#but long is good! long gives you something to sink your teeth into!

[hongjoongtime117]

Brats and Backtalk

Pairings: Multiple pairings

Genre: SMUT (MDNI 18+)

Word Count: 10.5k

Warnings: multiple partners, unprotected sex (wrap it up pleaseeeee!), pet names (Kitten, angel, sweetheart, good boy/girl, pretty boy/girl, handsome, baby), multiple orgasms, rough sex, pierced and tattooed Hongjoong, choking, Hongjoong has a Captain kink, everyone’s a brat, oral (F/M receiving), I’m sure there’s a lot more, and if you feel something needs to be tagged, please let me know!

Summary: The four of you finally get together, without the phones

Taglist: @kihyuns-military-wife @ghostlovesworld @arki-sha

About a month had passed since the very spicy game night, and with everyone’s jammed packed schedules, it had been difficult to get together again to follow up on the promise of the four of you together.

Wooyoung and San have plans for the night to go out with their friends Yunho and Yeosang. So when Hongjoong texted you that he was heading out of the studio at a somewhat decent hour, you invited him over, hoping to spend some very needed time together.

‘As if I’d ever turn that down. I’m on my way’ was the reply you received almost immediately.

A half an hour later, you hear a rhythmic knock at the front door. You jump up from your bed to rush to the front door, but San has already beat you to it.

“Hey Joong, nice to see ya!” San steps aside to let him in. You and Wooyoung join him a moment later as Hongjoong toes off his sneakers.

Wooyoung gives an appreciative whistle at Hongjoong. “Ok, Joong, showing some leg!”

“Ah, yeah, it was a lazy day at the studio today. I didn't actually have to work so I didn’t bother dressing the part,” he says, chuckling at Wooyoung’s rowdiness.

Once you’re able to get a full view of Hongjoong with San and Wooyoung out of the way, you thoroughly check him out. The black tank top, showing off his beautiful artwork, his muscular arms, and his damn pecs, and you can see his nipple piercings through the thin fabric. The cut off denim shorts, showing off his thick legs that you are desperate to sink your teeth into. Or be between. Whichever comes first.

Hongjoong looks you up and down and giggles, as you two are unexpectedly matching. Black tank top, showing just the right amount of cleavage, and cut off shorts, hugging your ass just right. Hongjoong pulls you in for a tight hug and grabs your ass and kisses your neck.

“God, I missed you,” his breath tickling your skin.

“I missed you more.”

“Hmmm, is that so? You’ll have to prove it to me,” he says in a playful tone.

“Alright you two lovebirds, get a room!” Wooyoung taunts as he shuts the door.

Hongjoong releases you from his embrace to grab your hand and beings pulling you towards your room. “You heard the man. Come on, baby.”

Once in your room, you both settle on your bed and catch up on life from the last month. You go more in depth on the conversation of where your relationship stands. You’ve found out that Hongjoong’s sex life was much more interesting than you had originally thought.

The friend circle between Hongjoong, Wooyoung, and San had all been hooking up with each other for a while. While there were ‘couples’, as long as it was between any of the eight of them, it was allowed. You and Hongjoong talked about the possibility of adding you into the group of eight. With the boy’s busy schedules and your long hours, you didn’t immediately shoot down the idea.

The last month without Hongjoong had been torture for your insatiable sex drive. So the thought of being able to be with someone deemed safe by Hongjoong in his absence gave you a thrill. Being able to ‘quench your thirst’ with a variety of options was exciting to you. Of course, Hongjoong would be allowed the same, and if schedules allowed, there was definitely room to explore more than one option at a time.

“Have you given any more thought to our talks? I don’t want to pressure you into anything, and I only want you to agree to this if you’re comfortable. If not, we can keep things exclusive. Just you and I. I’ve already talked with the boys before I even brought it up to you, and they are definitely into the idea.”

“You think your jealousy can handle sharing me with seven other men, Joong?” you raise your eyebrows at him.

“I mean, I don’t love the idea, exactly. But if I’m fucking around with all of them, I can’t exactly tell you that it’s not ok for you to do so also. Life is just hectic sometimes, and I’m not always going to be able to take care of your needs, the same way you can’t always take care of mine. I’d rather know you're being taken care of by one, or more, of my boys that I trust, rather than randomly hooking up. Plus, everything goes through me first, and I’ll give you that same respect.”

“I actually really enjoy the thought, and think it would be fun and interesting. Of course I would prefer you, or you and a combination of the others, but I’m fully on board with this idea.”

Hongjoong’s phone lights up with a text.

“Aish, they’re shit out of luck tonight. I’ve got more important things to tend to.”

“And who might ‘they’ be?”

“It’s Seonghwa, Mingi, and Jongho. I’ve told you about them. They wanted me to go out for drinks tonight. You’ll meet them sooner or later. They’re a blast!”

A fake pout crossing your lips as you wrap your arms around his middle from behind, you tease, “I mean, you can ditch me to go pick up people at the bar.”

“Y/N, don’t be fucking ridiculous.” He leans back into you, effectively laying you down underneath him as he removes your hands and flips himself over to settle over top of you, placing kisses onto your neck. “The only ones I want are you and the boys. I’m plenty satisfied with that.”

“So who is your favorite out of the boys?” curiosity heavy in your voice.

He stops his kisses and sighs into your skin. He pulls himself back to make eye contact with you. “You’re really asking me to choose? I can’t do that. They each fill a role for me. Or me for them. San and Yeosang are whatever I need them to be at that moment. Seonghwa comes to me when he needs a break from Dom life and needs to recenter. Clearly Woo frequently needs to be put in his place, so I am a Dom to him, in addition to San. And as for Yunho and Mingi, they’re who I go to when I need a break and need to let someone else take control for a while. Jongho is very reserved and I’m not sure he’s been with anyone in the group if I’m being honest. I think there’s someone, but no one pries.”

“That’s a lot more involved than I thought. I just thought ya’ll fucked, and that was that,” you say, sounding more surprised than you intended.

Just as you finish your sentence, there’s a knock on your bedroom door. Not having locked it, since even if things got heated between you and Hongjoong, (it was definitely going to), it’s not like the other two hadn’t watch Hongjoong fuck you within an inch of your life, you holler for whoever it was to enter.

San and Wooyoung head over to join the two of you on the edge of the bed. “Hey, so, uhhh. Our plans with Yunho and Yeosang fell through. They had something come up.” You can tell San is a little disappointed.

“You look pretty bummed, Sannie. But uh, that leaves the four of us. Free. Together. In the same house. We can make good on our promise,” Hongjoong suggests.

“I’m not going to lie and say that that doesn’t sound like a better plan than what we had planned with Yunho and Yeo,” Wooyoung deadpans.

“We had actually just finished talking about you two and the rest of the boys. I tried asking Joong who his favorite was, but instead I got a breakdown of you all,” your tone amused. “Joong, what do you need Sannie to be for you tonight?” you giggle, wanting to know where this night is heading.

“Sannie is gonna be a good little bottom for me tonight. Aren’t you, handsome?” He reaches over to place two fingers under San’s chin as they exchange glances.

“Sorry, Captain. Not really in the mood for bottoming tonight. You’d have to fight me for it,” he spits.

Hongjoong drops his hand and raises an eyebrow at the challenge. “That can be arranged, San.”

You and Wooyoung share an ‘oh shit’ look with each other as Hongjoong stands up and makes his way past the both of you to San.

“You two, over there,” he points to the small sofa a few feet away, against your bedroom wall, but facing the bed. “I need all the room I can get to deal with San and the mouth he has on him tonight.”

You both are immediately on your feet and heading to your designated spot, entangling yourselves together to watch the showdown between the other two.

Hongjoong aggressively pushes San backwards onto the bed, and straddles him while simultaneously using one hand to pin his hands above his head. He uses the other to grip San’s face rather hard. With a well intended grind of his hips that makes San’s dick twitch, he questions him. “So, how do we fix this smart mouth of yours, hmm?”

“Better yet, how do we fix yours, Joongie?” San uses his body strength to flip Hongjoong over underneath him, and Hongjoong wraps his legs around San to steady himself from the unexpected flip. His hands mimic the same position he was in under Hongjoong. Hongjoong audibly gasps at the change of roles.

“What do you have to say now, Captain?” his tone condescending. “You’re so pretty underneath me like this.”

Hongjoong uses every ounce of strength and the help of his legs wrapped around San to overpower him and yet again land himself on top. “You wish, handsome.”

“Oh come on, Joongie. You and I both know you want me in that tight little ass.” San places his hands on Hongjoong’s waist and grinds him against his hardening cock.

Hongjoong throws his head back with a groan at the friction and San runs his hands under Hongjoong’s tank top and plays with his sensitive, pierced nipples. “Fuck you, Choi San,” Hongjoong hisses.

“Oh, no, no. It’s going to be me who’s fucking you, Kim Hongjoong. You’re going to sit here on my cock and tell me you don’t want it, pretty?” San coos with a roll of his hips against the grind he’s set Hongjoong into.

“I can’t fucking stand you, do you know that?” Hongjoong said through clenched teeth.

“Good thing you’re sitting then, huh?” a smirk plastering San’s face.

“Ooo, Hongjoong is almost as bratty as I am,” Wooyoung whispers to you.

“No one can out brat you, Woo. Except maybe me,” you whisper back. “Have you never seen San and Joong go at it?”

“No, usually when they’re like this, I’m not around so this is as new to me as it is to you. But I like it! I do know though, that from Sannie telling me about the times they’ve fucked, that little Joongie definitely wants to bottom tonight,” he giggles.

“How do you know that?” you yell whisper at Wooyoung, trying not to draw attention to yourselves.

“He was being nice to Sannie. He wouldn’t have complimented him if he wanted to top him tonight.”

“Nice when?” your eyes widening in amusement.

“Didn’t you hear him call San ‘handsome’?”

“I mean, I did but, San is handsome.”

“Not when Joong wants to rail him,” Wooyoung shrugs like this should just be common sense.

During your conversation with Wooyoung, San has Hongjoong even more riled up, his dick straining against the rough fabric of his denim shorts. San sits himself up and makes quick work of removing and tossing Hongjoong’s tank top, and wraps his burning lips around one of Hongjoong’s perky buds, sucking loudly. Small pants, whimpers, and whines begin spilling from Hongjoong’s plump, pink, jeweled lips.

San stops for a brief moment to look up at Hongjoong, lightly glistening with sweat. “Come on, Joongie, all you have to do is beg for it, and I’ll give it to you. Be a good boy.” As soon as he finishes his sentence, one of Hongjoong’s nipples is in between his teeth, and the other underneath the pad of his thumb.

“I’ll never beg for it,” his breathing uneven from San’s touch.

“Never, Joongie? I remember very clearly the last time you begged for me to fuck you.” He stands up with Hongjoong in his arms and leaves from the edge of the bed and makes his way to the foot of the bed to deposit Hongjoong into the middle of it. He hovers over him for just a moment before he places hot, sloppy kisses on his neck. “Let me remind you, hmm?”

San slides his hand into the waistband of Hongjoong’s shorts and boxers and grabs a hold of his hard, leaking, jewelry-clad dick and gives it a few strokes. Hongjoong’s back arches off the bed, chasing the pleasure of San’s hand. “Awww, you’re already dripping for me, pretty.” San rubs his thumb over his pierced tip and Hongjoong lets out a nose somewhere between a whimper and a moan.

“Are you going to willingly beg for it, or am I going to have to make you? Because one way or another, you’ll be pleading for me to fuck you full.”

“I told you I’m not begging for shit,” Hongjoong’s voice cracking from trying to keep his composure.

“I love that you’re putting on a little show for Y/N and Youngie. It’s just going to be that much more satisfying when I finally break you.”

You and Wooyoung have your eyes glued to the pair, Wooyoung palming the tent forming in his sweats, and you rubbing your thighs together to try and relieve your throbbing pussy.

San’s impatience gets the better of him as he rips off Hongjoong’s boxers and shorts in one quick, aggressive movement and throws them onto the floor behind him. Hongjoong lays bare and at the mercy of the fully clothed man. San’s lips are back on Hongjoong’s body and he places hungry, needy kisses across every inch of honey, tattooed skin he can manage to get his mouth on. His kisses getting lower, he stops at the ‘Captain’ tattoo and traces his tongue painstakingly slowly over each letter. Hongjoong’s dick spasms at the feeling of the wet, warm muscle drawing on his skin, and yet another drop of the salty nectar leaks from his tip.

San hums in satisfaction, knowing he’s almost got Hongjoong right where he wants him. “Let me take care of that for you, Joongie.”

He grabs a hold of Hongjoong’s thick, muscular thighs and licks a slobbery trail up the underside of Hongjoong’s dick and engulfs the tip into his eager mouth. Before Hongjoong can get any true satisfaction from it, San pops Hongjoong’s dick out of his mouth. “Fuck, I forgot just how good you taste. You gonna give me some more, baby?”

Hongjoong’s breaths are short and shallow as he whines in frustration. In a final attempt to regain some dominance, he gives a rough tug to San’s locks. “God, you’re such a fucking tease, San.”

“Are you ready to beg yet, or should I keep going?” one side of his mouth curling into a mischievous smirk.

“Do your worst, handsome,” he says, returning the smirk, hand still threaded in San’s hair.

“You won’t be this cocky for long, Joongie, I promise you that.”

San licks and sucks on Hongjoong’s inner thighs, making his way upwards, intentionally ignoring his angry, pulsing cock. He stops for a moment, and you can see the look of contemplation on his face. In the blink of eye, he flips Hongjoong over, kneels behind him, and pulls his hips up to bring his ass flush to his own hips and stiff, still fully clothed dick.

“Y/N, do you happen to have some lube somewhere?”

“It’s in the top drawer of the nightstand,” you manage to squeak out.

San leans over Hongjoong to reach into the draw in search of the bottle. He can feel Hongjoong trying to struggle against him as he finally locates it. He leans back, tossing the bottle within reach on the bed, and puts a firm hand on the back of Hongjoong’s neck and pushes his head into the mattress. His other hand lands a sharp smack on his ass, the sound echoing through the room. Hongjoong makes a strangled noise, somewhere between pain and pleasure.

“You’re gonna stay still and be a good boy and take what I give you, aren’t you, pretty?” he whispers to Hongjoong as he pets his spine with the same rough hand that delivered the harsh blow to his ass.

His resolve completely breaking under San’s hands and words, cheek still squished into the mattress, he gives a small nod.

“That’s it baby. Let Sannie make you feel good.”

San generously costs his fingers with the lubricant and drips some down the crack of Hongjoong’s ass, watching his hole flutter around nothing.

“S-San,” Hongjoong huffs.

“Shhh, it’s ok, I’ve got you.”

San teases the rim of Hongjoong’s hole before leisurely sliding a finger in. Hongjoong hisses at the intrusion and within a few tender stroke in and out, Hongjoong attempts to fuck himself back onto San’s finger. San expertly nails Hongjoong’s prostate, eliciting a choked moan from the man under him.

“Someone’s very needy, aren’t they?”

“I-it’s not enough, I need more.”

San pulls his finger out completely and the beginning of tears start to form at Hongjoong’s lash line. He now places two fingers right at his entrance, just enough pressure to let Hongjoong know they’re there.

“What’s the magic word, Joongie?”

Hongjoong shakes his head. He will not beg for this man.

San drops his hand from its place at Hongjoong’s hole and pushes himself off of the bed, and Hongjoong panics.

Still in the same position as San left him, ass in the air, and face to the mattress, he does indeed begin to beg for San. “N-no, Sannie. Please! I’ll be good. P-please. Sannie, I need you.” The bed dips as San returns to it, having removed his clothes during Hongjoong’s pleas. San is big. You hadn’t noticed prior because he was fully sheathed inside Wooyoung’s ass the last time you saw him naked. He’s long, but also thick, and you want to lick every protruding vein on his cock.

San rubs his engorged, flushed dick between Hongjoong’s ass cheeks, and he flinches a little at the unexpected skin to skin contact. “I knew you’d beg for me. What do you need, baby? Tell Sannie.”

He reaches under Hongjoong, giving his cock a few pumps, and rolling a nipple between his fingers. A staccato moan leaves Hongjoong’s throat and San kisses up his back. “Tell me, Joongie, or I will leave you here, dripping and hard in the middle of Y/N’s bed. Youngie and Y/N won’t be allowed to help you. And I won’t let you touch yourself either.”

“Please, I need your cock. I need you to fuck me, please.” Hongjoong is breathless as a single tear falls.

“That’s a good boy, Captain,” San says as he pushes into him in one fluid thrust of his hips, bottoming out inside of him.

San picks up a relentless pace, and Hongjoong desperately meets it. His whimpers and whines vibrate through the air, along with another familiar set and Wooyoung can no longer keep his mouth shut. You and Wooyoung have stripped down to nothing but your bra and panties and his boxers as you sit in his lap, back to his chest, your legs spread open as he plays with your clit through your soaked panties.

“Aww, look at little whiny bottom Joongie, flushed and crying on Sannie’s cock.”

Hongjoong and San look at the both of you, and even though Hongjoong looks insanely fucked out, you can tell he’s pissed, and so is San.

San stops his strokes into Hongjoong, and gives a cold stare to Wooyoung. Hongjoong makes a noise of disappointment at the halt of San’s movements.

“Youngie. Come here. Now.” His tone is very serious and anyone in their sane mind who wasn’t an absolute brat would be scared. He starts moving again inside Hongjoong, a patient pace, unlike the voice that just came from him.

But Wooyoung being the brat he is, decides to test San’s authority. “Make me, Sannie. And I would say that would be rather difficult for you to do, seeing as how you’re currently balls deep inside precious Joongie.”

With a sigh and gritted teeth, San says, “Wooyoung, don’t test my fucking patience. I said-” He’s interrupted by Hongjoong who, with a sickly sweet voice, calls Wooyoung to them.

“Wooyo, San asked you to come here.”

Wooyoung taps your leg, signaling for you to stand. He immediately heads over to Hongjoong and San on the bed.

“Oh, so you listen to Hongjoong when he calls for you? Seems you’ve suddenly forgotten who owns you, pretty. Boxers off. On the bed, in front of your lovely Joongie. And as punishment for your ‘cute’ little stunt, you don’t get to cum until I say so.”

There’s an air of unspoken words between Hongjoong and San, and Hongjoong knows exactly what he’s asking of him. He’s meant to bring Wooyoung to a similar state of his own. Only then is San going to let him cum.

Wooyoung settles in front of Hongjoong, feet placed on either side of his head.

“Oh, don’t think I forgot about you, Y/N. Come here.” Hongjoong’s dominance has returned, if only for a moment, to put you back in your place. You shake your head ‘no’ at him. An eyebrow flies upwards at your disobedience.

“Kitten,” San says, using Hongjoong’s pet name for you, “you were told to do something, I suggest you listen. Here. Now.”

You swiftly make your way to the bed and sit on your heels next to the three men, squeezing your legs together tightly to try and calm your aching bundle of nerves.

“Since you seem so eager to get your hands on Y/N, Youngie, why don’t you go ahead and take care of the rest of her clothes for us?” Hongjoong looks up at Wooyoung from his place in between his legs. “And Y/N, since you need a lesson on how to control yourself, you’re allowed nothing but to watch.”

“That’s not fair,” you pout at Hongjoong. “It was Woo’s idea!”

“And he’s also in trouble too, lest you forget. Hongjoong will make sure his punishment is carried out. So I suggest you take yours like a good girl, and start by letting Woo get rid of your sopping panties and that bothersome bra. We want to see you make a mess of yourself while I fuck your Joongie full of my cum and he plays with my naughty little Youngie.”

“Get to it, Woo,” San nods his head towards you, and picks back up his pace, fucking into Hongjoong like a dog in heat.

Wooyoung crawls over to you and unhooks your bra tossing it into the pile of forgotten clothes on the floor, and then tips you backwards onto the bed and makes quick work of your panties, adding the final piece of clothing from the four of you.

Hongjoong beckons Wooyoung to sit back in front of him, and he does so without any hesitation. You sit back up onto your knees, this time spreading your legs apart so that your bare pussy touches the soft, silky sheets.

“Go ahead, Joongie. Get your fill of Wooyo as a reward for taking my cock so well.”

Hongjoong doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls Wooyoung by the thighs until he’s face to face with his dick. He kitten licks the precum off Wooyoung’s length that has dripped down it with his pierced tongue, the feeling making Wooyoung shiver with need.

“Fuck, Captain.”

Before Wooyoung can catch his breath, Hongjoong wraps his mouth around him and wastes no time taking him all the way in, his nose nestled in his well trimmed pubic hair. You hear Hongjoong gulp as he swallows around Wooyoung’s cock. Wooyoung screams as he finds purchase in Hongjoong’s hair. San gives a particularly hard thrust which has Hongjoong moaning around him as his eyes roll back, the vibrations causing tears to well up in Wooyoung’s eyes.

“Shit, if you don’t get your perfect mouth off my dick, I’m definitely gonna cum down your throat.”

San lands a thrust that pushes Hongjoong just a little farther down onto Wooyoung’s cock and he chokes on it before opening his mouth to release Wooyoung and letting his saliva coat him and drip down to his hole.

Hongjoong litters each of Wooyoung’s tensing thighs in deep bite marks. “As much as I’d love to swallow your babies, Sannie has given his orders, pretty.”

Hongjoong plunges two neatly manicured fingers into Wooyoung, precum and saliva that dripped from Wooyoung’s dick being the only lubricant. Wooyoung sharply inhales and arches his back at the sudden stretch and slight burn. Hongjoong milks his sweet spot, bringing forth soft, incoherent words from Wooyoung’s lips.

“Hnng, fuck, Joongie. I-I can’t.” Wooyoung’s body tightens as he tosses his head side to side, heavy pants making his chest rise and fall quickly. The look of Wooyoung fucked out from his fingers alone causes him to clamp around San’s dick and San grabs Hongjoong’s hips and pulls him full force back into his cock. Hongjoong crumples with a silent scream, his head resting into Wooyoung’s taut stomach, his fingers now slowly working him.

“Taking me so well, our precious Joongie. You’ve been so good for me. I’ll let you cum soon, baby. Look at the mess our pretty Y/N has made, watching you take my cock.”

All three of them look over to you, your body having a mind of its own as you rub your hot, slick coated pussy against the cool sheets. There’s a growing wet spot underneath you as your arousal only continues to increase.

Your disarray makes all three of them groan, and double down on their efforts in ruining each other. As things get louder and more intense, Hongjoong’s phone rings. None of them bother stopping, instead ordering you to answer it and put it on speaker. The name simply reads “Baby Chick 🐥”.

“H-hello?” you answer, out of breath and barely above a whisper.

“Hongjoong-ah, you sound a little more feminine than usual,” the caller jokes.

“He’s a little BUSY at the moment, Mingi-ah,” punctuating ‘busy’ with a long, deep thrust into Hongjoong. Hongjoong clamps his teeth around Wooyoung’s thigh once again to try and quiet the grunt that threatens to escape.

“God damn, Joongie, are you trying to eat me alive!?” Wooyoung squeals.

“Oh, is he? Sounds a bit like you all are. So it must be Miss Y/N that answered?” Mingi questions.

You’re quiet, your horny brain trying to process everything that’s going on in the moment.

“Y/N, M-Mingi-ah… a-asked you… something,” Hongjoong’s sentence broken up by his high pitched moans and tear laden voice from San’s quickening pace. You’re pretty sure they’re all seconds from cumming.

“Um, yes. It’s Y/N…”

Mingi hums on the other line. “Why so quiet, doll? Aren’t you enjoying yourself? You got three gorgeous men with you.”

“She’d probably be having fun if she was allowed to join, Princess, but her and Woo decided to have some fun without permission, so she can only watch. You should see how fucking hot she looks, all desperate and needy, in a puddle of her own juices,” San paints the picture for Mingi.

“Shit, send me a picture,” Mingi requests.

San quickly takes the phone from you, snaps a quick photo and sends it to Mingi. The line is silent for a few moments.

“Fuck… and y’all aren’t all over that right now?” whines Mingi.

“She’s being taught a lesson, Mingi. And so is Woo,” Hongjoong growls as he take Wooyoung’s dick into his other hand, pumping it achingly slow, slowing down his fingers to match.

“Joongie, f-fuck, please. I need to cum. God dammit!”

“Doll, give me details on what you’re seeing, hmmm?”

You whimper out a sigh. “I could just make it a video call and you can see for yourself?”

“No, no. I want you to tell me.”

Your voice timid and stammering, you explain in full detail what’s taking place. San fucking into Hongjoong, Hongjoong fingering and stroking Wooyoung to the point he’s completely sobbing. Hongjoong kissing Wooyoung to swallow his cries. San reaching under Hongjoong to push a rough, strong hand on Hongjoong’s throat, in turn making him sob, and San belting out a guttural moan.

“Ahh, so little Joongie is taking San’s big cock in his tight little ass, is he?”

“Yes, and I… I think it’s really fucking hot.”

“Oh?” You hear yet another voice on the other line. “You hear that, Mingi? She thinks it’s hot. Lucky for her, she’ll be seeing a hell of a lot of it, if she ended up agreeing to Joong’s proposition.”

“Hhnng, fuck. Come on, pretty. Cum for me. Cum for Sannie.” San is stroking Hongjoong’s cock impossibly fast with the hand that’s not on his throat making him dizzy with pleasure.

Hongjoong’s hole squeezes San dick over and over as he reaches his release, ropes of white, sticky cum painting the bed below as his body spasms and a muted scream leaves his throat.

“That’s it, baby, just a little more. Let me use you. Let me fuck this cute ass full of my cum.” A few more thrusts brings San to his own toe curling orgasm.

“Now, should we finally let poor Youngie cum, Joongie?” San asks Hongjoong, breathless.

“I think he’s earned it,” a devious smirk planted on Hongjoong’s face.

He adds a third finger into Wooyoung’s ass and fucks him in earnest. Before he wraps his hungry mouth around Wooyoung’s dick, he licks his lips. “Now I can finally swallow you properly, my pretty, pretty Woo.”

A strangled cry is heard from everyone by Wooyoung as Hongjoong pumps his fingers relentlessly into him, and swallows his dick whole.

“Fuck, y’all really tortured poor Wooyo this whole time and didn’t let him cum? No wonder he was so loud!” You hear a third voice radiate through the speaker.

“Sangie?” Wooyoung calls out. “I-I thought you and Yunho had something come up? F-fuck, Joong.” The sound of Hongjoong gurgling on Wooyoung’s cock fills the room.

“Jesus, Joong! He’s not gonna have a dick left when you’re done. But, yeah, that something was Mingi. Me and Yunho decided we needed you four to finally fuck it out, so once we heard Hongjoong was over, a dick appointment with Mingi was too tempting. Sounds like it’s, uh, working in everyone's favor. Except for maybe Y/N.”

“Don’t worry, she’s about to be well taken care of. Baby, have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes, sir,” you blurt out, answering San’s question with zero hesitation.

“Sir? Oh, you’re really trying to get in my good graces aren’t you? Go sit on Woo’s pretty face, Kitten.”

Woo is so fucked out, but you can see the look of excitement as you crawl your way over to him and hover over his face. “He said sit, not hover, Y/N,” he says right before pulling you down to fully seat yourself on his face.

He licks a slow, agonizing path from your fluttering entrance to your swollen clit, and grazes it with his teeth before sucking on it, lewd slurping noises surrounding the two of you. Hongjoong hits the right spot for Wooyoung, because you feel the rumble of his moans into your pussy. He comes up for air, his face glistening with your juices. “Fuck, I could eat this pussy all day, you taste so fucking good. Joongie, s-shit. I’m gonna cum!”

“You better make sure that Y/N does too, Youngie. Don’t be selfish.” orders San, and Hongjoong slows just enough to ease Wooyoung off the edge.

Your legs are already trembling, the heat in your gut having threatened to burst the moment Wooyoung pulled you onto his face. “Cum on my tongue, angel. Need you to give me every last drop.”

He dives back in, devouring you like a man starved. His skilled tongue is fucking in and out of your tight heat, and you grip his long, dark hair, trying to maintain some semblance of sanity. Hongjoong can tell you’re close just by your pornographic noises, and the way you rock your hips on Wooyoung’s face. He curls his fingers inside Wooyoung and sucks hard on his tip, and Wooyoung gives your clit the same treatment. Your legs trap Wooyoung’s head as you cum with a loud string of curses. As Wooyoung drinks up your spilled arousal, Hongjoong pushes once more against his sweet spot, finally earning him the treat he’d been after as he swallows every last drop he’s coaxed from Wooyoung. Wooyoung screams are muffled by your pussy, and they reverberate through you, causing another orgasm to seize your body, unexpectedly.

You roll off of Wooyoung’s face and settle next to him. “You eat pussy like a god, Woo. What the fuck?” Your body is still twitching a bit and your breath steadying after coming down from back to back orgasms, and Wooyoung’s eyes are closed as he smirks.

“My mouth is something I pride myself on, in all ways that can be taken,” he giggles softly.

“I hope you didn’t think we were finished,” San asks tentatively.

“Hmm, nope, just needed a few minutes. You good to go Y/N? Joong?”

You and Hongjoong hum in agreement.

“Ok, that’s settled then. Joongie, on your back. I want Youngie to get you good and hard again, and then cockwarm you, keep you nice and ready for Y/N, yeah?” Hongjoong nods as he gets into position. “As for you, my pretty boy,” San lightly grabs Wooyoung’s chin to make their eyes meet, “I know his cock feels amazing, but save your cum for when our gorgeous Y/N has her tight pussy wrapped around your cock. Think you can handle that?”

Wooyung gives a sadden sigh. “As long as Joongie plays nice, I think I can handle it.”

“Oh, baby. I’m not sure it’s him you’ll have to worry about. Now go on and get our Captain ready.”

Wooyoung heads over to Hongjoong, who is resting and waiting with his hands folded underneath his head. “Y/N, can you come here for just a second?”

You’re unsure of Wooyoung’s next move but you scoot yourself closer to him. “Spread your legs for me, pretty girl.” San keeps a close eye on the interaction, making sure Wooyoung behaves. You follow his instructions and give him a full view of your glistening folds. “Fuck, so pretty.”

He sticks his fingers inside of you to collect some of your slick, which is abundant, considering he just gave you two earth shattering orgasms. You groan as you try to ride his thick fingers, but he pulls them out just as quick as they went in. “Nuh uh, baby. I just needed some help getting Joongie all nice and wet for me. I appreciate the assistance,” his tone playful and bratty.

Using the arousal he just collected from you, he slicks up Hongjoong’s dick and strokes him, playing with his piercings, until he’s back fully hard and leaking. He straddles Hongjoong, facing you and San, and Hongjoong pulls his cheeks apart to watch Wooyoung slide down his dick until he’s fully seated on it. Hongjoong sighs in relief. “Shit, Youngie. So warm and tight,” he says, kneading the soft flesh of Wooyoung’s ass. Wooyoung tries to stay as still as possible and follow San’s orders.

Hongjoong plants his feet on the bed to give San space to mimic his position the opposite direction.

“Y/N. Ride me? You’ve been so patient and I know your pretty little hole is aching to be filled with cock.”

“Yes, sir.” You maneuver yourself just over San’s hard, fat cock and line him up with your entrance. The glide is smooth but you can still feel the burning stretch, and he groans as he bottoms out inside you.

“That’s it, baby. Such a good girl for us. I’ve been waiting so long to have my dick inside you. Such a shame that it took Joongie being gracious enough to share you with us for it to happen. We could have had you cumming on our cocks ages ago.”

You whine at his dirty words, bouncing up and down at a rhythmic pace. He sits himself up on his forearms to watch himself disappear inside your tight pussy. “That’s a fucking sight to see. You take me so well, pretty.”

You readjust yourself and slide your upper body forward so it’s resting on the bed, you propped on your forearms now as well, as you continue to ride San. You’re now also inches away from Wooyoung’s dick, still shining from Hongjoong’s mouth. You wet your lips and run your tongue along every protruding vein on his gorgeous cock. He shivers at the unexpected attention.

“Such a cock tease, Y/N,” he whimpers needily, as he begins rocking his hips against Hongjoong’s dick.

Hongjoong grabs his hips to still him. “You were told to warm me, not fuck me, Youngie.”

“I-I can’t h-help it. Feels so good.” You fully engulf his cock into your hungry mouth and he chokes out a broken moan.

San gives your ass a sharp slap that elicits a moan from you, the vibration traveling to Wooyoung’s cock and making him twitch.

“Such a naughty girl, teasing Youngie and making him squirm, knowing he can’t cum until he has you,” San instigates.

You become even more wet at his words. “Now I know why Joongie can’t stay away,” he pants, breaths becoming uneven. “So nice of him to share this tight, wet pussy with us.”

San pays close attention to Wooyoung and can tell by his high pitched moans that he’s teetering on the edge of his release. Before he topples over, San grabs you by the throat and pops you off of Wooyoung’s dick and pulls you flush to his chest.

Brows furrowing and a disgruntled groan leaving his chest, Wooyoung pouts. Hongjoong still has a bruising grip on his hips, keeping him still. “Only good boys get to cum more than once, Wooyo. And you’ve been a mouthy little brat all night. Prove to me you can behave until Sannie decides you’ve earned Y/N, and maybe we’ll be kind enough to let you cum again.”

San finds your lips, placing sloppy, hot, saliva filled kisses onto them. His tongue explores your mouth, tasting the bitter, salty essence of Wooyoung’s precum lingering. His hips snap into you, sharp and precise, brushing against your cervix on every thrust up. He places gentle pressure on your throat, enough to make your head spin, and your orgasm is quickly approaching from his ministrations. You greedily swallow each other's noises and you can feel San’s cock throbbing inside of you. Your pussy has San in a vice grip and he leaves your lips to scatter kisses across your shoulders and neck.

“You’re squeezing me so tight. Let go and cum on my cock, sweetheart.” Your mouth opens in a silent scream as you come undone on San’s dick and after a few more pumps, he follows, his hot seed filling you so full that it drips out of you around him.

San pulls out of you as you come down from your high. “You did so good, sweetie. Can you still take more? Look at poor, Youngie. He looks like he could use your help, baby.”

You look at Wooyoung who is writhing on Hongjoong’s dick, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. “Mmm, yes, Sannie. Want to take care of Woo.”

“Go sit on him, baby. And let Joongie do all the work. I have a feeling you’re going to need your energy once he gets a hold of you.”

You make your way over to a very whiny, overstimulated Wooyoung and climb on top of him. You slowly lower yourself onto his dick, and his nails dig into you back as he cries out. “F-fuck, I… shit.”

The mixture of your juices and San’s cum in your hole, still tight and gripping from your orgasm minutes before, encompassing Wooyoung’s dick, has him cumming the moment he’s fully inside of you.

“Shit. I-I’m s-sorry,” Wooyoung chokes out a sob, tears finally escaping his glassy eyes.

“Aww, our pretty Wooyo couldn’t even wait for us, Y/N. Poor, desperate, needy boy,” Hongjoong coos.

“At least he followed Sannie’s orders. But you’re gonna keep being a good boy and let Joongie and I use you, right baby?” you purr in his ear and yank his long, silky hair, exposing his neck to gently suck on it.

“Such a good boy. Use me, please,” his voice barely above a whisper.

“I love when you’re begging on my cock, pretty boy. We’ve got you, baby.”

Hongjoong starts with a slow and steady pace, and the three of you let out a sound of pleasure. Hongjoong increases his pace as you all become used to the position, him fucking you through Wooyoung.

“Mmm, feels so good, Youngie,” lust lacing your voice as you continue your previous attack on his neck. Your teeth scrape against a sensitive spot and he hums in approval. The pads of your thumbs play with his nipples and his whines raise an octave.

“So good, Woo, letting me fuck you into Y/N. Feel good, baby?”

“Gah, f-fuck. Really good. She’s so wet and tight, Joongie.”

You feel heat at your back, and San has knelt behind you. He places his hands on your hips and rocks you on Wooyoung’s cock, matching Hongjoong’s thrusts below. San rests his chin on your shoulder and Wooyoung instantly attaches his mouth to San’s. The lewd sounds of their make out session next to your ear has the knot in your belly tightening. If the panting in your ear is acting to go by, Wooyoung is just as close as you are, and you glance at Hongjoong to see he isn’t faring any better. His pierced lip is between his teeth, brows knitted in concentration.

San’s hard dick pokes into your back every time he pulls you back, and you instinctively clench around Wooyoung. Now that you’re grinding on Wooyoung on your own accord, San runs his hands up your torso to cup your breasts and knead them in his hands. He pinches your nipples as he and Wooyoung mark your blemish free skin with purpling bruises.

Hongjoong is fucking Wooyoung into you hard, and you gasp as if the air has been punched from your lungs. “Fuck.. s-so close. Don’t stop, please,” you babble.

“Please, Joongie. Don’t stop. S’close too. Y/N is about to drain me for everything I have, she’s squeezing me so fucking tight. Come on, pretty girl.”

“Feels so good. I’m gon-,” your sentence unfinished as you cum so hard that your vision blanks and your hearing betrays you for a few moments, your head resting on San’s shoulder.

The pulsing of your pussy around Wooyoung has him cumming what seems like an endless supply deep inside you. “That’s it, Y/N. Take every last drop.”

The domino effect continues, as Hongjoong follows right behind Wooyoung, wrapping his arms tightly around him and giving a few final strokes. He collapses back onto the bed and lightly chuckles. “I was genuinely concerned you were gonna take my dick off for a second, Woo. I don’t think you’ve ever cum that hard around my dick.”

“Well, you can thank Y/N for that one. She’s got a perfect pussy.”

San removes you from Wooyoung and cuddles you in his arms while the aftershocks of your release calm down. Hongjoong slides out of Wooyoung and cuddles him as well. He pets Wooyoung’s hair as he addresses the both of you. “You both did so good, my babies.” San kisses your temple and makes a noise of agreement.

“Sannie and Youngie felt so, so good. Filled me up so nicely, and I would not be opposed to riding Woo’s face for the rest of my life.”

“Oh?”

You can sense the jealousy seeping out of Hongjoong’s every pore. Which was absolutely your intention. Everyone had been a little too gentle for your liking tonight, and you just wanted Hongjoong to fuck you stupid and remind you who you actually belonged to.

“Sannie fucked me so g-,”

Hongjoong interrupts you. “Kitten, that’s enough.” Anyone else would be scared of the look in his eyes right now, but you’ve got him exactly where you want him. All you need to do is push just a little further.

“What?” you feign innocence. “I was just saying how good they made me feel.” San stifles a laugh as you back talk Hongjoong, because he knows you’re about to be in for it. He quietly slips out from behind you and collects a spent Wooyoung from Hongjoong to go sit over on the couch, ready to enjoy the show.

“Do you think that I don’t have eyes? Or ears, Y/N? Do you think I didn’t hear every sound or see every face you made while they fucked you? While Youngie devoured your pussy?” he hisses.

He makes his way over to you and shoves you back, caging you underneath him.

“You’re a pliant little fucking mess for Sannie, aren’t you?” one of his pretty, inked hands reaching to clasp your throat. “You like how he fucked you, hmm? Let him stuff you full of his cum. Still wasn’t enough for you, you had to be full from both ends, huh? Making Youngie squirm on my cock.”

“I loved every second of it,” you say as loud as you can with Hongjoong’s hand around your neck, a devious smirk decorating your lips.

“I bet you did, Kitten. But let me remind you who you belong to, hmm?”

You hear moans and heavy breathing followed by a ‘fuck’ that doesn’t come from any of the four of you in the room. You all take a moment and realize it’s coming from Hongjoong’s forgotten phone, which has made its way onto the floor at some point.

“Fucking hell, Mingi-ya. I thought you would have hung up by now, since I hadn’t.”

“No, we were really enjoying what we were hearing. Y/N makes some pretty fucking sounds. I hadn’t gotten to hear her yet. Kinda feeling left out, not gonna lie.”

“Maybe if you’re a good boy, Princess, Hongjoong will let you have your chance,” Yunho says in the background.

“God damn, Yeo! Ok, I gotta go. Y’all have given us a very horny Sangie, who currently has my dick down his throat.”

The line goes silent and Hongjoong’s attention returns to you.

“You didn’t think Mingi was going to get you out of this did you?”

“No, but I think you were about to remind me who I belonged to, Captain,” your voice smooth as velvet.

“Spread your legs. Now.” His voice is commanding but calm, and you do as you’re told. “I want you to look at me while you play with that pretty little pussy.”

You dip your fingers into your entrance to gather some of the mixture of cum and rub lazy circles against your clit, eyes locked on Hongjoong. He bites his lip and groans as he pumps his long, hard cock. Your breaths begin to pick up, and your moans and whimpers increase. Hongjoong moves to hover over you. He drinks in the sight of you. Cheeks flushed, mouth parted in pleasure, chest rising and falling in short bursts. “What pretty little noises you make for me. Let’s see how long I can hear them tonight. Don’t stop unless I tell you to, understand?” You give him a small nod.

He makes his way down in between your thighs and ghosts kisses up and down, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He bites down hard on your left inner thigh and suckles. The intensity makes you shriek and your legs shake and you can feel Hongjoong smile against you. “That’s it, let me hear you, Kitten.”

He doesn’t stop until your inner thighs are completely covered in perfect bite marks and various depths of purpling darkness. You’re a writhing mess between your own fingers and his expert mouth. The coil in your gut keeps winding tighter and tighter. “I love how you can’t control yourself when you’re about to cum. But I need you to cum on my tongue, baby.” He removes your hand from your aching nub and replaces it with his tongue.

“Fuuuck, right there, please. Don’t stop.” He nibbles your clit before fully taking it into his mouth, sucking on it like it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste. Your hands find purchase in his hair as your back arches off the bed, and your orgasm ripples through you like a freight train. He detaches himself from you, face covered in your arousal as he comes up to kiss you. You taste yourself on his tongue and you deepen the kiss.

“Tell Sannie and Wooyo who’s making you feel this good, Kitten,” he whispers against your lips.

“You, Captain. Fuck.” You wrap your legs around his waist, attempting to pull him closer, urging him to fuck you.

“Good girl. Let’s see how many more you can give me, shall we? I’m gonna make you cum so many times that you forget your own name. I may allow the others to enjoy you, but don’t you ever forget who this pussy belongs to, Kitten.”

“Please, Captain. I need you inside of me,” you beg.

He chuckles darkly as he untangles himself from your legs and goes to sit against the headboard.

“I bet you do, baby. But before I even think about giving you my cock, you’re gonna cum for me again. And the only way I’ll allow you to do that is by riding my thigh. Come take your place, pretty girl.”

You crawl on your knees over to him and situate yourself on one of his thick, strong thighs. You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your forehead against his shoulder as you grind yourself on his thigh, your wetness making the slide easy. He covers your neck in love bites, but that’s the only form of attention he’s giving you. “If you want it, you have to work for it, Kitten.”

You grind down harder, trying to find the right amount of friction to bring you to your climax. You whine and whimper into his neck as you struggle to get yourself there.

“Does my baby need help?” Hongjoong mocks.

“Please, Captain.”

“Maybe you should watch Sannie over there, fucking Youngie into the cushions, since you enjoyed them so much, hmm?” Wooyoung cries out from a rough thrust of San’s hips. You had long forgotten the others in the room as Hongjoong teased you, making him your sole focus.

“No, I need you. Please touch me,” your voice heavy with desperation as you continue your valiant effort to cum on your own, to no avail.

“You even remembered your manners. Such a good girl.” He flexes his thigh underneath you, the stimulation it causes is delicious. He rolls a nipple between his fingers of one hand, and chokes you with the other, making you head spin with pleasure.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant. “I’m gonna c-.” Your sentence is cut short as Hongjoong removes the hand from your throat and shoves his thumb into your mouth, which you greedily suck.

“What was that, Kitten? I didn’t quite hear you.” Your legs clamp around his thigh as you cum all over it, and your mouth drops open, drool falling down your chin and Hongjoong’s delicate hand. “Making such a mess, baby.”

Before you can recover, he repositions you to lay over his lap on your back and pins one of your legs to his chest, leaving your pussy on full display. “I want Sannie and Wooyo to watch how well you take my fingers. If you’re a good girl for me, I’ll give you my cock next. How’s that sound?”

All you manage is a fucked out whine as he plays with your clit, and you can feel the eyes of the other two on your swollen, sensitive pussy, having clearly finished with whatever they were doing beforehand because Wooyoung is now relaxed on San’s lap.

Hongjoong shoves two fingers inside your abused hole, and curls them to play with your sweet spot. His fingers are fucking you at an unforgiving stride. You cling to his arm for dear life, leaving crescent shaped marks with your nails.

“T-too much, Joongie,” you mewl, wriggling in his grip.

“Take it for me, pretty girl.” He ignores the fact that you didn’t call him by his correct title, knowing there’s no thoughts left in your brain but his fingers deep inside you.

“You’re doing so good for Captain, sweetheart,” San praises. You groan as the wet sounds of Hongjoong playing with your pussy fill the room. If you had been in a proper state of mind, you might have been embarrassed. But Hongjoong is bringing you to yet another orgasm, and you’ve lost all sense of shame.

“Look at you, quivering around Joongie’s fingers. So pretty,” Wooyoung murmurs.

You’re panting heavily as tears begin to flow and Hongjoong can tell you’re close to cumming again. “You close, Kitten? Look at me. I want to watch that pretty face twisted in pleasure when you cum all over my fingers.”

You do your best to focus on Hongjoong as he massages your sweet spot. “Sannie and Youngie don’t make you feel this good, do they, baby?,” he purrs.

“Hnng, n-no, Captain. H-harder! Gonna cum!” your watery eyes focused on the man knuckles deep in your hole.

Wooyoung and San watch as your pussy contracts around Hongjoong’s fingers and you squirt and drench him and yourself. Hongjoong admires the blissed out expression on your face, knowing only he can make you this fucked out.

“So proud of you. You did so good. Have you had enough for tonight, Kitten?”

You sit up and shake your head and pout up at him, stroking his neglected cock. You’re three climaxes in just from Hongjoong, and Hongjoong hasn’t cum for you once. If you’re being honest, you’re a bit offended, even though you know his intention was to focus on you and your pleasure. “You promised me your cock if I was good, Captain. You came for Wooyo and Sannie. But not for me. I’ve been good and you said you would give it to me!”

An exasperated sigh leaves Hongjoong’s lips as his eyes grow dark. “You really just want to be fucked full of everyone’s cum tonight, hmm Kitten? How hard do you want it?”

“Ruin me, Captain. Please?”

“Fuck.”

He pins you down to the bed and manhandles you into a mating press, plunging his dick into your waiting pussy. “You wanted me to ruin you baby, so you’re gonna lay here and take every inch of my cock.”

He thrusts into you with an unyielding force, the sound of skin meeting skin deafening in the room. A loud, long moan leaves from your parted lips. “That’s it, Kitten. Moan for me, just like that.” He pants into your plush thigh, placing tender kisses, quite the opposite of his strokes.

“Fuck, you feel so good, Captain.”

He leans in to capture your lips, a mix of tongue, teeth, and spit exchanged between the two of you. You suck on his pierced lip to encourage him to make those desperate sounds you love so much. The jewelry of his pretty dick drags along your walls so nicely, it makes you gasp. He bites your neck and sucks a mark, darker than all the others you’ve received tonight.

“Mine,” he growls. “And I’m gonna make sure everyone fucking knows it.”

“Yes, Captain, yours.”

His pounding pace has gotten even more unforgiving and you feel yourself barreling towards another blinding release. Hongjoong’s teeth find every inch of skin he can reach and bites hard enough that he knows it will leave bruises for the others to see.

“Joongie, I can feel you throbbing inside of me. Fuck me full? Please? Cum for me?” you whine at him.

“If you want my cum, you’re gonna have to cum first and drain it from me. Squeeze my cock, baby.”

Your pussy hugs him tighter, and the pleasure intensifies even more than you could imagine. “Fuuuuck,” you groan as you take one of his hands and place it around your throat, silently pleading him to squeeze. He follows your silent request and your back arches and your eyes roll in the back of your head, tears falling from them simultaneously. Your mouth drops open and drool leaks from the corners, as you let out as loud of a scream as you can manage.

Hongjoong slides in and out of your pulsing pussy a few more times, before he reaches his own release and stills inside of you. “Goddamnit, Kitten. That’s it, take every last drop. My good girl deserves it.”

He brings you close to him as he collapses next to you, not yet wanting to pull out. He gives your lips delicate, unhurried kisses as you both catch your breath. San and Wooyoung make their way to the bed to join in on the cuddling. Wooyoung hugs you from behind and snuggles into you, and San behind Hongjoong.

“You all did so well. Especially you, Y/N,” San praises. “Is everyone satiated now?” Some form of approval is announced by everyone. “Good. I really enjoyed tonight. I know Y/N probably can’t even move right now, but we’ve got to get cleaned up. We’re a fucking mess.”

He slips out from behind Hongjoong and he makes a disapproving sound at the loss of warmth.

“I’m just going to go run us a bath, Joongie. I’ll be right back,” San reassures as he pats Hongjoong’s head.

San heads towards the on suite bathroom and you hear the water running. Hongjoong plants another kiss to your lips before he goes to leave as well. “Stay here and cuddle with Youngie, baby. I’ll be right back.” You manage a small nod as he pushes himself up and off the bed and finds his boxers in the pile of forgotten clothes. Wooyoung nuzzles your neck and squeezes you tighter.

Before you can drift off, San renters the room. He kneels at your side and scoops you up. “I’ll be right back for you, Youngie. Ok, baby?”

“Mmm, yes Sannie.”

San carries your spent body to the bathroom and gently places you in the tub. The warm water and soothing scent of the candles San lit instantly relaxes your aching body, and you rest against the wall of the tub. “I’ll be right back, pretty. I’m gonna go get Youngie.” You hum as your eyes struggle to stay open.

As promised, San returns with Wooyoung and sets him in the bath in front of you, and you cling to him, pulling him to rest against you. San leaves again, letting you both know he’ll return shortly.

“So that was definitely something,” Wooyoung murmurs to you.

“It was amazing,” you respond.

“I never knew you could cum so much, Y/N. All those other men you’ve brought over must have been trash.” You cackle at his bluntness and scratch your fingertips against his scalp. “Hmmm, that feels nice.”

San meets Hongjoong back in the room where Hongjoong has prepared a snacking board of different items and drinks for everyone.

“They’re settled in the tub, probably waiting for us to return. I’m going to change the sheets and toss the others in the wash,” San informs Hongjoong as he sets everything down onto the nightstand.

“Ok, I’ll go keep an eye on them. They’re probably plotting their next scheme against us,” Hongjoong jokes.

“We can only hope, huh?” San gives Hongjoong a dimpled smile.

“Thanks for taking care of all of us tonight, Sannie.”

“Hey, you took care of everyone too, ya know.”

“We make a pretty good team, I’d have to say,” Hongjoong says definitively.

“We sure do. I’ll join you all in a few. Go take care of our babies in the meantime.”

Hongjoong walks in to see you and Wooyoung talking and giggling with each other. He drops his boxers and inserts himself behind you in the water. “How are you doing, my loves?” He scoots you and Wooyoung closer to him.

“You walked in on our next plan to overtake you and San,” you pout.

He chuckles at you as he relays the conversation he just had with San back in the bedroom. Just then, San enters the bathroom and slides in on the opposite end of the three of you. In this moment, you’re thankful for the abnormally large tub that can easily accommodate the four of you.

“Youngie, come here baby,” San beckons Wooyoung over to him. He makes his way to San and settles in his lap. “What was going on in here, huh?”

“I told you they were plotting our demise!” Hongjoong says and he and San share a laugh.

“I can guarantee you that Hongjoong and I will easily foil those plans!”

You all spend time talking about tonight’s events and potential future plans, Hongjoong and San smothering you and Wooyoung with affection. The water is now lukewarm and San is the first to hop out. He slings a towel around his waist and Hongjoong follows. Hongjoong helps you out of the tub, now that your legs are more stable, and dries you off. He helps you into your favorite fluffy robe as San tends to Wooyoung.

The four of you throw on something light to sleep in and flop onto the clean sheets, and Hongjoong grabs the platter from the nightstand and sets it in between the circle that has been created. Hongjoong grabs a piece of fruit and brings it to your lips.

“Eat, baby,” his voice gentle, yet commanding. You open your mouth so he can feed it to you, and you playfully bite his fingers.

“Yah! Don’t bite!” he exclaims and the whole room erupts into laughter.

“Says you! Look at me!”

“They look pretty on you though,” he says with a smirk.

As the plate clears, and the drinks are empty, everyone begins to entangle themselves and curl into a pile of limbs. As comfortable silence falls upon the group, Hongjoong’s phone rings again. He reaches for it and answers it on speaker.

“Hey, Mingi-ya. What’s up?”

“So umm, when do we get a chance with Y/N?”

[thehollowwriter]

Ok so since i love sad but bad boys i'm gonna ask blaze for your event-

How about reader(gender neutral or fem your choice) who is blaze's childhood friend and tries to make him realize what his mother wants is not what he wants

Thank you! (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞

Hi! Sorry for the late reply! Yaaay a Blaze ask <3

Warnings: None. Word count: 520

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ♥️)

Art by @/moonyasnow

Choose

Blaze sat on one of the rocks closest to the shimmering water of the sea, throwing and catching a smooth, circular rock as he stared at the horizon. It was painted with beautiful purples and oranges as the sun gradually dipped down to welcome the night, giving Blaze at least something to appreciate on this shitty shitty day.

"You should get in," you said to him from your spot within the water, your tail flicking back and forth happily. "The water's wonderful."

"No." Blaze muttered. He didn't feel like changing forms right now. It was such an exhausting process.

An awkward silence reigned for a moment. Blaze kept throwing and catching his rock. Eventually, you spoke. "Your mom again?"

Blaze didn't answer for a while. He stopped throwing the rock and stared at it, turning it over in his hands.

"...I didn't get a main role in our theatre production." He growled out after a while, his voice softer and rougher than usual. "Not even a side character. I'm... 'too wooden'. Mom says she's wasting money and time on me if this is what she gets back for all those acting lessons..." He put his head in his hands. "I'm tyring. I'm trying so hard, but she just doesn't care. Now she wants me to do lessons and advice from Vil fucking Schoenheit."

You didn't say anything for a while. The same string of thoughts you always had every time Blaze mentioned acting flooded through your mind.

'You shouldn't have to be an actor,' you wanted to say, 'Do what you want. Don't you want to choose what to do with your life?'

You rarely did, though. He got so upset every time. But a question on the tip of your tongue escaped before you could stop it.

"Blaze," you said before you could stop yourself. "Is acting what you really want to do? It's more your... your mom's wishes than your own."

Blaze glanced at you, then threw his rock. It skipped across the water before sinking below the waves and into the ocean's depths.

"Of course it's what I want!" He hissed venomously. "I don't even like Alchemy that much. It's just an interesting subject!"

You drew in a breath, refraining from pointing out that you never mentioned alchemy.

"But you don't like acting either." You insisted. "You always hate going to classes. You said you wanted to be in a different club too-"

"Because I hate hearing Vil talk like he's all that when his daddy's money gave him everything! I would like it if that bastard wasn't there!"

You grinded your teeth. "Blaze, you've never been happy about anything to do with acting. You don't like acting. This isn't what you want, Blaze, it's your mom who-"

"Will you shut up?" Blaze hissed. "I'm going to be an actor, and I'm to be Vil Schoenheit levels of famous! You can either support me like a good friend should or get lost."

There was a long pause.

"Okay, well," you said, hiding your hurt. You picked up a smooth circular stone of your own and threw it in the same direction as Blaze threw his. It only skipped a few times before sinking. "Best of luck."

A heavy silence reigned between the both of you. You stared at Blaze. You stared at his face, the way his jaw set in a grimace, and the way his eyes seemed to water.

He could do so much more, be so much more, but he didn't want to. Or he didn't think he could. It hurt to see. But you stayed silent.

You disappeared into the water and left Blaze to sit on his rock. Alone.

-End

A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading! Blaze is a bit mean, sorry :(

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @honeynclove @moonyasnow

@skibidibabygirl @paperclvps

[ilovemylawyer]

i think what is happening is people see the E rating and click for just that and then are offput but the weird bad sex. the sex is supposed to be weird and bad. it’s sex as murder. what i was trying to do with pt3 was to write doyoung’s death as sex. kind of. but it’s sex as murder. i don’t like spelling things out (i do sometimes but not here) but i just don’t know how clear my vision is. i am also just awful at writing sex scenes maybe that’s why. but the sex itself is not the important part and it isn’t meant to be hot or sexy like At All. i am facing difficulties.

[shotmrmiller]

your superior finding out about the secret praise kink you didn't know had a name because you'd always been called an over achiever, a goody two shoes. never gave anyone any trouble, nose burrowed in a book since you had knobby knees and a library card.

you'd thought it normal that the apples of your cheeks burned when praised after giving your teacher the drawing you'd made for them the night before. that heat spread from the center of your chest up when your first boyfriend/girlfriend whistled at the sight of you outside of uniform. that warmth settles in your belly when you get a pat on the back from your platoon leader firm enough to force the air out of your lungs because you'd disassembled and cleaned a glock with the ease of a professional.

apparently it wasn't.

after weeks of training with the fabled task force, weeks of sharing elbow room with the team, weeks of soaking up the dizzying praise from the captain ("did real good out there, eh? can always count on you." you didn't question the throb betwixt your thighs, taking care of it with a cute little bullet like you've always done since joining the military)

you're confronted by the worst of the lot. ghost catches you in a break room, your back to him, hands clutching a cup of coffee that's more sludge than liquid, its warmth barely seeping through the styrofoam.

his figure fills the doorway, shoulders nearly brushing the frame. your first thought is that his brows aren't twisted together and he lacks that cold, blank look in his eyes so your death isn't in the nearest of futures. the second is that when he's not fully covering his face, the outline of his jaw is quite visible, looking sharp enough to cut.

then he crosses his sculpted arms over his chest, seams straining against the expanse of his muscles, head tipped to the side.

he moves with the keen curiosity of a predator sniffing around a newborn fawn, gaze intense yet inquisitive, assessing your every detail with a menacing interest.

"you ever gonna tell me you've a praise kink, bird?" the question sends a chill through your veins before turning into a fiery rush as it races at twice the normal speed.

praise kink? no. surely not. doesn't everyone like to receive compliments?

"sure. i don't mind gettin' told i've an impressive cock but that's bed talk. you look ready to bend over 'nd show us how slick tha' pretty cunt can get over a rufflin' of hair and a couple of empty words."

that has you positively reeling, fingertips cracking the cup in your hands, pulse on your neck fluttering. you feel a cornered, skittish animal, ready to flee lest your life come to an end in his maws.

but as usual, the cruel man more creature than person, twists the knife he's dug into you with a certain ruthlessness only he can muster.

"so be good for me, eh? love your praise? earn it."

you've always been an over achiever, proven once again by the way you take him to the root in one long, broad stroke with any complaints at the sheer size of him resting firmly behind your clenched teeth.

"tight little thing, spread open over me like you were meant for it. for me." he runs a gloved thumb over your swollen bottom lip. "there's tha' look. drivin' me bloody insane when you gave kyle tha' molten gaze. none o' tha' now, yeah?"

he creeps his ungloved hand down to circle your pearl with the spit-slick pads of his fingers, drawing in a sharp breath when your walls flutter and constrict around his cock at the feel of something other than your toy giving you the relief you need after a hard day's work.

"bloody fuckin' 'ell."

ghost claims a fistful of hair, pulling you closer to him, his breath warming the stinging, throbbing mark he bit onto the delicate skin of your neck. the shuffling of feet right outside the door snap you out of your daze, fingernails sinking into the bulging muscle of his chest but he has none of it.

he uses your hair to direct your focus back onto him and even though he'd only given you a leading tug you felt some strands of your hair come off with a pop.

"easy. can't see your pretty face when i'm fuckin' ya if your lookin' away."

your expression twists into what you hope is bliss when he bucks his hips, your whimper drowning out his groan when he hits on something new.

something you want him to keep hitting.

"exactly like i'd thought."

everything else blurs together after that, and only when you're back in your room using a warm cloth to clean yourself up do you remember the other things he'd rumbled.

(inside o' ya, make you mine-)

(-get 'bout bein' with anyone else-)

(-ll to myself-)

you touch your tender pussy with gentle fingers at what he'd said in the end.

(leave tha' f'me, he swipes your hand away, i'll get ya there, pet.)

if price's compliments take a nose dive off a cliff you don't notice because you're getting your daily fill of them and ghost after dinner every night. kyle keeps them to one word and soap likes to tempt fate as always.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

BLOODTHIRSTY

PAIRING: logan howlett x vampire mutant!female reader

RATING: mature | WORD COUNT: 990

SUMMARY

when your next shipment of blood won’t be delivered to the x mansion for another two days, logan offers to help keep you fed.

part two, animal instinct

WARNINGS/TAGS

typical vampire themes (blood, biting), no use of y/n, reader being picked up, grinding, kissing

LINKS

masterlists | support for palestine

You're pacing the length of the kitchen, filled with anxious energy. There's a pit in your stomach, a gnawing pain that's keeping you awake and lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling wasn't helping.

You hear footsteps in the hall and pause, watching as the thick wooden door opens and Logan steps into the kitchen, flicking the light switch and bathing the room in brightness that hurts your eyes. He raises an eyebrow when he sees you.

"Can't sleep either?" he asks, sauntering further into the room. He's fully dressed, a tight white t-shirt stretching across his defined chest and biceps and a pair of jeans hugging his legs, covering boots that click against the tile with each step. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his neck, to the thin skin that covers his fluttering pulse, but you look away quickly in shame.

"Too hungry," you reply. He looks around the room.

"Well, you're in the right place for eating. There's plenty of food."

"Not the kind I need."

He tilts his head, assessing you. "You some kind of vampire or something?"

"Or something," you reply, dancing around the truth. You're not sure what you are, not exactly, but Charles has helped you unlock enough information to get by. "Anyway, Charles said the next shipment should be here in a couple days. I just have to make it until then."

"I could help you out," Logan suggests. You raise your eyebrows at him.

"Absolutely not," you snap. You move to leave, walking past him, but he wraps a hand around your arm to stop you.

"Why not? You can't kill me. You won't even leave a mark."

"You don't know what you're offering, Logan."

"I got a pretty good idea," he says with a huff of laughter. "You're a predator. I know what it's like to suppress that side of yourself."

You don't know much about Logan. He hasn't been at the X Mansion for very long, but he's made quite the impression among the staff. You can see why -- he's charming, handsome, rough around the edges. You know of his abilities but you don't know him, not really, and the fact that he's offering himself for your hunger is planting nasty seeds of suspicion in your brain.

"I can't," you whisper. He steps closer.

"Why not? Afraid you'll get addicted, sweetheart?"

He's goading you, tempting you. Your gums ache with the need to bite, to feed, to fill yourself full and find sweet relief from the pain of hunger. He pulls you closer and your treacherous body obeys, ignoring the warnings from your logical brain.

"Come on," he says. "You'll feel better."

It's been a long time since you've fed from a living person, having grown so used to the donor blood Charles is able to obtain for you through various channels, but the muscle memory is there.

You're chest to chest with Logan now, pressed so tightly to him that you can feel his heart pounding against you, can hear the rush of blood in his veins. He smells like the woods and smoke, an earthy combination that makes you a little lightheaded. He wraps an arm around your waist.

"You want it?" he asks. You nod. "Do it, then. I've got you."

You're helpless to it now, nothing in your mind except survival instinct demanding to be fulfilled. The prick of pain as your mouth grows crowded with longer, sharper teeth meant to tear and ravage and maim. You lean into him, running your lips against warm skin and relishing in the sharp breath he takes at the contact.

Like any predator, you give no warning, sinking your teeth into his flesh. Blood rushes over your tongue, warm and lush, invading your senses. His heavy palm settles on the back of your neck, cradling you to him, and the intimacy of it pulls a moan from deep in your chest.

"Fuck," Logan growls, his other hand tight on your hip. You lift your head to ask if he's okay, but the words are lost when he bends his knees and grabs the back of your thighs with both hands, urging you up. He settles you on the counter, fitting himself between your spread legs.

"Again," he demands, eyes wild and teeth bared in a snarl. You switch to the other side of his neck, biting down hard. He moans, loud and deep, hips flexing into yours. You can feel the hard length of his cock through his jeans and the friction against your core makes you whine and writhe against him.

You drag yourself away from him, licking your lips. His pupils are blown wide, the black of them nearly engulfing the gorgeous hazel of his irises. His gaze drops to your lips and he leans in, kissing you like a hungry animal, trying to devour you in turn.

He pulls away from you, begins to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck. You grow tense, the sudden realization that Logan's favor has devolved into something more hitting you like a ton of bricks.

You push him away by the shoulder and he stares at you with a furrowed brow, confusion coloring his features. His chest heaves with breath and his mouth is stained red, lips kiss bitten and slick. The wounds you would have left behind have already closed, leaving no trace of you on his skin. You swallow around the lump in your throat.

"Thank you, Logan," you whisper. You ease yourself down from the counter, the man stepping back slightly to give you space. "Goodnight."

He clears his throat. "Right. Hope you can sleep now."

"I hope you can, too."

You leave the kitchen, the weight of his stare on your back not lifting until you're in the hall and can take a deep breath. When you return to your room, you still can't sleep.

But it's no longer because of hunger.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or commenting, I’d love to hear from you 💕

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

All masterlists

Logan Howlett masterlist

[lale-txt]

❥ falling asleep besides you for the first time ↳ w/ Toji, Naoya, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Higuruma, Sukuna & Choso

a/n: this came over me like a fever dream during another episode of insomnia. some of those drabbles are a little sad, i apologize. it's what you get with all those tragics characters. reader is gn!

word count: 1.4k

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 doesn’t even want to fall asleep; it’s not like he had a good night of rest ever since… well. He tells himself he’s just gonna close his eyes for a bit, stretched out on the couch next to you, his weary head in your lap. There’s still blood on his hands and on the side of his face, he’s gonna get cleaned up in just a bit, he mumbles, but the words come out heavy and drowsy, and your fingers are tangled in his hair now and your voice is this sweet whisper, baby, I love you anyway, and Toji–Toji just gives in. For the first time, sleep doesn’t come over him as a heavy veil, as if he’s drowning; for once it’s something peaceful, something quiet. Something he welcomes. Next to you, you with your fingers woven between his, you who loves even the broken parts of him, you with quiet love and reassurance that you’re still gonna be there when he wakes up again.

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀 hasn’t had another warm body next to him under the covers in a long time. He doesn’t realize how much he missed this until your body melts into his, one leg swung over his thighs, your arm sneaking around his waist and your head finding its spot in the crook of his neck. His cheek falls softly against your forehead when he pulls you closer, breathing in the scent of you that’s the closest to home he ever felt, pressing kisses on the crown of your head. It’s not just lust–oh, he wants to devour you, but there’ll be time in the morning–it’s the absence of loneliness and unspoken confessions. Higuruma can tell when he’s falling in love and in this moment he’s wading deep, deeper through his feelings for you, biting his tongue so they don’t spill out all over the pillows and into you. You already know anyway, and when the sun comes up again, you’ll lick them from the cave of his mouth like a prayer.

𝐍𝐀𝐎𝐘𝐀 can’t fall asleep, not on his wedding night, not when your mouth is whispering all those words he’s demanding from you. His cheek is pressed against your palm while he’s pinning you down, almost nuzzling into it like a touch-starved stray, golden eyes lingering on you. Say you’re mine. Again. Say who you belong to. Mine. Mine. All mine. He isn’t aware how pleading he sounds, how raspy his voice gets the more you obey, every time you sigh his name so softly into his open mouth. Naoya doesn’t care if you’re lying, as long as you wear your wedding band on your ring finger for everyone to see. You’re his to keep now, and if he could have it his way, you would be forbidden to leave this bed forever; he wasn’t aware just how much he had craved the presence of another being by his side at night, one who doesn’t leave once he had his share of pleasure. No, you’re his now, and before sleep eventually finds him, he’ll make sure to sink his teeth into you till his name rolls off your tongue like a lullaby. 

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 doesn’t let go of your hand; he’s afraid it’ll go cold if he allows himself to let his guard down even for one second. This isn’t how he had imagined spending the first night with you. Not under the fluorescent lights of the infirmary, not with your body wrapped in gauze and machinery monitoring your heart rate. It dawns on him as he’s sitting on your bedside–how attached he’s gotten to you, then: How he had almost lost you today. He squeezes your hand tighter and sighs, his weary head sinking down on the mattress. Your fingers twitch and find their way into his hair, combing through it weakly. As if they say, it’s okay, I’m alive, you’re not to blame. So please don’t leave and take all your love with you. And Nanami takes your hand once again and kisses your fingertips, pressing promises against your skin, promises of a future where you and him can just be, one where he can finally put all of these feelings down, down in your open and gentle palms for you to keep.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 is clingy throughout the day, but even more so at night. He doesn’t like the eerie quiet that settles in once the sun has sunken, not when he can listen to your steady breathing next to him instead, so naturally he feels a rush of joy when you push your futons together for the first time. His heart is beating way too fast to find sleep now, his eyes taking in everything about your sleeping figure, from the way your chest rises and falls to how your nose scrunches slightly for a moment. Choso wants to know what you’re dreaming about, what colors your dreams are, and if he’s ever in them. He wants to engrave himself into your being, wants to keep you wrapped in his arms forever. His kisses feel light against your skin, careful not to wake you but enough to fill his desire. Choso loves you with his entire being, and sleep is merely an obstacle, cutting away from your time spent together–though he must admit, his eyes flutter shut quite easily in your embrace.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 realizes that his idea of ‘sweets in bed’ now has a double meaning, seeing you sprawled out in his sheets with candy wrapping paper clenched between your fist and more of it lying on the floor. Cute, he can’t help but murmur as he lays down next to you on his side, mustering you with an amused smile on his lips. When he told you to knock yourself out on the sweet souvenirs he brought, he didn’t assume you would take it that literally. His thumb brushes over the corner of your mouth, collecting some of the powdered sugar that’s still stuck there, and Gojo could swear he never tasted anything sweeter than this when he brings it to his tongue. He gently replaces the trash you hold onto in your sleep with his fingers, woven between yours, and pulls you close to him, his tall figure embracing you; and for the first time in a long time, Gojo feels a wave of calm wash over him, allowing him to exhale and sink into a dream almost as sweet as you.

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 doesn’t know why he keeps entertaining your antics. Sharing a bed, sleeping together side by side? How utterly foolish, but as to be expected from a mere human; they’ve always been like this, seeking comfort and warmth when they’re the most vulnerable. Of course a predator like Sukuna wouldn’t have to worry about sleeping safe and sound. Yet still; he can’t help but let his gaze linger on you, wrapped up in his embrace, four arms holding you in place on top of him. Everyone else would freeze in fear, but you? You snore quietly without a single worry in the world, knowing you have a king watching over you in your slumber. Sukuna huffs but still brushes a strand of hair out of your face. Maybe he’ll tell Uraume that you’re off the menu, for now. As long as you know your place–in his embrace, wearing his marks with pride, providing a sense of comfort Sukuna had never known before. Fool, he mutters and rests his chin on top of your head, not sure if those words were for him or you. 

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 doesn’t question when you knock on the door of his dorm room, asking for shelter after a particular nightmare. He hasn’t found any sleep yet anyway. When he lifts up the covers for you to slip under, he’s surprised that you don’t even hesitate to do so, wrapping yourself around his body as if it was molded for that only. Geto can tell that you’re trying not to tremble, but the nightmare still lingers. He knows it all too well. His fingers brush through your hair when he pulls you closer to his chest, as if this could prevent you from falling apart–though deep down he’s aware that he might be the one on the verge of breaking. You know it too, don’t you? Geto is tired, oh, so tired. The kind of tired sleep can’t fix, and he can’t help but wonder if this would also be the last time that you’re in his arms, clinging onto someone who is long gone; a version of him that he shed together with his dream of letting himself love you.

[rinneverse]

pspspsp,,, do you perhaps have a spare boothill thought or two ,, sfw or nsfw,,,

i most certainly do have a few spare boothill thoughts! mostly nsfw ( ¬‿¬) walk with me nonnie… heheheh this got a wee bit too out of hand and i dropped WAY more than a few thoughts (and i am also tipsy, so i apologize in advance if something doesn't make sense) regardless, i hope u rlly like this :3

cw. assorted boothill x f!reader thoughts, manhandling, biting, improper use of a lasso (bondage!), mentions of overstim, lack of stamina is a foreign concept to boothill, talk of cyborg dick and artificial cum, creampies. not proofread in the slightest if there are typos no there's not

���♡𓆪 the thing about boothill is how unafraid he is of manhandling you. while he's aware that humans are much more fragile than he, he knows your limits like the back of his hand and he knows what you can handle. you can take him like a big girl, can't you?

𓆩♡𓆪 he'll fold you in half, put you in all sorts of positions, toss you over his shoulder and pat your plush ass with a smug laugh. if you decide you want to ride him and get all tuckered out, thighs burning, the moment you're whining and babbling for his help he's already on it. big hands envelop your waist as he moves you to his whims.

𓆩♡𓆪 boothill likes to see you pleasure-drunk, entirely fucked out by the time he's done with you. he can go for as long as you need, baby; you just have to say the word. he can eat you out for hours, fuck you for double that, and still have enough energy to take care of you afterwards.

𓆩♡𓆪 cyborg sex has the potential to really get freaky tbh... he's definitely had chats with you about different 'attachments...' whatever you're into. he's definitely figured out which size makes you cum the most, and will indulge your every whim—especially when you shyly ask him "baby... can we go bigger?" (if he still had a human body, his dick would be rock fucking hard right now.) he's definitely looked into vibrating attachments. great heavens.

𓆩♡𓆪 SPEAKING OF attachments he's looked into: boothill has definitely found a way to creampie you. the tipping point for him deep diving into this was when you were just whinin' so pretty for him, begging for more, and you had let it slip that you wished so bad for him to be able to cum into you. lo and behold, he finds a solution and he surprises you by cumming deep in your aching cunt one night. the two of you definitely make a mess of your bedsheets by the end of the day (and you probably had the most earth-shattering orgasms you've ever had in your life).

��♡𓆪 the day you finally asked him what his teeth would feel like, boothill's grinning like a maniac. he won't bite so hard that it hurts too much, but he knows how much you like the power he holds over you. sharp teeth sink into flesh, followed by a hot tongue that laves over the mark adoringly.

𓆩♡𓆪 another day he indulged you... there was one time he noticed you eyeing the lasso that hangs at his hips. he smiles wolfishly at you and asks, "like what you see, darlin'?" he's surprised when you shyly nod your head and look up at him with sweet doe eyes and asks if maybe... he'd consider using it in the bedroom?

𓆩♡𓆪 and oh, he did. he considered it maybe a little too hard (he jerked himself off far too many times that day). when the time came for him to use it on you, he was fiending. he ties your wrists to the bedposts and just goes to town, treating your cute body like a pretty little cum dump. he's definitely a big fan. especially when you can't run away from all the pleasure he wants to give you <3

𓆩♡𓆪 he doesn't look it, but i think he provides good aftercare. he knows how fragile the human body is firsthand: that's why he's a cyborg now. he'll take care of you. without fail, every time he's done with you, you're practically a puddle, exhausted and jelly-boned, and boothill is scooping you up into his metal arms. and yet despite the cool metal pressing against your flesh, you feel warm. maybe it's just the love pouring out of his every action, the way he treats your body with absolute reverence and adoration as he cleans you up and gets you ready for some rest.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

thinking about roomie!suguru, who steps out of the bathroom with just a towel hanging loosely around his waist. it's dangerously low and his happy trail is... leading your eyes to a forbidden place. water droplets cascade down his temple and his neck, his scarred chest and his toned muscles.

he finishes drying his hair with another, smaller towel before slinging it over his shoulder. he gives you a warm smile. there's still a bit of sleep in his tired eyes but he looks fresh, he looks good.

(he looks more than good.)

the morning light shines in through the small window of your shared kitchen and he hums at the smell of coffee. you're an angel leaning on the counter, hands busy with preparing your drink as he steps inside.

he chuckles. he asked you a question but you didn't hear it. he smells so fucking good; the smell of his shampoo and his fancy conditioner wash over your senses and it's easy to forget where you are. his eyes flick behind you before walking over to you with a smug little grin.

he bores his sharp purple eyes into yours – he loves how you react to him. he doesn't shy away from it, he's cockier than he looks. he loves the attention, he loves to be in your spotlight. he wouldn't care so much if you were a stranger, if you were a random person on the street ogling away, ut you're neither of those things, are you? no, you're something else.

he exudes warmth as he towers over you, his head tilted down to keep his eyes on you. he wants to play with you a little – he loves the way you're staring up at him right now. eyes big and wide, lip tucked under between your teeth. he's good with people, he can read them like a book and you're no different. he sees you swallow a dry lump, he sees you grace him with a flustered smile as you try to brush by the fact that he caught you admiring him red handed. he sees the way you're taking deeper breaths than normal, surely just to keep your composure. he can't wait to break you.

his arm reaches behind you to turn off the coffee machine with a small click.

"wouldn't wanna make a mess this early in the morning, now would we?"

melting. crumbling. falling down to your knees. you hate how much he teases (you love it), you hate how patronizing he sounds (it's hot). he's the only one that can get away with it – a charming smile that hides his deepest desires of sinking his teeth into little lambs like you, soft eyes that hide the need to watch them unfold before him.

his gentle hands long to hold, long to keep and covet. he thinks about you a lot; your shared mornings and afternoons, your exhausted naps and bitter rants about your days. shy gazes and lingering touches, stupid jokes and the cute little hidden sounds he keeps hearing from your room in the late hours. he's being patient, he's warming you up.

he's just as infatuated with you as you are with him. he's just more subtle with it.

or is he?

because you've heard him, too.

you don't know whether he's doing it unknowingly or he's actually trying to make you go insane – whichever it is, you are ready to bend at his will. soft groans accompanied by a steady slick pump; you didn't mean to listen in. you just wanted to make sure he's okay!

ear against the wooden door, you listened to him think about you. your name was on the tip of his tongue, but it was too early for that. he wants to smear you with his honey, he wants to drag you in but he needs to wait for it. this is perfect.

he did know you're were there.

he heard the floor creak, he heard the cutest gasp that left your pretty lips. fuck, you're perfect. his head was lolled back as he stroked himself to the thought of your wide, doe-eyes. how flustered you'd be, how flustered you were in that very moment. he imagined your trembling hands and your stuttered words and his dick twitched in his palm.

he thought about inviting you in and just making him watch as a form of punishment, for being a little pervert. he shuddered out a laugh and watched a glob of pre-cum cover his own fingers before mixing with the saliva and spit that's covering him already. he thought about making you sit between his legs so he could jerk off right in front of your beautiful face, he thought about your wobbly lips, your teary eyes. the way your thighs would press together.

your fingers would itch and twitch and he'd make you place them on your legs. he wouldn't want you to touch. yet. maybe he'd make you apologize and maybe he'd make you kiss the tip. he thought about how good you'd smell, how good you'd taste. another raspy groan crawled up his throat and you were about to cum untouched behind his door. like a creep.

he loves it. he's proud of you, he wants to push you even further. he wants to see what else he can make you do. this is exciting and he can't wait to devour you whole as a reward after he's done bullying himself into your body and your mind. utterly loved and corrupted—

— you're meant for him.

[wyniepooh]

Loving him was never enough

you don’t have what logan needs, but he still takes all that he can.

Cage fighter!logan x reader. Mentions of violence. Porn with a little bit of plot. mdni; 18+

thinking about being logan’s plaything in his cage fighting days.

It’s not uncommon for the fighters to have a beautiful girl around their arms as they enter the ring, and though Logan usually resists against the fan girls who clamour around him in a frenzy, he figures a sweet thing like you could only do him some good.

Not only does it piss the other fighters off, (they hate to see the king of the cage also have a pretty girl like you beside him) turns out, you’re not half bad for company either.

You’re an anxious little thing, brows furrowed and eyes teary before every match. Logan doesn’t bother telling you that he’ll be fine, that he’s going to win guaranteed, that his punch is as hard as metal. Literally.

He hates to admit it, but he finds it endearing, the way you’re so worried for him. through his nonchalant front, he still wipes away your tears with his large hands before every match and reassures you, cooing, “I’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

When logan gets in the ring, the fight goes exactly as he expects it to go. The other guy is destroyed before logan even shows his true strength. In a spiteful and humiliating position, the fallen guy comments something like, “I’ll fuck your pretty girlfriend dumb.”

Logan hears, of course, and though the guy is already bleeding and sprawled over the mat on the ground in a pathetic display, and though logan definitely didn’t consider you his girlfriend, he throws the announcer to the side and pounces. Through gritted teeth and a bleeding forehead, he catches your eye, shaking his head lightly before knocking the other guy out.

You wait for him in the small public washroom afterwords, arms crossed and pouting. As Logan approaches the door and sees your stiff pacing around the room, he knows you’re mad. And he knows it won’t stay that way.

“‘was so worried, logan,” you practically run towards him, “why’d you have to go after him like that? he could’ve really hurt you.”

He scoffs and flashes you the fresh wad of cash. “Hurt me? Please.”

He stays still for as long as he can bear while you dab at the wound on his head with your sleeve, silently hoping you wouldn’t notice the red cut slowly healing by itself. When you try to touch his face, to run a finger down his cheek and his stubble, he grabs your wrist harshly to stop you.

You’re confused, confused as to why he allows you to trail along to his every fight and wipes your tears with such a gentle hand, but refuses to let you in. He doesn’t give you much time to think, though, because as soon as you part your lips to speak, he’s picking you up from under your arms and sitting you down on the cold sink counter.

there’s an aggressive desperation behind his kiss, probably produced by the adrenaline of the recent fight and triggered by the soft whine he heard from you when his teeth knocked against yours. His hand reaches down between your legs and drags your panties to the side, and before long, you’re biting his shoulder and mumbling, “‘gonna cum, logan, please, let me cum.”

He does, drawing out your short orgasm with a few more pumps of his fingers and a graze over your clit. When he’s done, you’re practically already numb, head limp on his shoulder as you hear the metal clinking of his belt.

“You want this?” He asks, holding your head up by your chin as he tilts his head and raises his brows. “You want me?”

You nod feverishly, half-lidded eyes flickering as you breathe, “yes, logan. need you.” Your head falls back against the mirror, and he looks down with a grin at the sight in front of him.

he hooks his arms around your knees to bring you closer before you take him to the hilt in one go, burying a mewl into his shoulder as you wrap your legs around his waist. The first thrust burns, always does, but only he can make you forget the pain in an instant. Soon, your hands are tangled in his hair, his beard is rubbing against your neck, and you’re begging, “please, lo, need it so bad. “ Logan fucks exactly like how he fights, thrusting into you so sharply your ass is sliding back on the metal counter with each movement of his hips.

He’s done this enough times to know what makes you whine and dig your fingernails into his back, but he still demands, every time, “that feel good, baby? you like that?” Of course, you don’t have to answer for him to know that it does, that it does feel good, so incredibly good, and that he’s hitting all the right spots in the body only he knows so well.

You aren’t the only one filling the room with lewd noises. Logan is panting too, the echoes of his each and every grunt reflecting off of every corner in the room and into your ear. It only makes your cheeks flush hotter, only encourages your hips to move more eagerly to match his pace.

It’s always when he’s just about there that Logan pulls back and looks down at where the two of you are connected, slowing down his strokes to slowly watch his bulging cock sink deep into your slopping cunt.

It’s the only opportunity with logan that you get to really look at him, to see the raw expression of euphoria on his face, teeth bared and mouth open. Some strands of previously gelled hair are stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes rolling back with each press of his pelvis. Your eyes trace the sweat on his shoulder, the hair on his chest peaking from behind his white wife-beater, and the vein on his stomach that connects to the one on his dick.

You gaze flickers back at his face, and you extend a hand to guide his head towards you. He tries to turn away, as usual, and you hate that you know he’s holding back; limiting the noises he’s making, the pace he’s taking.

“Just use me, Logan. I know you want to,” you plead against his lips, inhaling a gasp as you press your lips onto his. You expect him to pull away, to push your head to the side and focus on finishing the other task at hand, but this time, he only pulls you closer, one hand around your waist and the other on the back of your head. He doesn’t give you much time to be shocked before he resumes his previous pace, drilling into you with the same vigor, albeit a bit more sloppy than before.

Logan pulls back to catch his breath, and at the same time, you clench tightly around him. A low groan escapes him, a noise so animalistic and fervent that you reach your high right then and there, shrieking as your legs begin to shake.

He’s close too, you can feel it in his breathing, so you let him fuck you beyond your orgasm, even if it’s getting to be too much and you’re losing your thoughts by the second.

“nobody— ah— fucks my girlfriend,” he suddenly growls, lifting you up from under your arms and shoving you against the tiled wall. He squeezes your cheeks, forcing you to look into his hazel gaze as he spits, “n-nobody fucks you like I do.”

He plummets into you deep, leaning his lips in and making you swallow one last groan of his before you feel his warm release fill your insides.

When he’s done, Logan is supporting all your weight, your limp arms splayed around his sweaty back. You whimper at the emptiness as he pulls out, feeling his cum languidly drip down your inner thighs.

You’re too exhausted to realize what he just said, to react to what he just referred to you as, and as the fog of pleasure slowly unclouds Logan’s head, he’s glad he fucked you stupid enough to forget.

-

a/n: anyone else feel like they’re incapable of writing good smut? Hey Google how many other synonyms could there possibly be of the word ‘thrust’?

[gutsby]

My Body, His Choice

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: After a long day, Joel just needs some relief.

Warnings: 18+. Come get y’all juice (consensual freeuse). Unprotected p-in-v. Praise kink. Daddy kink. She/her pussy pronouns. Perverted but ever-respectful Joel.

Note: ‘Púdrete’ means ‘rot’ or ‘fuck you’ in Spanish.

Word count: 2.9k

It wasn’t often he’d fuck you anywhere but his bed.

At fifty-two, Joel was still old fashioned like that.

No matter how hard you tugged on the front of his shirt, begged him gently, baby, please take me right here on the kitchen table—on your desk—in your truck—really anyplace, Joel would shake his head and tote you away to his room. Then he’d blow your back out on a plush and cushy king-sized bed exactly how a gentleman should.

“Wasn’t raised to treat a lady any different,” he’d always say, sucking a breath through his teeth as he plunged his cock inside you from the comfort and quiet of his sheets.

‘Whatever you say, old man’ was your habitual response.

It was one that more often than not ended with you walking funny for the next couple days, thanks to that twenty-something stamina Joel was still able to boast.

So, with sore legs and a warm load leaking out of your cunt every night, you shut up. You didn’t mind being confined to his bed if it meant getting fucked like that. But you would let him know, every now and again or as often as you happened to be ovulating, that there was a freestanding offer for him to just…take, if he ever felt so inclined. The first time you’d said the real word for it, Joel had just smiled and kissed you on the top of your head.

“I’ll sure keep that in mind, sweet pea,” he’d chuckled.

Or, in boomer-speak: ‘No way in hell am I doing that.’

You’d made your peace with it. You’d quit wearing open-gusset undies in the hopes of getting bent over the sink while doing the dishes on a random Tuesday afternoon. You’d put all thoughts of freeuse out of your head and now just waited patiently under the covers at night if you wanted some action on the go. That was more than okay.

And when Joel thundered through the door an hour late one night, you just offered up a smile and a sleepy wave.

“Hi, handsome.”

You were splayed out comfortably on the sofa, and your favorite show was playing in a dim, muted glow on TV. Joel toed off his boots and ducked his head in the closet.

“I said he-llo, you big hunk.”

You regularly alternated between handsome, hunk, and some form of baby or beefcake if he appeared extra large that day. You hadn’t gotten a good look at his form coming in, but you figured you’d give it a stab, shoveling more popcorn in your mouth before returning to Narcos.

Somewhat garbled: “Well hello to you too, babycakes.”

It was either going to piss him off or earn you a big, wet kiss on the cheek—or both, if you were lucky. The words had scarcely hung in the air for more than a second or two, and your popcorn was going down in one slow, crowded gulp, when something fell heavy at your feet.

Your legs were stretched as far as they would go to the end of the couch, and Joel had just dropped his weight right next to them. Then he was leaning back, gingerly.

Carefully.

Joel groaned.

“God, he looks stupid,” he said, staring straight ahead.

You coughed. You winced at a sharp, lone kernel that had snagged your throat going down, and when it passed, you sat up and glanced over to where Joel was looking.

All you saw was a sexy, if not slightly anachronistically-mustached man with tight pants and a slutty stance onscreen.

“Javier Peña?” you asked him.

The man’s nostrils flared in response.

“With that stupid fuckin’ Members Only jacket— dumbass aviators, too, he looks like the biggest dou—”

“Joel!”

You blinked at your boyfriend in disbelief. He knew better than to abuse your favorite DEA agent right to your face. At last, Joel met your gaze, and his cheeks tinged pink.

“What? You wanna fuck him or something?” he snapped.

You turned back to the TV and pretended to consider.

“Hmmm…I don’t know, would Agent Peña come home an hour late with no explanation and then start griping about another man’s clothes when I try talking to him?”

“Yeah. And he’d probably backtalk you, too. In Spanish.”

“Púdrete.”

Joel scoffed.

“Oh yeah? Fuck me?”

You raised both brows as if to say, ‘Yeah, dude, fuck you.’

Maybe there was a smile behind your eyes as you said it.

You didn’t mean to give in, or let him off so easy, but there was just no grappling with a man in blue jeans and a sweaty, dirt-sodden shirt giving you a look like that.

His eyes smiled back.

You didn’t protest when Joel muscled his way over across the couch and pushed you back on your side. Yanking your hips to lay flush with his front, taking up most of all usable real estate on the sofa just to lie behind you and curl his bicep around your belly. He nosed against you and inhaled deeply. He hummed.

You spooned and watched Narcos in silence.

“Bad day?” you murmured at length.

“Bad don’t even begin to cover it.”

Joel let out a breath, and you felt it migrate through your skull. The whole weight of the world, or, more likely than not, some dipshits at work who’d cost their team a bid or delayed a project by a week, ten, or twenty, was hanging somewhere close over his shoulders and depressing his whole demeanor. His grip on you tightened even more.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

“Me too.”

Joel’s fingers seared a string of small crescents in your skin through the fabric of your nightie. Realizing he was pressing in too much, he eased back. Flexed his hand.

“Ain’t no need to be—it’s on me.”

You felt a kiss land on your shoulder. Your eyelids fluttered as a scene of chaos broke out onscreen with some ill-fated raid or other, and Joel’s hand traveled up your side. It cupped one of your breasts through the sky-blue satin material, and just as fingers began to knead—

“I don’t actually wanna fuck Javi,” you sputtered, dumb.

Joel kissed the space between your shoulder and neck.

“I figured.”

Then his index and thumb found your hardening bud and pinched it between them, rolling the skin in soft, languid strokes. That, paired with the movement of lips up the length of your neck, had your head lolling back gently and your eyes struggling to focus on any of the mayhem unfolding in time. You wanted to turn away from it all—meet Joel’s mouth with a feverish kiss of your own—but when your torso jerked the slightest bit, trying to move, the arm around your front kept you pinned to the spot. Joel’s grey, stubbled chin tickled the shell of your ear.

“Keep watching, darlin’,” he mumbled.

A low whine sounded in your throat, a noise Joel was no stranger to. It bubbled up, almost reflexively, and then was swallowed back as by force when his left hand shifted from toying with your nipple to joining the hem of your dress. Your breath hitched when you felt the pads of three fingers make an easy, careless sort of petting motion between your legs. Stroking you gently there.

“‘M’sorry I was late comin’ home,” Joel continued in the same attritional vein, gliding his middle finger between where he felt the seam of your folds through your dress, “Makin’ you wait up, wasn’t too kind of me, huh, baby?”

“D-Don’t mind,” you shuddered, just as the tip of his pointer finger found your clit and made a circle around it with the other two—a torturous loop that lacked just enough pressure to make it feel really good, and teased.

You would’ve liked to press on, were it not for him, again:

“Aw, hell, honey.”

Your eyes snapped open, and fear seized you momentarily. Had something gone wrong?

Instead, when you glanced between your legs, you saw a stain—a crude Rorschach-looking splotch in its place. With all rational thought currently suspended and your brain in a primal fog of just wanting to fuck, you groaned.

“Joel, please.”

You know what to do. You know what you’re doing.

Joel continued to carry on as though he hadn’t heard you. He rubbed the wet spot even harder with his middle finger and let out the faintest trace of condescension with his breath, fanning warmly across your cheek. It was as though you could feel his big, stupid mouth forming a grin behind your head that made you purse your lips together and force back a whimper when he pressed.

“Left a real mess missin’ me here,” he chided, voice low, “Poor thing hasn’t been fucked in…what, twelve hours?”

You imagined the spot growing larger, gaining warmth and wetness and slick from the timbre of Joel’s voice alone. Nevermind the fact he was practically smearing it all through your panties, through your dress; you’d be soaking his hand in a puddle if he didn’t let up soon.

“Then fuck it again,” you gritted, hips stirring.

“But you’re so busy watchin’ your new man, I—”

At the last, you bucked pathetically against Joel’s hand.

“Don’t want him, Joel,” you moaned, “I need you.”

With what little strength you had left, you tried to turn your body to face the man behind you. He didn’t let you.

In fact, his hold constricted all the more unforgiving, and his right arm curled around your front from underneath you while his left hand took the plunge beneath your dress, finally. It was as torturous as it was fused with any pleasure, though, as his fingers made a pass through your panties, between your folds, and into your heat with little warning at all. Just a kiss to your cheek and then two thick fingers working inside your cunt all at once. You writhed at the stretch, and Joel nosed you again.

“I said you’re busy, baby,” he shushed, “Keep watchin’.”

Keep watching.

Like that wasn’t the most nonsensical instruction he’d ever given you, with his arm twisted over your front and his face in your hair and his fingers pumping in and out.

In and out.

“Don’t care about the fuckin’ show, Joel,” you keened.

He brushed the heel of his palm against your clit, and you could’ve cried from the sheer influx of pleasure.

“Sure you do, sweet pea, you’ve just been so—”

Joel pressed another kiss to your cheek and kept going.

“—busy, lately, it’s only fair I get to have my way, hm?”

Oh.

Oh.

You hadn’t heard his belt come undone. You were so focused on your own pleasure, and getting it fast, that you hadn’t stopped to consider for a moment whether Joel might be testing his ‘free pass’ after all this time.

And, as if to dispel any doubts, Joel kissed your shoulder.

“C’mon, baby, let me use this pussy how I need to.”

He couldn’t have made your body any more pliant and willing than if your limbs had been made of wax.

It was all happening like a dream, almost too good to be a real, flesh and bones man with his hand in your panties, your man, pulling the fabric aside and making you lie on your side while he tapped the head of himself right there.

The hand that had once been toying with your clit was now lifting your knee, parting your legs to make space for him behind you, just outside of you—sliding his dick back and forth at first while he left trails of kisses down your skin. You could cum from the friction of that alone, the little squelches of his skin on yours and the fact that you weren’t in a bed, for once, and he was doing it now. He was making use of your body and cherishing it whole.

In spite of that gaping chasm between you in strength and size, he was obeisant, in a way. Painstakingly slow.

“This okay, baby? Can daddy fuck you right here?”

Joel pressed the head of his cock right against the weeping ring of muscles, felt it pulse against him, and groaned. He let just the cusp of your folds suck him in, forming the slightest, shallowest ‘o,’ only for him to retreat, moving his dick back up and down your slit.

You’d already cried and told him, yes, yes, you can fuck me there, daddy, please—but Joel was too busy tilting your head back up to the screen. Making you open your eyes and watch the show, loath as you were to focus on anything else but the soft, steady brush of his member.

“Remember, hon, you gotta stay focused,” he said, too sweet, “Chin up and keep those legs spread for daddy.”

They were. You were. Your head was up, just barely, and your eyes were nearly brimming with tears from just how badly you needed him inside you. You whined when he kissed the side of your mouth, but loved it all the same because it made you feel safe where you were. At ease.

Joel held you open for him, the shelf of his belly nudging at the small of your back and only pressing harder as he sank in deeper. It was a sensation that felt almost foreign, the first inches he’d breached, as he filled you from a new angle and held you close, you whimpered.

“Fuck, that pussy stretches out so nice for me,” Joel let out in a groan, “Feels like she’s made just for me, huh?”

At that, you felt a hand pinch both of your cheeks, forcing your mouth in a little pout as you nodded fiercely.

“Y-Yes, daddy, she’s made for you, all for you.”

One inch retreating, three more pushing in. Joel’s breath was hot on your ear again, and you could feel the soft grey tufts of hair on his tummy fold into themselves against your back as he pushed even deeper. His cock parted the insides of your walls and fucked you open like it was nothing at all. Your eyes stayed fastened on the television screen, but, frankly there wasn’t a thing on the LED display that was registering more than a passing thought. You felt the hand on your face squeeze even tighter, then release. Then your head was tilting sideways of its own volition, and your body was not—being moved by Joel’s gentle thrusts now—and your lips somehow met his in a kiss. One of his moans bled into your mouth.

“Look so. damn. pretty. when you’re like this,” he panted, “Never look better than when you’re fucked out on this cock, don’t ya, sweet pea? Nod your head and tell me.”

You nodded. You told him. Or whimpered it, anyway.

It was exactly the same and somehow nothing like you’d felt with him before: a new place, a new position, but then just the way you were letting him have you was a territory left entirely uncharted for you both. He could take, and take, and take, keep fucking you until his old joints gave out, and you were a vessel for that pleasure. Your body was limp; Joel’s frame was imposing and always holding you up, milking from your cunt what he needed and always praising you for how good it felt.

“My pretty girl,” he murmured, words like syrup. Then, each new one punctuated with a thrust as he sped up, “Gonna let daddy cum inside this tight little pussy?”

And, to his shock and yours, the hole he’d been using all this time grew wetter, more slick, then was pulsing with arousal as an influx of pleasure washed over your body—your brain had barely registered his words before the rest of you was making an even bigger mess of it, welcoming Joel deeper each time as your cunt spasmed over again.

Pressed into the sofa with your hips tilted down, now, you didn’t need to supply a verbal answer, just pulling Joel closer and pleading in broken moans to paint you white inside. He, like you, probably couldn’t have kept it from coming out if he tried. His hands were gripping your body, pushing you down with the weight of his grasp and his thrusts and feeling too fucked out to even know how much of himself he was pouring inside you as he came.

But it filled you to the hilt, all the way down his length.

In fact, there was a moment Joel feared he might’ve stuffed you more full of cum than you could take. You’d just barely come down, still moaning and shaking and dripping with more nectar than you’d ever felt before.

Joel tried to wipe the pussydrunk look from his eyes—terrible and greedy and wanting to see what he’d left—and he was just about to pull out to make sure you were alright, when he felt something grip him. On him and around him, pinching his wrist and squeezing his length inside you, you couldn’t help but turn back to face him.

Your eyes were smiling again.

One hand had just started to inch up his arm, kneading the flesh like you needed something from him then too. Only now your gaze was drifting down to the place where your body and his were still joined, and from that look, Joel sensed there had to be a lot of him there—which is why he was shocked when next you said sweetly, softly,

“Can I have a little more, daddy?”

[tottentz]

LOSE FACE .ᐟ ── honkai star rail ?! ❛ 'cause baby this won't last ❜ 🗝 ﹢を ˒ㅤ ft. aventurine & dr. ratio, boothill & dan heng, sampo & gepard, jing yuan & blade.

𓆩♡𓆪 WARNINGS ! mdni. female reader, reader is a little desesperate, ambiguous relantionship, threesome, pet names ( princess, sweetheart ), sub / dom undertones, oral ( receiving ), deepthroating, handjob, praising, facesitting, orgasm denial, begging, hair pulling, spitroasting, size kink / if you squint, lil manhandling. ♡ˎˊ˗ ֶָ֢⊹𐙚 DESCRIPTION ! these two men will be the end of you. you just know it / or, in which sometimes three is better than two.

mature content ahead + please take care of yourself before proceeding !

aventurine & dr. ratio .ᐟ

"you're awfully quiet," aventurine murmurs, lips grazing the cut of your jaw as he pries open the lapels of your dress shirt.

"i'm not the one who talks so much no one in the room can think," veritas tells him. focused. ratio continues, and you gasp when he gingerly kneads the spill of your breasts—his cold fingers against your fever-pitched skin.

"you seem to be enjoying yourself, doctor," aventurine says coquettishly, but you can't even snap at him for being so coy. not when he's slowly hauling his cock out of his pants. he chuckles when ratio makes a sound something akin to a huff. "lies only breed ignorance, don't you think, princess?"

"arrogance too, it seems," veritas says, as he strips you down to your underwear, you don't dare to take your eyes off aventurine, who languidly pumps his length in a tight fist. 

he bares his teeth in a teasing smile, telling you how naughty you're being, lusting over another man when ratio is already sinking to the floor to—

"w-wait, veritas?" you startle as he hoists your leg over his shoulder. "you don't have to do that..."

veritas is stronger. taller and bigger than the both of you, but veritas holds your thighs in a grip that's not meant to bruise. you have too much power. veritas always gives you too much power. 

ratio ignores you and kisses your lower stomach, tongue darting out to lick right above your clit, but missing it on purpose for a few inches. you whine, complaining at his edging. aventurine is laughing at you by the way your thighs shake. the amount of teasing makes you wetter and more desperate by the second, and you are about to make a retort about it when you feel veritas mercilessly sucking hard on your clit.

head thrown back and hips bucking into ratio's mouth, you clutch his hair, hold secure around his dark locks, and automatically shove his face into your cunt, all the while aventurine flutters to your side, guiding your hand towards the hard length pressing against his abdomen.

"good," he praises when you wrap your fingers around him, pleasing aventurine just as much as veritas is pleasing you. "you love it when all the attention is on you, hm?"

you can hardly balance yourself anymore—relying on aventurine to steady you all while you give him the most uncoordinated handjob you've ever given.

before you can even process the undertones of what he just said, veritas curls his long digits inside you, coaxing a long-winded moan that you helplessly stifle with your hand.

"your thighs are quivering so much for him. i'm a little jealous. you were never this wrecked with me." aventurine licks at your fingers, putting two of them into his mouth, tongue sensually gyrating around them. it has you distracted for a moment, until you feel veritas’ lips back to work, this time on your inner thighs.

"that's probably because you spoil her too much," veritas comments with a huff.

"you hear that, sweetheart?" aventurine breathes into your ear, chuckling. "the doctor says i spoil you too much. is that true?"

and at that point, you can't even bring yourself to care anymore.

boothill & dan heng .ᐟ

“seems like she’s very interested in your cock,” boothill laughs, moving around so he could press himself in front of you, despite knowing you’re already gaping at dan heng's.

you feel dan heng's erection poking the side of your lower back, hot and so hard you tremble. his cutthroat honesty sends a guilty thrill through your veins, making you tingle everywhere his skin meets yours. dan heng doesn't waste any time, pushing your stuffy uniform off your shoulders as he practically tears through the rest of your clothes.

“not yet.” dan heng answers simply. he seems to tease, but he also seems concerned.

“yikes, ya gonna tease me all night?” boothill asks.

“i can’t imagine you’re actually worried,” dan Heng said. “you practically got on your knees and begged me to do this.”

"son of a— " you don't hear the rest, don't even know who said that, because you are grabbing boothill's face and pulling him into a kiss that instantly shuts you up and melts you into a puddle of need.

he complies easily; he kisses you like a starved man – matches his horny personality a lot –, with passion and ferocity, like he was deprived for months of any physical contact and finally has the greatest dessert he could ever have all for himself. boothill traces his fingers through your cheek, grazing softly at it, a big contrast to how he grasps the back of your head seconds later.

"will be good for you," you whisper, passing your middle finger through your hot folds once. you shiver at the brief contact, forcing yourself to stay still. "fuck me, please?"

you reach for boothill's shoulders and resting one of your hands there. the other one goes for your panties, pulling it to the side. it reveals your wet hole, blinking at dan heng in neediness. you make a show of arching your back and sticking your ass at him, content with the surprised expression washing all over his face.

“always so willing,” boothill murmurs as he braces his hands on your ass, massaging your supple flesh with reverence that should be reserved for gods alone. “i aint’ getting tired of seeing you so depraved for us.”

as if their minds are completely in sync, dan heng eases a finger inside you, and the texture of his cold fingers against the tight walls of your pussy makes you clench your thighs around his hand. boothill seems to like your reaction though, because boothill  is merciless in the way he assaults your clit with the fervor of his digits. 

“sensitive,” dan heng appreciates, flicking one of your nipples with his fingers. you whimper, unprepared for the sudden pleasant pain invading the place, and arch into the touch.

your legs are aching, stomach tying itself into knots because of the gratification that's just out of reach. the only reason you haven't slumped to the floor yet is because of dan heng's firm hold on your hips, but even when you're on the edge, everything suddenly stops and the whimper that left you should have made you feel ashamed.

“i’ll let you come as many times as you want later,” dan heng replies, peppering kisses on the back of your neck. 

sampo & gepard .ᐟ

"sampo," you mewl, using that sweet, desperate voice that never fails to make him lose control. he always talks big about wanting to tease you until you fall apart, but when you come to him willingly, sampo can never quite refuse you. "i can't... want you to fill me up."

he startles for only half a second before smirking once he realizes what you're trying to do. "don't be like that, beautiful. weren't you riding the captain's face just now? that's a bit rude of you."

 your babbling gets interrupted by gepard's tongue circling the rim with it, one, two, three times, before pressing it in, and fuck if you didn't moan, high pitched and greedy for more.

"such sweet moans, don't you think, geppie?" sampo says, moving around until he’s able to lean against your frame to suckle on your breast, still holding your wrists tightly against his chest.

"don't call me that," he whispers, it was all but wondering, because as soon as he sets your knee back down on the matress, he is propelling against your hips like a desperate teenager, and your mind unhelpfully supplies oh he is so fucking desperate and horny. 

“oh, i take no credit for how things turned out tonight,” sampo says coquettishly, but you can’t even snap at him for being so coy. "don't you want to know what she will sound like if i make her cry?"he pulls your hips flush against his—cockhead snatching against your rim. 

sampo press a hand in your back, making you arch more and stick your ass into the air, which he admires with a knead and a hum. you grab gepard´s thighs, cheeks squished on his bulge, and feeling like your life depended upon this exact moment. 

gepard gasps, "wait-oh... fuck." his voice faded into breaths of delight to small pathetic whimpers. his head lolled back, mouth slack and eyes closed.

"why don't you make it up to the captain by letting him fuck your mouth while i make a mess og you?" sampo says, and you collapse more on the bed,

and he does. sampo thrusts and thrusts hard.

he has been so gentle up until now, so you certainly aren't expecting when he rams into you so hard your head almost hit gepard’s stomach, if it weren’t for sampo holding your hips and propelling you back into his cock. he fucks slow and deep at first, clasps each of your wrists with each of his hands and tugs at it, making you arch your back and lift your upper body a little.

gepard beams at you, endearing and so precious, almost as if he's asking for your permission. you open wide, hearing him muttering a quiet fuck before he shoves himself inside. gepard moans at the feeling of the wet warmness of your mouth engulfing his cock.

"you- fuck... your mouth feels so good,” gepard whimpers, the sounds you’re doing going straight to his cock. it has his hips kicking into your throat, making you convulse around it. moans getting even louder at that, he fucks into your mouth with abandon, in synchronism with sampo's rough thrusts.

“princess likes to feel full, see?” sampo sayss, cooing at you. and it makes you feel small, especially with how they are so much bigger and broader than you. it only serves to sum up to your neediness.

jing yuan and blade .ᐟ

your eyes prickle with tears, and it doesn’t take long before you feel them running down your face; the first one goes reluctantly, but after that they start cascading on your cheeks uncontrollably. you feel so good – blade plunges into you just right, then sends you towards jing yuan’s cock, just so he could pull you back again and meet his movements half way.

jing yuan pushes you off of his cock by your hair in order for you to take a breath, and you take a moment to gape at the man. he looks downright sinful with sweat dripping down his body, and somewhere in your lost mind you’re thankful you used water-proof make up.

“fucked dumb already?” jing yuan chuckles and you feel your face heating up with pleasant shame. his patronizing tone makes you go even further into this familiar, yet unusual headspace of yours.

blade is relentless when he rams into you, making sure there’s not a single sensitive patch of flesh untouched by his cock. nothing is ever completely sweet with them. it’s all teeth and tongue, and bites and bruises.

but that’s exactly what makes you keep coming back to them—again and again.

“needy” blade groans when you tighten around him in response to his lewd remark. “hm, looks like she can’t even live without it.”

“tightest pussy you’ve ever fucked, isn’t it?” jing yuan drawls before peppering your face with the lightest of kisses—a stark contrast to the mess blade is deliberately sowing between your legs. “she’ll never say no to getting manhandled to oblivion, but you have to be gentler if you want to make her cum.”

his hot breath fans against your ear as his powerful thrusts slow into a crawl, fucking into you with a languid rhythm. as if to unintentionally prove jing yuan’s point, you frame blade’s name around a pitiful whimper, bucking your hips up to meet his. 

“she wants both of us now, general,” blade drones with a teasing tone, hips never stuttering despite. “what do you think we should do about that?”

you feel like you should be ashamed of how quickly you nod your head in agreement. you even reach for jing yuan’s cock between your legs, guiding the thick head to your swollen pussy before sinking down with a breathless moan. your hands are braced on his broad shoulders—the only leverage you’re afforded while you lose yourself to unadulterated pleasure.

these two men will be the end of you. you just know it.

just like that, you’re speared on two cocks like a bitch in heat, surrendering your autonomy to move in favor of letting these two men use you to their heart’s content. where jing yuan murmurs sweet nothings into the curve of your wrist, blade bites into the crook of your neck. the lovebites they’ve swathed across your skin will take days, if not weeks to disappear, but you’re far too gone to pay them any mind. 

jing yuan and blade time their thrusts in cadence with each other, making sure there’s not a moment that you’re left empty and wanting.

contrary to your expectations, they don’t fuck you like complete savages. it seems that jing yuan’s advice has rooted itself into blade’s mind, and they’ve silently agreed to go at it slow and steady—building up an orgasm that’ll have you craving them again for days.

. ࣪✦ ៸៸ tottentz ▐ © 2024 ､ ? 𓄹 ܵ ۪

[rowarn]

afab!reader, gn!reader, simons a fighter, protective!simon, blood mention, fingering, lil bit of mean!simon for flavor <3 MDNI

simon riley is by all means a "do what you want, i can fight" kind of man. and fight he will. simon will go to the ends of the earth to protect you. and that's always been incredibly hot to you. you'd never had a man so eager to defend you.

especially to the point that simon was. more than once he'd come away from a fight with bloody knuckles and a split lip. 

that's exactly how he looked now, but he also sported a cut across his eyebrow as well. the guy he'd beaten in the alleyway looked much worse, but he got a few good hits in. 

all you knew was that he said some revolting things about you that simon happened to overhear. simon refused to tell you specifics, citing that you didn't need to hear something like that. 

you both had gone home quickly after that. but the sight of simon all beat up, knuckles split and bruised from the force he'd used to beat the man had something stirring in your stomach. butterflies. 

as you cleaned his cuts and wiped away any blood that stained his skin, you could feel the wetness growing in your panties. you clenched your thighs and shifted as that began to uncomfortably stick to your pussy. 

simon, always attentive, noticed right away. his pretty, brown eyes lit up in interest, a brow raised as he watched you shift on your feet. 

"something wrong?" he asked, as if he couldn't tell what was going on. 

"n-nothing, si," you responded sheepishly, tossing the bloody gauze into the garbage can before stepping away. 

simon doesn't let you get very far before his arms are wrapping around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. you can feel the heat radiating off of him and feel how his heart pounds on his chest against your back. craning your neck, you look up at him. 

"ain't nothin'," he says, voice low and quiet, "and i'm not lettin' you walk out of here with that pretty pussy drippin'.''

you swallow around the lump in your throat as he says it. he wraps his big hands around your waist and moves them downwards, slipping under your shirt and pawing at the hem of your sweatpants. he dips his head down so he can kiss along your neck, practically purring when you sink into him. 

he takes the opportunity to slip his fingers under your panties, thick fingers prying your pillowy lips apart. you adjust your stance, leaning back against him for support as you spread your legs a little more so he can slip his fingers further down.

first he glides over your clit, pausing to stroke and roll the tender little bud under his fingers. your whole body twitched at that, trembling hands reaching to grip onto the fabric of his hoodie. your head fell back against his chest, giving him more access to your neck. 

his fingers dip lower, finding your entrance, slick and drooling all over the digits as he strokes back and forth, teasing you with their presence. 

"tell me," his voice vibrates in his chest, deep and low, "what's got you this wet?"

"mmm, d-dunno, si," you lie right through your teeth at him. 

he hums, pulling his fingers away from your sweet little hole to go back to your clit, pinching the bud. you whimper at the feeling, hips rabbing back to get away from the little pain, "you're lyin'. i want you to tell me the truth. what has this pretty little cunt all wet?"

"simon..." you whine. he knows you don't want the embarrassment that comes from the confession but he teases it out of you anyway, "y-you got me wet, si!"

"me?" he grins, wolfish and predatory, "i didn't do anything, love,"

you whine, rocking your hips forward. he took some mercy on you and slowly sunk one, long, finger into the tight clutch of your cunt. the stretch wasn't enough, he knew that, you'd become so accustomed to the fat girth of his cock that one single finger would never be enough to satisfy you now. he'd ruined you. 

"y-you beat that-that guy up for me..." you finally manage to squeeze out of your dry throat, "'s hot..."

he scoffs as if he didn't already know that that was the reason, "you like me beatin' some bastards head in for you?" you nod, sighing in pleasure when he rewards your with a second finger, "you're fuckin' filthy. you think he'd be happy to hear that it turns you on?"

"don't care about him," you quickly answer. 

his grin broadens, "that's the right fuckin' answer, love."

he finally gives you the third and final finger. you keen when he stretches you open on those digits, curling them just right to hit that gooey, spongey little spot inside you. his palm curls around your pelvic bone so the heel of his hand grinds against your clit just how you need to cum nice and hard for him. 

he works his fingers slow and deep, making sure to hit that spot every time he stuffs his fingers back inside you. his other hand comes up, wrapping around your throat to pin your against his chest. you moan freely, clawing at his tattooed arm desperately as you rock your hips against his hand. 

he can hear the wet, slick sounds of him fucking your precious little cunt open. you work your clit feverishly against his hand, helping yourself along to the high you so deserve. you're dripping down his fingers, making a mess of him and yourself but you don't care. 

"'m gonna cum!" you needlessly warn him.

"i know," he grumbles, tilting your head up so he can press his lips against yours, hand still firmly wrapped around your throat. 

he sees your eyes roll back before you melt into the kiss, your orgasm washing over you. he groans when he feels you squeezing and clenching around his fingers, pathetically humping against his hand to work your clit even harder. he slowly strokes that spongey little spot to help ease you through your high. you tremble and clutching desperately at his arm as you start to come down, whimper and panting into his mouth before he lets you pull away. a string of spit connects your lips and you look completely dazed as you gaze up at him. 

he always did enjoy the way a good orgasm had you looking all dumb and pliant for him. 

he pulls his fingers out of your panties and you whine at the loss, watching him bring those cum-covered fingers up to your face. you could see the way the bruises and splits in his knuckles were covered in your cum and had to hold back to keep from moaning at the sight. 

he popped them into his mouth, sighing at the taste of your sweet cum on his tongue. 

before you knew it, he was breezing past you out of the bathroom and down to the living room, no doubt on the hunt for something to eat. 

"simon!" you called petulantly. 

you heard him laugh from the living room, "what?"

"you aren't gonna fuck me?" you complain, feeling heat flood your cheeks when he laughs again.

"dunno, love," his tone is teasing, "we'll see."

ugh. he could be so generous one second and mean the next </3

mwah here is some food my beloveds

[ceilidho]

sirius c

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 7; ghoap x reader) [tags: noncon, implied cheating (in the context of Ghost's refusal to be a negotiation king lol), very nsfw] first part >> last part

-

No one tells you what to do when you finally notice the larger animal watching you from the thicket. 

It's been awhile now, you suspect. So long that it's managed to follow you all the way home.

Now they insist on helping you around the shop while you try to work. Try being the operative word. It’s hard to get much done with Simon scaring off all the customers and Johnny dogging at your heels, practically glued to your hip. You briefly consider stabbing him with the snips but then think the better of it. Simon’s stare follows you too closely for you to think you’d get away with it. 

Plus, after this morning—you cut that thought off at the root lest embarrassment make your eyeballs burn right out of your head. Despite the fact that he never brings it up, you can’t shake the thought that Simon knows. His face is just as expressionless with the mask off, which rests like a heavy weight on the kitchen table, imbued with a meaning too potent, too loaded, for you to fully digest or, really, understand in any concrete way. 

But the glint in his flinty eyes flirts with amusement. Brushes close to it. 

“What?” you snap, eggs dangling precariously from your fork.

His stare hasn’t wavered once since sitting you across from him. He doesn’t smirk nor snicker, but you can feel the laugh like a phantom limb that aches until you try to scratch it. He has a face carved from marble or granite, subject to some horrific fate. A statue pulled down from its pedestal and hauled into the river, now dragged out waterlogged and barnacle-crusted. Something terrible happened here and now something else wears its face.

His knees knock against yours under the table again, forcing one leg to spread to accommodate him. You stare at the elbow resting on your table as he chews off the end of a strip of bacon.

He doesn’t say anything, but you know he must have heard you and Johnny in the washroom earlier in the morning. Simon hadn’t even attempted to feign sleep when you’d come out flustered and turned around, stomach in knots. 

You can’t even look at Johnny for help because he stands behind the two of you at the counter, no space for him at your small kitchen table. Your life isn’t built to accommodate two men of their size; it’s hardly able to hold space for just the one.

Nevertheless, they stretch it to fit their needs.

Begrudgingly, you have to admit that Simon does help you out around the flower shop. He fixes the door to the supply closet that always jams, hoses down the sidewalk in front of the store where someone vomited near the entryway the night before, and even gives you a couple hours alone to yourself when he drags Johnny with him to do the bouquet deliveries. 

They come back with coffee in takeaway cups and pastries in a waxy bag and you nearly moan when you notice the label on the cup. Coffee from the good coffee shop across town. You actually moan when you sink your teeth into an almond croissant and then blink your eyes open wide when you hear Johnny groan in response. 

You steel yourself to keep your knees from knocking together.

It’s been a week since you saw him last. Hard to believe. You’ve been distant, rightfully so, contemplating the state of your relationship and coaxing yourself to the brink of texting him that it’s over, only to give up at the last possible minute. The tides receding again. 

You don’t think about how much you missed him. 

Since this morning, you’ve been on edge. Half tempted to corral Johnny into your apartment upstairs for some alone time. You don’t think Simon would allow that though, whether out of some sadistic glee in seeing you squirm or out of jealousy. It doesn’t seem unlikely. He acts like Johnny is his to do with what he pleases, and Johnny beams up at him like the sun and lets him.

You hadn’t realized there had been a third person in your relationship. Now it feels like his presence has always been felt. You can’t imagine Johnny without the half-shadow cast over his face.

All day, you wait for Johnny to break. Part of you hopes that it’ll be sooner rather than later. Unless he’s been entertaining someone on the side—and, for reasons unbeknownst to you, you discount that thought the second it comes to you, sure that you’d know if there was another woman—it’s likely that he hasn’t fucked in a week. He acts like it too, hovering close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Every accidental step back comes with a chance of landing straight into his arms. 

When you touch his arm gently to ask him to help you move a heavy flower pot, he looks down at you with irises gone black, ready to fuck on a dime. It’s not the right place or time, and you’re still tremendously pissed at him for letting his superior grope you in front of their whole platoon or whatever, but you’ve also gone a week without his dick, and you’re starting to think that your pride shouldn’t get in the way of good dick.

But then he looks over at the hulking figure haunting the doorway and draws back. The shadow on your relationship again. The tension breaks. Even though he postures and flexes when he helps you move the flower pot, it doesn’t come with an invitation to sneak away to your apartment upstairs. Johnny grits his teeth and holds himself back because Simon tells him to; because, in Simon’s own words, he’s a good lad. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask Simon when Johnny goes to take a leak, but he just stares at you with eyes still darkened by poorly wiped off eye black. 

The oxygen is sucked out of the room when it’s just the two of you. He’s imposing from afar, accentuated by the innate knowledge—gleaned just from looking at him, nothing more than that, just the size of him in his line of work—that he’s the most dangerous thing around, but with no one else to hide behind, you can’t help but feel like a trapped animal. 

“Means he knows who’s in charge,” he says. 

Like that’s supposed to tell you anything. 

The air still crackles with tension when Johnny comes back. He glances around almost nervously, pupils dilating. 

“The two of ye finally gettin’ on?” he asks.

There’s a moment where you consider ripping the veil down and saying, no, we aren’t, Johnny. You quisling. You can see exactly how uncomfortable I am. It’s more than visible; it’s oozing from my pores. You’ve let a wild animal into my house and now it won’t leave. In fact, it’s pissing on my sheets to mark its territory. You let it in knowingly, and even though you know something’s wrong, you’re letting it get worse.

Simon’s smile is severe and whetted when he cuts off your train of thought. “Reckon we're getting on like a house on fire, eh?” 

You can’t muster more than a weak smile and nod in response to that.

Around mid afternoon, a regular client calls in with a large, last minute order. You accept it because it’s nothing you don’t already have in stock, but it means you have to close the shop early to work on her order and then load up the van to drive to her place to drop the flowers off.

“I’ll come with you,” Simon grunts when you flip the sign and tell the two of them about your plans.

You freeze, a shudder rippling down your spine. “That’s not necessary—I can do it myself.”

“Don’t care.”

“I do it all the time when you’re not here!”

“It’s not up for debate,” he says, eyes going hard. Daring you to argue.

You’ve been getting the sense all day that he’s been trying to corner you, trying to get you on your own. You evade his efforts like a prey animal, but all that does is make him work harder for it. 

You look to Johnny for any kind of reassurance, someone to back you up and agree that you’re more than capable since you do this all the time, but he just grins from behind the counter where he helps cut lengths of cellophane and ribbon for the bouquets. “Aye, hen, let him help. Ye cannae carry all of that yourself.”

Your brain clicks back on when you’re barrelling towards your client’s place at breakneck speed, far too fast for a residential road. It’s not you driving though. Simon has himself parked in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other dangling loosely out the window. His driving makes your stomach churn, nausea brewing. You bone-knuckle the grab handle reflexively. 

“Could you slow down?” you hiss out through clenched teeth.

Simon ignores you until you start to scroll through your phone to distract yourself. He transfers the hand on the wheel to jostle your knee with his free hand. “Eyes on the road.”

“I’m not even driving you,” you squawk, heart thudding in your chest when his hand doesn’t lift off your knee. 

“Tell me when to turn, doll.” The pet name makes your stomach jump. When he says it, his hand tightens over your knee, thick fingers with scraped up knuckles curling around, the width of his palm wider than your kneecap and you stare down dumbly, rabbit heart careening at the same speed as the van. 

You’re so dumbfounded that you nearly miss the street. He takes the turn suddenly when you mention it instead of making the sensible call to go up the next street and then come back down, and you swear and yell when he nearly takes the van onto the right two wheels. 

The sweat is still dripping down the nape of your neck when he parks in front of the client’s venue.

Simon ignores any attempt of yours to help unload the van. All you can do is watch helplessly as he carries multiple arrangements into the venue at once, leaving you to handle the contract and payment collection. The situation is spiraling rapidly out of your control. 

Your client, a housewife about a decade or so older than you, eyes him as he passes with two flower pots tucked under his arms. 

“I didn’t know you changed staff,” she murmurs, eyes following him into the next room and lingering on the backs of his thighs when he bends down to deposit the flower pots, making the material of his pants strain tight around his glutes and hamstrings. 

“I didn’t,” you protest, shaking your head. “That’s—he’s my boyfriend’s coworker. Um, his boss, I mean. I think. He’s just helping out for the day.”

“Well, I know how I’d like him to help out,” someone else giggles. One of the venue staff, judging by her uniform. Even your client titters at that.

Simon’s more approachable with the mask off, it seems. Still verging on the preternatural, but at least without the mask he seems more human. All six-foot-five-inches of him, arms and legs packed with a generous helping of muscle and fat; a square jaw must be appealing to any sex-parched person within range. It makes your jaw clench.

“Here’s your receipt,” you grit out before ripping it off the payment terminal and handing it to her. She blinks at your dour mood, unused to a less than professional version of you, but that’s what Simon’s presence does to you. Sours you right up. A lemon squeezed right into the mouth.

He’s posted by the van when you come out still scowling and itching for a row. He frowns at the look on your face. “Fix your attitude. You’ve already upset Johnny enough.”

You halt in your tracks, dumbstruck. “I’ve upset Johnny?”

“Yeah. So fix it before we get back.”

You’ve officially reached your limit. All day, you’ve been waiting to go nuclear, bad mood settling deeper and deeper into you because you’ve never been good at managing your anger. The audacity to blame you for this whole situation nearly makes you lose your head. 

Simon looks almost bored when you stomp up to him and stab a finger into his chest. You pointedly do not let yourself focus on how little his chest gives beneath your finger. “All of this was your fault for sexually harassing me in the first place. I don’t even think you were ever sorry for that—this all just feels like some fucked up attempt to break me and Johnny up.”

He stares down at you. “You think I want Johnny for myself?”

Heat flares under your collar, but you push on. “I do. And you know what? You can have him. I don’t need this. Johnny clearly values your approval more than mine anyway or none of this ever would have happened once he caught you groping me in broad daylight. If you want him so bad, nothing I do is going to work, so why even bother? He’s yours. The both of you can fuck off when we get back—I’m sick of having you in my space.”

The tirade leaves you panting by the end of it, and then you look into his eyes. 

You wonder if it’s a universal phenomenon to sense the moment when you’ve made a grave miscalculation. It must be. The feeling is overwhelming; for you, it throbs in your very bones. 

Simon’s expression never changes, but the light behind his eyes starts to flicker in a different way, and you are suddenly conscious of him not just as a man but as a man paid to kill. A professional at that. At least a dozen bodies under his belt and likely more, and yet you stand chest to chest with him like you’re somehow tougher than that; like all those bodies mean nothing, like his knife hasn’t quenched its bloodthirst ad infinitum, like his arms haven’t felt a neck crack until it’s become a habit, an easy kill, a morning fix. 

You’ve never felt more like meat than under his gaze. 

“Get your ass in the van,” he commands, and you listen because your mouth has gone dry and you understand now, somewhere deep in your reptile brain, a little creature hissing at you to turn and run, that he doesn’t warn. He just does. 

Humiliation festers under your skin when he buckles you in. Your mouth opens on a smart remark until you catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye and it’s all anger leaking tar, mafic lava dark and flowing, smooth and lobed and striated with hellfire. 

You think at first that he’s just going to drive you home. Your words might have offended him, but the lack of refutation makes you think that at his core, he must agree. Simon is just another man with an unholy allegiance to ego, an ugly incarnation of desire and pride that you might have briefly mistook as a person as complex as yourself until he snuffed that inkling right out with a hand on your ass. 

Then, lost in your thoughts, you miss when he pulls over and puts the van in park. 

You hear the click of your seatbelt, but your head doesn’t have time to turn before Simon hauls you over the center console and into his lap, a hand already clamping over your mouth to muffle your scream. 

“I’ve had enough of the fuckin’ attitude, girl,” Simon snarls into your ear, shoving his hand down the front of your pants without any preamble, the stretchy jogger fabric not putting up any resistance. “I haven’t got the patience for it. We’ll sort you out and knock these stupid notions from your skull.”

You must shriek under his palm because his fingers tighten, digits pressed into your jaw to the point of aching. It’s hard to tell under the white hot fear that washes over you, nearly blinding you. 

If it bothers him to find you dry under your panties, he doesn’t say anything. Calloused fingers spread your labia wide and trace over your clit lazily, trying to coax the slick out of you. You squirm in his hold, desperate to somehow wriggle out, but Simon chooses now to give you a glimpse of his strength, holding you tight to his chest. No matter how much you squirm, there’s no way out of his hold. Shouting behind his palm doesn’t help either; Simon just curls his hand tighter over your mouth. 

Horror blooms in your chest when your core starts to warm up at his touch. The first traitorous bead of wetness nearly has you apoplectic with rage. His fingers saw up and down over your slit until he thinks you’re wet enough to handle two fingers shoved knuckle deep. 

“Enough of that,” Simon grunts when you yelp and knee the underside of the steering wheel in your haste to get away. “It’s just two. You’ve been fucked before; you can take it.”

Your knee aches from slamming into the steering wheel, but it’s nothing compared to the ache of his fingers stretching you open, the skin around his knuckles delicate and febrile. For all his flaws, Johnny loves getting his mouth on your pussy before trying to cram his cock in, addicted to the taste of you on his tongue when he’s got you folded in half and taking his dick like a champ. Simon seems like he wouldn’t mind railing you in the back of the van without any prep whatsoever. 

“Can’t wait to break you on my cock,” he growls, his breath hot over your neck, and lust stinking up the van so bad that the air is nearly rancid with it. Sulfuric. “You think you’ve had it rough with Johnny? You don’t have a fuckin’ clue what you’re in for with me.”

His hunger is a noxious, billowing cloud. Miasma like. It threatens to smother you. His shaft is hard under your ass, evident when he thrusts his hips up. Your ensuing yip makes him grunt, gratified, like his pleasure comes part from your shock. 

“I’m not explaining this shit anymore. This is the way it’s gonna be from now on—no discussion, no arguing, no nothing. It’s not up for negotiation.”

Simon’s fingers piston into you without remorse, brutal hunger foisted off on your body. You again try desperately to push away from him, almost levitating out of his arms until he forces you back down and bites down hard over your clothed shoulder. The horn stays silent when you try to honk it, mocking you somehow. You wonder if anyone would hear your muffled cries from beneath Simon’s hand if they happened to pass by, or if they’d chance a glance into the van and see the devil himself playing with your pussy in his lap and keep on walking. 

Your body plays you for a fool though, sweltering under his touch. When he growls in your ear, your pussy clenches up nice and tight, and slick drips down your inner thighs. 

A third finger nearly makes you choke on your gasp. You go quiet after that save for the occasional whimper, all of your energy concentrated on accommodating his fingers, each as wide as almost two of yours. A fourth almost doesn’t feel fathomable, but then he sinks it into you and every thought leaks out of your head.

“Christ, you’re a dream when you shut your mouth, aren’t you, doll?” Simon breathes, nosing the corner of your jaw. “Johnny picked a nice little cunt for himself.” 

He doesn’t pick up on the irony somehow. Even shaking in his lap, your brows furrow at his words, a barb on the tip of your tongue until a glob of slick leaks from you and wrenches you back out of your head. 

He clicks his tongue against his teeth all condescendingly when your breathing goes hitched and panicked, so close to coming that you feel a hairsbreadth from it. When you jump at the sound of his tongue snapping in your ear, he chuckles, the broad chest at your back shaking with his laughter.

“There we go,” Simon murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand over your belly. “Tired, eh? Just need to come and have a nap. I know Johnny left you hanging this morning. Poor girl.”

You hadn’t even noticed that he’d dropped his hand from your mouth to your stomach, but there’s nothing to do about it now. All you can do is lean back against him and stare at the fine, blond hair on his knuckles as he drags it over your belly button in slow, languid strokes. 

“Oh god—” you groan when he thumbs your pearled clit and sinks his fingers in as deep as they’ll go, your hole stretched too tight. 

Sweat beads on your hairline. It feels like tears might be leaking down your cheeks, but it’s hard to say. The only thing you can do is focus on not coming apart at the seams.

The air in the van is moistened by your breath, the windows almost completely fogged up. Your lower back aches from arching into his hand. When it comes out in a sob, he tells you he’ll have Johnny massage it when the two of you get home. 

“It’s always gonna hurt a little with me,” Simon says, and you almost mistake it for apologetic until he pulls you into an open-mouthed kiss that makes you twist your neck and ignores the way you whimper into his mouth.  

You nearly black out when he finally makes you come, your head tipping back and resting on his shoulder. You tense in his grasp and open your mouth on a soundless moan when your walls spasm around his fingers. Nothing you can do but let it happen. Like splintering down the middle. It hits you so hard that your belly cramps. 

Shame hits you so much harder. A half second after, like the sky splitting open and a voice thundering down, you know what you did. 

Your leg gives a feeble twitch when he pulls his fingers out, his palm soaked with your juices. You’re a limp mess of sour sweat and come in his lap, reeking of sex musk and a warm, spicy scent. 

You squeal and jolt back to awareness when he pushes a finger back in, sensitive to the point of pain. “Simon, I can’t—”

“Hold still; m’not done yet,” he cuts you off, irritation layered in his voice again. 

You don’t have to endure it for as long this time at least; he paws at your overworked sex and pants in your ear like a bear. Luxuriating in the soft, wet folds of your pussy. His touch isn’t clumsy, but it feels like he’s making up for lost time. It almost makes you wonder how long he’s wanting to get between your legs, but that thought evaporates when he reaches further down to press his fingers against the rim of your other hole, chuckling into your hair when you clench up. 

Then, after a few minutes, he pulls his hand out of your joggers and pats your belly with his wet fingers, leaving dewy strands of your juices on your skin before helping you back into the passenger seat. You don’t even have it in you to protest when he buckles you in again. You even accept it when he leans over to plant another wet kiss on your mouth, one with too much tongue and too much teeth, come drunk and aching for any kind of affection. 

“Sweet as pie, eh?” Simon rasps, eyes half-lidded and heady. Almost lovesick. “Couldn’t have asked for better.”

You stare at the side of his head as he drives the two of you back to the shop, eyes glued to his cauliflower ear. Rough son of a bitch. Brute strength hewn into his bones, covetous need in his veins.

And this is what your boyfriend thought was appropriate to bring home. 

He stops one more time to feed his cock down your throat before you make it home. Your tongue curls around the mushroomed head of dick when he drags your head down, the wiry hair at his crotch tickling your nose. The scent of him here is pungent, musky. Old lichenous rocks and rust like blood on your tongue. You’re so pliable that you hardly even gag when it touches the back of your throat. 

His come is still hot and tacky on your tongue when he pulls you into his lap to let you cry it out, wiping up your tears with a rough thumb. It’s a while before you manage to settle down again. 

Johnny’s still beaming behind the counter when you come in, Simon at your rear to keep you from running, his hand planted firmly at the small of your back. You can barely look your boyfriend in the eye. You’re afraid he’ll see it plain as day on your face, hair mused and lips swollen from sucking his lieutenant off in the van on the drive home. 

“The two of ye have a good time all by yourselves?” he asks, either deliberately ignoring the obvious or naively trusting. You don’t know which would be worse.

You can hear the dry grin in Simon’s voice. “We had a nice chat, didn’t we, doll?”

All you can muster is a weak smile and croak, “Yep. We did.”

You hold off a flinch when Simon’s hand slips down and grabs a handful of your ass.

[shotmrmiller]

dacryphilia baby!

simon's never really liked tears. people cry ugly, in his opinion. they get puffy-eyed, sclera bloodshot. their features twist ungracefully in their anguish, cheeks damp and ruddy. snot drips down their nose; clear, viscous. their mouths gape mid-sob, their shoulders tremble violently as they snort and gasp between fragmented words.

(never mind that the only time he's ever around a crying someone is when he stands in an interrogation room with a broken man who has crumbled under the pain he's inflicted, begging for mercy, coughing up anything and everything he needs to know.)

until he met you, with your bright eyes, soft lips, and gentle spirit.

tears suddenly make his cock throb. the first time he'd seen them, you'd been straddling his lap, wet heat struggling to stretch and accommodate to his size. your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you sank onto him, keening at feeling so full and he's barely halfway in. brave, little pet. sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from making too much noise. you'd looked a dream when your cunt finally swallowed him whole, thighs flush against his, looking up at him triumphantly with beads of moisture on your clumped lashes.

the second time, you'd been stressed from work, nerves raw and frayed, and patience nonexistent. nothing he couldn't fix with his head between your thighs. he plopped you on the kitchen counter, ignoring your snarling protests, and lapped up your slick with the thirst of a man lost in a desert. you came in minutes, hiccupping his name through sharp gasps of breath. you'd been spent after, body slumping with fatigue post torrent of cathartic release. he'd held your face in one hand, fingers dimpling your cheeks as he fucked your thighs, covering your cunt with his spend when a singular tear spilled from the corner of your eye.

and now. he clings to the idea of making you cry from overstimulation. he wants to see tears track down your dampened cheeks, yearns to taste salt on his tongue, aches to see your eyes glimmering under the warm glow of the bedroom lamp in the bedroom. the mere thought of your tears flowing down your face in rivulets leaves him momentarily unbalanced. he could burst in his pants untouched.

you're always so pliable beneath him, so giving when he wants to take. simon slides a finger through your wet folds, gently prodding your entrance, teasing. he knows exactly what to do to get you to the brink and keep you there— teetering that knife's sharpened edge of biting discomfort and searing ecstasy. "so close, m'so close," you garble as you try to buck your hips (he pins them down to the bed firmly, you will receive what he gives and nothing more) and he keeps at it until your throbbing pussy hurts from being held back from the edge. until you beg him with shimmering eyes to please, please, let you come. you'll be good, so good, just— please.

he gives it to you, satisfied with how delicious you look— all glossy-lipped and luminous eyes— swirling your swollen pearl under his thumb until you climax, pushing two fingers into your cunt so you can have something to clench around. your soul is barely coming back down from the heavens when he's pressing your thighs against your chest, knees almost to shoulders, feeling the air in your lungs being punched out of you when he bottoms out in one long stroke. the angle is on the verge of too much, feeling that deep pinch in your stomach you'd felt the very first time he rut his cock into you.

simon can see your eyes well with fresh tears, his throat drying at the sight. he starts to put his weight behind each thrust, hearing the squeaks that fall past your lips. you take what he gives you so well, pride prickling in the base of his skull. it tightens the coil that's spooling oh so ever tighter beneath his navel but it's not enough. he wants what he wants.

he weaves a hand down to your sensitive clit, rubbing tight circles on it until he feels your walls fluttering and squeeze him like a vicious vise. it rips the breath out of him, almost has him fucking his cum into you but he sharpens his focus— gritting his teeth to keep from ending the fun. his iron will has never been so useful. you're wriggling beneath him now as if trying to get away from him (as if you could) because he keeps touching your clit. your legs are shaking, your mewls are loud enough to cause a ringing in his ears but he quickly gets you to another orgasm. you're a sobbing mess now; hiccups, gasps, high-pitched squeals.

and tears. full-blown tears spill, roll down your pretty face, sticking strands of your hair to cheeks. he wants to see this forever. wants it etched behind his eyelids, wants it inked on his skin (what a thought. he just might, no one has to know.)

he relents, abandoning your over-sensitized clit to grab at your fleshy hips to piston into you until he comes with a groan (and salt on his lips)

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 4

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

series masterlist

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

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

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

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

“That one is complicated.”

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

“You don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

You look at it. 

And then you set your phone down. 

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

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

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

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside. 

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

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

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

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

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

He looks good. Almost too good. 

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

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head. 

“Me naked or you naked?”

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

“Mm… why not both?”

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

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

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

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

“You sound sure of yourself.”

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

He grabs your wrist carefully. 

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

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

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

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

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

“So business as usual?”

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

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

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

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

You cover his hand with your own. 

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

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

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

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

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

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

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

“Every time?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He kisses your palm. 

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

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

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

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you gonna do after that?”

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

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

“Yes, please.” 

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

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

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine. 

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

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

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

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

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings. 

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster. 

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

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful. 

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

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” 

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

“I…”

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

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

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

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK. 

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

He knows. 

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

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

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

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

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

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

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

Maybe you have it all wrong. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you. 

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

24 hours go by. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep. 

“Shit, did I wake you?”

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

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

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

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

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

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

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

“What? Why?”

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

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones. 

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

Blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

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

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

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

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

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

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

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer groans. 

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown. 

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless. 

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

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up. 

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take a wild guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do we have to?”

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

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

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning. 

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

“And I’m good. So...”

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

You groan in frustration. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want me to come inside you?”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“’M not.”

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

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

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

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute. 

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

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

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you find it?”

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

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

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

He gets the general sentiment. 

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

“Mhm!”

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

“Yes,” you cry. 

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

“Spencer!” 

He knows. 

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

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

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

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

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

He’s barely kidding. 

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

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

You laugh. He blushes even more. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“Spencer?” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But…?”

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

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

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

“You regret your first time?” 

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

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

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

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

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

You want to scream bloody murder. 

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

Maybe that’s worse. 

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

“I didn’t realize you…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight.”

-

part five

[cordeliawhohung]

ghost smut drabble. explicit, no major warnings, minors dni <3

hardly proofread just horny and practicing

Simon wants to see your face when you fuck.

He can't help the way he craves it. How your brows draw together and teeth sink into your lip when the tip of his cock presses against you. The sound of your moans is like a sirens call, and he wants to pull more of that song from you lips all while watching the fucked-out glossiness that covers your eyes.

Needless to say, because of this, he's not exactly a fan of taking you from behind. Sure, any guy would kill to bend you over and watch the plump flesh of your ass shake with each mind numbing thrust into your cunt, and Simon's no exception. It's just... different not being able to see your face. He prefers it if he can.

However

Things change when you buy that new big mirror to hang up on the wall in the bedroom. It's tall and nearly as wide as the bed is long. He questioned you why you even needed something like that, to which you scoff and offer that it's better than those simple, scrawny mirrors that dollar stores sell.

He didn't get the appeal of it until he had you on your hands and knees, palms digging into the plush duvet as you bent forward in front of him, ass flush to the thick skin of his thighs. He always reaches deeper in that position, and your whines are only slightly muffled as your bite your lip.

And then he looks in the mirror. Not of himself, but of you. How your face shines in the dim lighting of the bedroom, how your body is so perfectly on display for him. He can't pretend that he doesn't like being able to really see how he fits behind you, how he can see himself fucking you. It gives him a power trip he never knew he craved.

His hips rock with some newfound urgency that you had never felt in him before. It's fast and needy, but his eyes are only on your face even as your hands slip on the blanket and your torso lowers because of it. It's good and intense and you feel your mind quickly becoming slush as you slip even further.

Your instincts tell you to slip further, to just lay with your breasts pushed against the mattress and ass up in the air and let him continue, to let him bring you to that high that you come closer to with every moan that leaves your lips. But your cheek hardly brushes against the duvet before you feel Simon reach around you. His fingers find your jaw and he grabs you and gently lifts your head up.

"Nuh uh," he grunts as the lewd sounds of skin on skin continue in a frenzy behind you.

Once more you use your hands to hold you up as Simon guides you to face the mirror. You whine and feel your body protest, but with your mind so dazed you can't help but follow his lead. Your eyes find his, and you can see how dark they are as he drinks you in through the silvery sheen of the mirror. You'd never seen what your face looked like when you were like that, fucked out and nothing but a moaning, trembling mess as he pounded into you, but fuck you could get used to the view of him behind you like that.

"Eyes here, yeah?" he tells you as his thumb slides from along the side of your jaw over to your lips. He presses the thick digit against your lower lip, and you instinctively part them slightly before his hand returns back to your hips. "Wanna see every expression on that pretty face of yours."

trying to get my smut muscles working again (they were never working in the first place but take this as i work up the courage for what i'm about to write for the next part of soft spot.....)