!! thank u so much <333

GRRR thank you!!!! 🥹 writing this one made my heart hurt a little </3 hope you like this one!!!!! 🤍

full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // gyu's m.list

angst prompt #28: "you always put them first."

you weren’t expecting mingyu to come home early. normally, you’d hear the familiar sound of keys jingling, the door creaking open, and his cheerful greeting filling the air. but tonight, he walked in quietly, a heavy presence filling the room.

you were on the couch, phone in hand, mid-conversation with jeonghan. something about your day at work, how stressful it had been, and how he always knew just what to say to calm you down.

but mingyu’s voice cut through your thoughts like a knife.

"jeonghan again?"

your fingers froze on your phone screen. you turned, guilt already clawing at you as you saw him standing there, his jaw tight, his usually warm eyes clouded with something sharp.

"he’s my best friend," you said softly, as if that explained everything.

mingyu let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "yeah, i know. he’s your best friend. but what about me?"

his words hit you like a blow to the chest.

"what do you mean?" you asked, even though a part of you already knew.

"what do i mean?" his voice cracked, frustration spilling into his tone. "you’re always going to him. when you’re stressed, when you need advice, when something’s wrong—hell, even when nothing’s wrong, you still go to him."

you opened your mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, stopping you.

"do you even realize what it feels like to find out you had a rough day from someone else? to know you needed help with something and didn’t even think to ask me? it’s like i’m... i’m just here to fill the space when he’s busy."

"that’s not true," you whispered, your throat tightening.

"isn’t it?" mingyu shot back, his voice softer but no less hurt. "you always put him first."

the weight of his words hung in the air, suffocating.

"it’s not like that," you said, but the conviction in your voice wavered.

he ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small space of the living room. "then what is it? because i’ve tried, baby. i’ve tried to be the person you come to when you need help, hell, just to be the person you come to at all, really. i want to be that person so bad. but it’s like... no matter how much i love you, no matter how much i show you i'm here for you, you’ll never see me that way."

tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away. "mingyu, i do see you that way. i love you—"

"do you?" he cut you off, his voice breaking. "because if you did, i think i’d be the one you called when you needed someone. i’d be the one you trusted to help, to listen."

the tears spilled over now, streaking down your cheeks. you hated this. hated how he looked at you, like you’d taken something fragile and crushed it.

"i didn’t mean to make you feel like this," you choked out. "i just... jeonghan’s been there for me for so long. it’s a habit, i guess. but it doesn’t mean i don’t trust you or love you. i love you, you know that."

mingyu’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. he sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. "but it’s not just a habit, it’s a pattern. one that makes me feel like i’ll never be enough for you."

you sat down beside him, the distance between you feeling like a chasm. your hands itched to reach out, to comfort him, but you don't.

"you are enough," you said softly. "you’re more than enough. i just... i’ve been so stuck in my ways, i didn’t realize how much i was hurting you."

he looked up then, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. "i don’t want to come second to anyone. especially not in your heart."

your heart cracked open at his words. you reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his.

"you’re not second," you said, your voice trembling. "i’m sorry if i ever made you feel that way. you’re the one i love, gyu. you’re the one i want to share my life with. i just... i need to learn how to lean on you, the way you lean on me."

his grip tightened around your hand, and for the first time that night, a glimmer of hope flickered in his eyes.

"i just want you to trust me," he said quietly. "to know that whatever it is, i’ll be here. i’ll always be here."

"i know," you said, and you meant it. "and i promise, i’ll do better. i’ll come to you first. because you’re the one who matters most to me."

he exhaled shakily, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. "you promise?"

"i promise," you said, leaning into his touch.

his lips quirked into a small, hesitant smile.

"i love you," he murmured, his voice steady with sincerity.

"i love you too," you said, and as he pulled you into his arms, you knew you meant it with every fiber of your being. you just hope he does too.

[starlight-sev]

December 1: December Moon (Snape x Reader)

(Part of @deepperplexity’s Rickmas 2024 prompts)

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything, but I really wanted to participate in Rickmas this year!

Writing’s been tough as I have a new (much more demanding) job, but I’ll do my best to get as many prompts out there this month as I can.

Gender neutral reader as always for this one. It’s platonic too. Enjoy, and happy December!

The first hour of the Yule Ball had been fun, but now the novelty was starting to wear off.

The glamour and elegance that welcomed you when you first walked into the Great Hall was now gone; napkins littered the floor, chairs were haphazardly strewn here and there from students rushing to dance in excitement, and the music had changed to ear-blasting rock.

On any other day, you would’ve loved it. But sitting here at the teacher’s table, in shoes too narrow and a fancy outfit that was beginning to itch, you just felt like crawling out of your own skin.

You were technically still on supervision duty — Dumbledore had scheduled all the teachers in one hour shifts to ensure there were chaperones at all times. Casting a glance at the silver clock on the wall, your heart sunk as you realized you still had another 45 minutes before you could retreat back into the comfort of your own chambers.

Surely no one would notice if you left for a few moments though, right? If you left your jacket on your chair, you could easily pass off a quick absence as an emergency bathroom break.

You got up out of your chair and rushed out of the Great Hall as quick as you could. You forced yourself not to look back as you turned the corner and headed into a secluded spot in the courtyard.

The winter air was a welcome chill that crept across your skin as you settled down on a step. You could relax for a moment, finally. Even if it were only for a quick smoke break. You thanked Merlin for formalwear with pockets as you snagged a lonely cigarette out of your side pocket, and fumbled around looking for a lighter in the other pocket. You did bring it with you, didn’t you?

“Escaping duty, are we?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as a quiet, yet deep, voice spoke from behind you. You shot up to your feet quickly and whipped around to see Severus smirking at you.

“Bloody hell, you scared me.” You gasped, taking in his attire. You had to admit, even in all black, he still cleaned up nicely for an event as formal as this. He had on a wool coat, and what looked like a handknitted scarf. Though he wore his usual stoic expression, the way his hands were jammed in his pockets suggested he was just as cold as you were.

“Sorry.” You muttered. “I’ll go back in. Don’t tell Albus.”

To your surprise, Severus scoffed.

“I’m escaping as well, if it weren’t obvious enough. I’ve had enough of that music.”

You laughed at that. “I thought you’d like what they’re playing.”

“Why? Because of what I wear?”

You glanced away, and out of the corner of your eye, you swore Severus smirked at you.

“I didn’t know you smoke.” He observed with a murmur, quirking an eyebrow slightly as he nodded to the cigarette resting between your fingers. You shrugged.

“I usually don’t. I’ve managed to kick the habit for the most part, it’s only in situations like these when I need something to keep me sane.”

You searched your pockets again and swore under your breath. You had forgotten your lighter.

Severus almost seemed to read your mind, and with an unreadable expression, he took out a lighter of his own. You raised your eyebrows.

“You have Muggle parents too?” You asked, somewhat astonished. Most wizards would simply use their wand as a lighter, but something about having a physical object with only one purpose felt comforting to you. Familiar.

Severus nodding in response, rolling his eyes while doing so.

“Yes. My father. You?”

“My dad too.” You replied. You held the cigarette between your lips, and, to your surprise, Severus held the lighter up for you. It was a strangely intimate gesture, and your stomach did a little flip-flop as you locked eyes with him, before lighting your cigarette.

“Thanks,” you mumbled. He just nodded.

“I’d offer you a cigarette,” you continued. “But I only brought one. Sorry. I try to limit myself.”

Severus shrugged, slipping the lighter back into his coat pocket. “I don’t smoke.”

“Then why do you have a lighter?”

There was a thick silence that filled the space between the two of you as Severus pressed his lips together.

“It belonged to my father. I suppose I keep it out of spite.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but you caught the warning in Severus’s eyes as he shifted to gaze at you. You remained quiet, and turned your gaze upwards to the sky instead.

“It’s a nice evening. Full moon tonight.”

“Mm. Indeed.”

You keep your gaze on the moon as you smoke. Neither of you speak for a while, and as you finish your cigarette, you wonder if Severus glided back into the castle as softly as he came. As you finally tore your gaze away from the moon, you caught the shadow out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh. You’re still here.”

Severus smirked a little. “Do you want me to go?”

“No, no!” You mumbled quickly, shaking your head. “It’s not that. I just… didn’t think you liked me enough to stay this long.”

As if to challenge that statement, Severus stepped a little closer to you. “And what exactly brought you to that conclusion?”

You tried to mask the way your breath caught in your throat. “Nothing, I just… I don’t know. Seems you don’t like many people here. Me included.”

“I’m selective with my company.” Severus replied slowly. “The fact that I am still here should prove you wrong, should it not?”

You couldn’t exactly argue with that. You sighed, wrapping your arms tightly around your torso. The cold was starting to hit you.

Severus noticed your feeble attempt to stay warm. Rolling his eyes, he unraveled the scarf from around his neck and draped it around you without a word.

“Oh, no it’s okay-”

“You’re shivering like a damn dog. Take it.”

You go to protest, but the fire in his eyes shuts you up quickly. You give up quickly, and nod your gratitude.

“Thank you. I owe you one.”

“Two, actually. The lighter.”

His face is serious, but you could swear you see a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“Okay,” you said sarcastically. “What’s your payment then?”

To your surprise, Severus actually considered your question. He cast his eyes back up to the moon and exhaled slowly before gazing at you.

“Tea tomorrow. Say, after the staff meeting?”

This wasn’t at all what you were used to from Severus. Maybe it was alcohol talking. Maybe it was the full moon. Nevertheless, you nodded slowly.

“Deal.”

Severus nodded, the faintest smile on his lips.

“Good. Now go back in there. Or else Minerva will have your head.”

You snickered, shaking your head. To your relief, you felt lighter than when you walked out fifteen minutes earlier.

“Are you coming in too?” You asked Severus as you began walking. He shrugged almost imperceptibly before following you.

“I suppose.”

“There’s still music playing. We could dance together.”

Your suggestion was a joke, but there was a part of you that was silently hoping he’d agree. Instead, Severus laughed and shook his head.

“Absolutely not. But I’ll share a drink with you.”

“Drink and a dance?”

“No. A drink. Two, maybe. But no dancing.”

You grin as the two of you walked back into the Great Hall. You slid into your seat at the teacher’s table, and Severus sat down beside you. You slide him a bottle of Firewhiskey from the middle of the table.

“How about two drinks and we sneak out of here for the night, for good this time?”

Severus smirked as he picked up a glass and held it out to you.

“Deal.”