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nereidprinc3ss · 6 months ago

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do you believe me now? | 7

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader sleep together for the first time

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: loss of virginity, oral f/m receiving, so much praise, pain during sex, unprotected sex, cr**mp**, bit of overstim, soft dom spence, if u don't like that freak shit (love and intimacy) this is not for u, spencer is a nerd, they're both nerds actually and that factors in heavily, you may get more from this part by FIRST reading how they met in this bonus chapter a/n: thank you all for being patient, ilysm, this was the most laborious thing i've ever done for no reason and also this part changed so many times and is not what i expected it to be so pls go in with tempered expectations and keep in mind that this story is more about the characters and their specific relationship dynamic than just being porn. i truly have no idea how you guys will react to this but i sincerely hope you love it and them like i do<3 also it's twice as long as the other parts so feedback would be very very appreciated! again i love u all and enjoy the penultimate part!

Spencer’s lips are on yours, and you weren’t expecting it—hell, you weren’t expecting him to be in your apartment. After all, he’d wished you goodnight and walked out only a moment ago.

“Spencer—wh—”

But he’s insistent with his lips, kissing you bruisingly over and over like there’s nectar on your tongue and he’s parched for you. Still, he has enough decency to not completely ignore you, exhaling a quick excuse over your flushed lips.

“I missed you.”

This time, though, you dodge his hungry kiss. Part of you thinks, as he watches you, eyes alight and breathing heavily, that he sort of likes your playing hard to get. It’s not something you do very often, admittedly.

“We’ve been apart for like, maybe a minute.”

“I didn’t even make it to the parking lot.”

Your face heats.

“Well you can’t just—you can’t just walk in like that! And I thought you said we weren’t supposed to mix fighting with pleasure.”

“Then start locking your door. And I thought you said we weren’t fighting.”

You roll your eyes in response, though your heart is still pittering in your chest.

At least his hands move to your arms, stroking up and down relatively chastely—although he has this way of making everything seem intimate. Especially when paired with those amber eyes of his—glowing like a candlelight beacon in the window guiding you home. He speaks in low, appeasing tones and darts his tongue over his lips.

“I originally said it’s a bad idea for couples to sleep together after an argument. But you know—makeup sex is ubiquitous across culture and time because it works. Anger and arousal trigger a lot of the same hormones, specifically norepinephrine which is involved in feelings of longing and—”

“Spencer.”

“You know what else?” He mutters in a way that feels dangerous. “It tends to feel better than regular sex.”

That earns a shaky exhale from you. Whether from irritation or arousal is anyone’s guess—probably a combination of both.

“So you came back to fuck me?”

It’s probably evident to Spencer from your choice of language that this already isn’t going exactly as he’d planned. He doesn’t answer right away—just regards you, gaze bouncing between your two eyes like he’s trying to calculate your level of anger.

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You push him away and move to walk down the hall.

“Maybe your window of opportunity has passed.”

A warm hand wraps around your wrist in the dark of the hallway and he pulls you back until you’re falling against something tall and warm and lean. The smell of polished amber and sandalwood overwhelms your senses.

“What’s wrong, angel? What happened in the minute I was gone to change your mind?” His voice is scratchy like a favorite record. It’s the voice he could hold you captive with. The one you have a very difficult time saying no to.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, unintentionally leaning back against him. “What happened to change yours?”

His response comes pressed against your ear, half-lost in your hair.

“You’re upset that I changed my mind. I thought you wanted this, honey.”

“I do,” you admit, letting your head fall back against his shoulder and bringing his arm to wrap around you. “And if you hadn’t walked out earlier I would’ve done it. But… I’m tired of us doing everything on your timeline. You just… you expect me to be amenable to what you want, constantly.” His nose and lips press into your shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… I’ve been begging you to sleep with me for I don’t even know how long. And you keep changing your mind, and I feel like you’re being really confusing about it. Obviously you don’t have to sleep with me, you never did, but I just feel kind of… jerked around. And you did it again tonight.”

A beat of silence.

“I understand your frustration,” he appeases, securing both his arms around you. You cling weakly to his wrist, to his warmth, like he’s a tether in a storm. “Would you prefer to wait until you initiate it?”

“No. Yes! I don’t know,” you huff, disentangling yourself from his arms and continuing toward your bedroom. “Now I’m annoyed at you again.”

He follows you right through the door.

“Just tell me what to do! I don’t want to be annoying.”

“I can’t. I’m being unreasonable.” You flick on your adjoining bathroom light and examine yourself in the mirror. Yeesh. The eye makeup situation is abysmal after all the crying that has taken place over the course of the evening.

“So choose to be reasonable and tell me what you want from me. I’ll give it to you.”

You frown at your reflection, pushing your hair back and rubbing at some excess mascara.

“No, you’re not understanding me. I’m not choosing to be unreasonable. My thought process regarding the situation is inherently unreasonable and there’s nothing I can do about it because it’s just the way I feel.”

“The feeling being that I’ve been too domineering over how our sexual relationship has unfolded?”

Spencer watches you in the bathroom mirror, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed as you tip some makeup remover onto a reusable cotton pad. You try not to check him out as you nod, but it’s impossible—with his sleeves rolled up to show defined forearms cradled in capable hands, and his hair all messy.

When he pushes off the wall you freeze, unsure of his next move—until he’s gently spinning you around and taking the bottle and cloth from your hands.

“Maybe it would help,” he begins, soft as he focuses on the new task, carefully bringing the round to your right eye so he can remove the bleeding mascara. You allow your eyes to flutter shut. “If I remind you why I’ve been so hesitant.”

“Because you hate giving me joy.”

He laughs, nothing more than one huff from his nose.

“You’re spoiled and we both know it.”

Point taken, as he gently wipes your makeup away for you. Your silence is his cue to continue.

“Everything I said about worrying that you would regret choosing me is true. It was especially true when I thought you felt lukewarm toward me. And all of that confusing stuff I said in the phone is true too—having sex for the first time is incredibly intimate and weird and sometimes scary. If you’re not 100% sure about your partner, or if you think your feelings are unrequited, it’s hard to be completely comfortable in such a vulnerable situation and your likelihood of getting hurt or having regrets skyrockets. I know that from experience. I wanted better for you than what I got. Still, I know it was wrong to project my feelings about the significance of sex onto you. In that regard, you’re right. I was being domineering, and I guess… I guess to an extent I’m still deflecting. I shouldn’t be trying to pretend like it’s about you when in reality I mostly just didn’t want to get hurt again. I didn’t want to go through that again, and that’s okay, but I shouldn’t have made you feel like it was something you could have changed.”

You try to process that.

“Go through what?” You whisper hoarsely. Something about having him at such close range while he takes such care with you feels whisper-y.

“Sleeping with someone who didn’t love me back.”

Your reply is small.

“Oh. Right.”

How could anyone not love him back?

Spencer’s reply is simple and kind, without a hint of, obviously you dumb bitch—which is pretty much what you’re thinking to yourself.

“Does that make sense, lovely? Do you understand why I wanted to wait?”

He lets you ponder for a while in comfortable-enough silence as he finishes removing your eye makeup with a characteristically gentle hand. When you open your eyes, he looks genuinely content, screwing the lid back on the bottle as if he’s got an eternity to wait for your answer.

“Yeah. That part makes sense. But why did you seem so… I don’t know, like, wishy-washy about it?”

Spencer’s eyes dart up to meet yours, brows slightly raised. Then a small laugh bubbles up from somewhere inside him.

“Because I’m obsessed with you. I thought about you like that constantly. I still do.”

Your breath catches at the casual admission.

“Oh.”

Spencer hums, setting the bottle down before tenderly thumbing away some excess mascara that he must have missed from under your eye.

“You didn’t think it was easy for me, did you?”

“Well… kind of,” you admit, tracking his eyes until they meet yours.

“Not sleeping with you has been among the hardest things I’ve ever done. Especially when you started begging me. That first time, when I picked you up from Penelope’s and you asked me why we hadn’t had sex yet…”

He trails off, still rubbing at your cheek as he loses himself in thought.

Eventually, you grow impatient, prompting, “what?”

“It’s not a nice thought.”

“Well, you have to tell me now,” you insist.

He half smiles, thumb straying to your lips.

“It was just… you had no idea what you were talking about, and you were ready to throw a tantrum in my living room until I gave you what you thought you wanted. Part of me was imagining bending you over the couch right then, since you thought you were so ready.”

It feels like someone has snipped the pulley that keeps your stomach in place.

“Spencer,” you splutter, convinced your cheek is tangibly heating under his touch as your head reels at the revelation that he could have such a deeply dirty and mildly sinister mind.

“I told you it wasn’t nice.”

You swallow.

“Is that… is that still what you want?”

His brows flicker again and he tucks hair behind your ear.

“To bend you over my couch? No.”

Your face warms even more and you turn to leave the bathroom, sick of his teasing.

“Okay, goodni—”

“Hold on.” Spencer catches you by your waist and pulls you back into him for the second time tonight. A dangerous smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I know what you meant. And no, I don’t want to bend you over my couch.” He laughs, slipping a hand under your shirt to rub your back. “You know what I want. I’m more interested in learning what you want.”

“I want…” Your eyes dance between his, and your heart flutters against the confines of your chest as you realize what you’ve wanted for so long is finally yours for the taking. “I want to stop talking about it.”

His expression neutralizes and you know it’s probably intentional to stop whatever feelings you assume him to be having color your decision.

“Oh?”

“I just think we’ve talked about it enough.”

Before he can say another word, or ask you another question, you kiss him with such passion there’s no way he can doubt how much you want this.

Only a moment passes before he allows himself to lean into it, cupping your face between reverent hands and taking control of the pace of the kiss, slowing it down until you can hardly breathe. Your little noise of want has him quickening the process, pressing against you until you’re walking backward out of the bathroom. It’s like the first crack in a dam. After that, everything becomes inevitable.

Your knees hit the back of the bed and you sit down hard on the mattress, smiling up at him. You skim the front of his thighs with your palms as he smooths your hair.

Spencer groans, leaning down and kissing you til you’re on your back.

“Don’t make that face.”

An affronted huff from you breaks the kiss up and he pulls back to study your expression.

“What do you mean don’t make that face? I was just smiling at you.”

“I know you were. And you have such a pretty smile it makes me feel guilty about… defiling you.”

Your brows flicker up and your mouth drops open with an affronted scoff.

“Watch yourself. I’ll defile you.”

“You already have,” he admits with a half-laugh as he kisses you again. “My mind was never this dirty before we met.”

“Hm. Tell me you like my smile.”

He pauses and then chuckles dryly against your mouth.

“I love your smile. You’re gorgeous. Any more demands?”

Pleased, you shake your head and pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Not currently.”

“Really?” he murmurs, trailing kisses over your cheek and down your jaw, “I’d do just about anything you asked me right now. You don’t want to take advantage of that?”

The sensation of his lips just below your ear threatens all rational thought in your brain, but you manage a reply with only a slight delay and a hint of a waver coloring your tone.

“I shouldn’t have to demand things. You should just know to do them.”

His kisses drag lower, warm and unhurried and you’re trying not to let your hyper-sensitivity from going a week completely untouched show—but you doubt he misses the way your breath catches, or the barely audible squeaks, or the arch of your back or the tightening grip on his shirt.

“Well, for future reference—” he nips at a sensitive spot and you gasp quietly, even as you tilt your head to offer him more access. More room to bite, if he so chooses. “—I happen to enjoy it when you make demands of me. Especially when those demands entail letting me call you pretty.”

“I’ve never not let you call me pretty before,” you huff. It’s a touchy subject, and Spencer can probably sense your hackles rising, but he has you right where he wants you and so he pushes anyway.

“No. But you never believe me. We’ve had this conversation. You always act like I’m walking you to the gallows when I compliment you.”

It’s hard to make a defense when he’s leaning his weight onto one arm so he can unbutton your jeans, when he’s looking down at you with sparkling onyx and scorched-earth eyes like you’re something to be consumed. But not violently, no—ardently. Like fruit heavy on the vine. Like you’re a religious rite to the devout and deluded. A sacrament.

But it’s not a blind passion. Spencer knows you; every inch of you and every loose thread on your soul begging to be pulled. He knows you and he still wants you like this. To be perfectly honest, you’d never thought you’d feel comfortable handing yourself over to someone like this—vulnerable and all your layers of armor shed. Never in your life would you have thought you could trust a person so implicitly that you’d hand them a knife and show them exactly where to press, that you’d say, I know once you open me and you see me you’ll not want to change a thing.

You adore him. Cosmically. Enormously. In every dimension. He’s lodged so deep in your heart you have no choice but to love him eternally.

It’s deep in the midst of all these very profound revelations that you realize Spencer has stalled with your zipper undone. His hand has strayed to your hip, to sweetly push your shirt up and trace love letters into warmed and downy skin with his thumb.

“I just wish you could see yourself how I see you,” he says softly, the weight of the truth a strain on his vocal cords.

Sometimes, he is so kind it’s like a punch to your stomach. You’ve never been quite as kind as him. And nobody’s ever been as kind to you as he is. You’ve done nothing to deserve his kindness, but you know he needs a place for it, and you’re here with open arms.

He studies you a moment longer, swallowing as his eyes trail over your face and lower. You want to reach out and brush strands of caramel hair out of his face, but he seems to be thinking so hard you’re hesitant to distract him.

“I’ve never told you this, because I know you’d just shoot it down, but… you are genuinely the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my life.”

Something twinges in the depths of your stomach—the darker shades who live there and exist solely to whisper not enough not enough not enough to you every minute of every day.

But they’re simply not a match for the softness you find when you do reach out for his hair, or the way he looks at you. Spencer loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist—not a cuff, but an affectionate hold.

“Do you believe me?”

There’s so much earnest hope in his voice it almost jars you. He so badly wants you to understand how feels about you—he’s been trying to tell you for months and all you know how to do is refute his praise and insist on your worthlessness.

Ever since Spencer, you don’t see the faces on magazine covers or in superhero movies, no matter how mathematically flawless they are. Nobody gets close to being as beautiful as he is in your eyes. He’s in an entirely different echelon, and despite how you feel about yourself, you have to accept that he might feel the same about you.

“I do,” you say, equally soft, and 100% honest. You believe that he believes it, and that’s enough. It’s all that matters.

The shallow knit of his brow loosens. His lips ease into a suggestion of a smile. But it’s most visible in his eyes—the way smoldering coals reignite, melting the amber glass of his irises until they’re molten.

The way he kisses you then, you’d think you’d lassoed the moon and pulled it down from the sky for him. But apparently all it takes to make him incandescently, contagiously happy, is to accept a compliment.

There’s a renewed sense of urgency on his breath as he kisses you deeply and quick enough your heart is racing. It only goes faster when he remembers his previous task and begins tugging your jeans down, but he doesn’t even bother to pull them past your knees before his hand is creeping up your thigh. Goosebumps race each other across your body as you try to remember what it feels like—what he feels like. But you can’t, even as his thumb fans over your inner thigh and pushes it open, gently encouraging you to give him more access to you.

“You’re not wasting any time,” you breathe against him while he traces the edge of your underwear.

“Do you want me to slow down?”

Judging by the way the tips of his fingers only barely shy away from the fabric, he really wants the answer to be no. But you know in his searching gaze that he’d never push you.

“No, it’s fine. As long as we… don’t go this fast the whole time.”

“We won’t.” The hasty words are of lower priority than the next kiss he plants to your swollen lips. “We won’t. I just missed you so much.”

“Yeah?” You giggle airily as he drags his fingers over your clit through the material, trying to ignore the way it makes your head spin.

“Yes. Yeah.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, so… desperate for you, as he drops his lips to your neck and presses barely-there kisses everywhere he knows you’re sensitive. Just the feeling of his breath against your skin has you shivering. His hand between your legs only brushes your most nerve-dense spot, but a few touches in and you’re already wound up, like if Spencer doesn’t give you more soon you’ll burst. And not in the good way.

When he finally commits to actually kissing your neck, you squeak, warmth emanating from that spot just below your jaw all the way to your toes. The frantic energy of earlier is slowly melting away, and he loses focus with his hand, as it begins straying wider, stroking your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach. It’s like your nerve endings are on overdrive, delivering twice as much feedback to your brain as they normally would. Each touch feels like he’s conducting electricity over your body, like you’re a plasma ball. He’d probably like that analogy—you, a core of alternating voltage, and him, the conductor, tracing a path and giving all those electrons an easy release. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d tell Spencer you found a way to work Nikola Tesla into your mutual sex life, and he’d probably propose on the spot.

But that electricity is building fast—even more so when he drags his lips down just above your collarbone. Your breath hitches, simultaneously trying to crane your neck to give him more room, and curl into him so as to escape the stimulation. Finally he pulls away, and losing the softness of his mouth while the air feels so cold against the places he’d kissed almost hurts.

“You’re a mess,” he chuckles affectionately, raising his hand to brush hair away from your face before stroking the heated high point of your cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”

It’s teasing, but so low and gentle and honeyed it swirls your stomach.

“Whatever you want,” you admit quietly. It’s a shy confession more than it is a salacious flirtation because he already has you. And you want nothing more than for him to act on that in any way he so pleases. Whatever he does, it will be careful, and kind, and because he loves you. You know that no matter how he takes you apart—he’ll put you back together again.

“I don’t know if I can. You’re all jumpy.”

God, he has the prettiest smile—even when it’s twisted with sarcasm and a thin veneer of guilt, like he knows he shouldn’t be teasing and just can’t help himself.

“I’m not,” you defend, face heating further. “I’m not nervous. I don’t know what it is.”

That sticky sweet tone is back, pooling in his eyes and dripping all over you like nectar as he languidly looks you over.

“I didn’t say you were nervous. Just a little bit jumpy.”

It’s not accusatory—he’s simply stating a fact. Easy, gentle, designed to soothe.

You shrug helplessly and chew on your lip, unsure of how he wants you to respond. It’s definitely true that excited as you are, you’re slightly on edge. You feel taut as a string on a guitar, tense and waiting to be yanked at any second.

His expression is serene, and his thoughts inscrutable as he continues lavishing you with his eyes, down to where he’s lying over you and back up. His lips part, but he doesn’t speak for a moment as he formulates his words.

“Can we try something? There’s this tantric exercise that might help you relax.”

Your brows draw earnestly and you nod up at him, not requiring any convincing even though you have no idea what he’s talking about.

Spencer directs you to sit up, and you do—kicking your jeans all the way off so you can sit criss-cross with your hands braced on your ankles.

He’s next to you on the bed, at a slight angle, one of your knees in his lap. You blink at him.

“Now what?”

“Now you give me one of your hands,” he says, tone tinted with a hint of an amused smile, as if your impatience is funny to him. Of course it probably is.

Frowning only a little, you unlock your left arm and hold it out for him, watching curiously as he takes your one hand between his and flips it palm-up.

“Did you know,” Spencer begins, voice low and confidential, “that the fingertips are the second most sensitive part of the human body?”

“What’s the first?”

“Lips,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your hand where he’s brushing the tips of your fingers light enough it almost tickles. “They’re both incredibly important for keeping you alive, which is why they’re one and two. But you’ll be particularly sensitive anywhere you’re vulnerable.” His words are trailing off as he brushes his thumb over your palm and to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Like here.”

His knuckles skim up your forearm, to the crook of your elbow.

“And especially here.”

You’re fascinated as he traces back down the length of your arm and over your inner-wrist, feather light. Then up once more, with the blunted edges of his nails, and your breath catches. You’ve never noticed how sensitive such an innocuous part of your body could be, but it has your stomach flipping—more so when he looses a breathy laugh. “You know, some people are actually able to reach orgasm just by light stimulation to this area.”

Your response is just as airy—you don’t recognize your voice when it comes out like that, hanging in the pitch black between you.

“Really?”

An affirmative hum from him, as he lifts your hand and places an intentional kiss over your pulse at the bend of your wrist. Your chest aches and heat is pooling in your stomach as his gently trails them up the delicate skin of your arm. Maybe you should be embarrassed by the reaction you’re having—after all, it’s just your arm. But he treats every part of you like it warrants love and attention and intimacy. Even the parts you typically ignore. Certainly parts you never considered to be sexually or romantically relevant. It’s dizzying. It’s like magic.

“Arms up,” Spencer finally directs, just as sweetly as he’s doing everything else, and helps you tug your shirt over your head. Every brush of fabric, every seam against your skin registers more than it normally would. Everything is heightened, and despite your state of undress you’re still warm. “Your neck is really sensitive, too. It’s the most commonly acknowledged erogenous zone.”

Erogenous zone. Of course this all comes back to biology.

“Tilt your head for me, honey.”

Utterly entranced and useless to not abide by him, you do so. Spencer brushes your hair over your shoulder, and if the slip of it down your back weren’t enough, the graze of his fingertips against the nape of your neck has you shivering.

The warmth of him at your throat feels completely brand new, despite having already had his lips there only minutes before. But now they ghost over your skin with a kind of novelty, and your own lips part in silent pleasure, head lolling to allow him greater access.

“Lie back.”

Without hesitation (but perhaps a bit sluggishly in your stupor) you obey, sliding down until you’re propped up only by pillows once more. Spencer takes his place propped above you once more, thighs slotted with yours as he quickly picks up where he left off.

The sweet kisses are perfect and feel so much better than you’d ever thought to notice before—but at the same time your core aches and there’s that pressure building again that’s starting to get to you.

“Spencer,” you try, and it comes out hoarse but you don’t care at all. “More.”

“You want me to leave marks?”

And the offer is so tempting you’ll wait a few more minutes to ask for what you really need, nodding semi-frantically and ‘mhm’-ing desperately.

As he gently latches onto a spot that will require concealer later but feels fantastic for now, one of his hands slips down your side, just barely letting his nails skim, and your back actually arches. It’s a shocking amount of stimulation for being nowhere near any sexual hotspots. That tiny caught breath dissolves as his fingers continue down just as lightly over your hip and thigh. Your muscles tense as you chase and run away from the feeling. It’s ridiculous.

There’s no point in trying to keep your eyes open now—they grow heavy and you let them fall shut as he sucks another love bite to your throat.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? It’s kind of weird.” He says, voicing your thoughts as he eventually decides the mark will be sufficiently dark.

“Yeah,” you agree, lacking all eloquence as he caresses every sensitive place you didn’t know you had and your hips writhe minutely in a little desperate dance of your own creation.

“Most people aren’t aware of the potential of the erogenous zones that aren’t actual sex organs. They don’t pay attention to them. You know what else is an interesting function of erotic stimulation to areas that aren’t directly involved in reproduction?”

“Hm,” you hum as his hand skims to your back. You lean into it and he promptly undoes your bra with a single hand—a skill you’re not even sure you have.

“It releases not quite as much oxytocin as an orgasm but more than sexual pleasure alone. So you’re less tense before sex than you usually would be, and you’re primed to build more trust and feel more connected with your partner during.”

God, he’s a nerd. And it’s so, so hot.

You roll over on your back again and look up at him through half-lidded eyes. The corner of his mouth flickers as he takes in your expression, before trailing downward, following the path his fingertips make over your skin as they tug the straps over your shoulders. Trying to stop him, to be shy, would be a pointless venture. He’s seen you like this and you want him to see you again.

A shaky exhale of his own brings a little smile to your face as he pulls your bra away and observes the newly bared skin with a hunger that you can feel.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, eyes cast pointedly down and thumb brushing over the side of your right breast.

“You mentioned.”

“I’m not allowed to say it again?” He teases, leaning down to kiss you soft. Your lips curve against his.

“You can say it as many times as you want.”

Spencer hums, finally thumbing over your breast’s sensitive peak. It sends a chill down your back and seeing as you’re already worked up to the point of near insanity, the pleasure from such a simple touch is much stronger than it would be otherwise.

“Good. Because I missed you a lot.”

After that, he doesn’t waste much time—only toying with your flesh for another minute as he kisses you before his hand is skimming down your abdomen and dipping below the waistband of your underwear.

“Please,” you whisper, tilting your hips toward him when he doesn’t move to touch you anymore.

“Please what?”

“Spencer, don’t.”

He smiles at this, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as his hand travels lower. Fingers slip between wet folds and he begins making the lightest of circles over your clit.

“You’ve probably been waiting long enough, huh? I should be nicer.”

Your answer is a breathy almost-whine as you seek more friction against his hand.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pressing down harder. The sensation sends sparks down to your toes and you attempt to clamp your legs shut around his wrist. “These need to stay open,” Spencer chuckles, “or else I can’t help you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The words are a sweet sing-song against your cheek as he kisses you there, before hooking his fingers into the fabric of your underwear and pulling down. You try to help wiggle out of them as best you can, gasping when he tosses them away and immediately returns his hand between your legs. He dips his head down, tongue lathing over your breast, and teases you with the tip of one finger circling around your entrance.

“I need—”

“Shh. Let me worry about it.”

With that, he’s dipping his ring and middle fingers just barely inside of you to the first knuckle, then back out, before pushing a bit deeper, and repeating the cycle until they’re as far as they’ll go. When he slowly starts fucking you with them, still mouthing sweetly at your breast, you’re ready to melt.

The room is quiet except for your breathy mewls, the lewd, wet sound of his fingers inside of you, and the blood rushing in your ears. Soon your breast pops from between his lips and he finds somewhere else to leave his mark. Spencer is turning you into a work of art, with his fingers, with his mouth. You don’t mind at all. You’d let him sign his name, if he could—but you doubt he’d let you get his name tattooed.

Soon you stop fighting the perpetual tug of your lids down and let them flutter shut, loosing a freer moan as he brushes over that sweet spot inside you. Even when he’d told you how to find it over the phone, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t like this—maddening enough to have your hips twisting again and that hot bed of coals in your tummy sparking.

“Spencer,” you warn, leg twitching as he stokes the fire beyond the point where you can passively enjoy it. Either he’s got to slow down or he’s got to let you burn all the way up. You practically jump when you feel his tongue flick over your clit—you hadn’t even been aware of his shifting positions. Maybe you’re more out of it than you’d previously thought. Your eyes shoot open and he does it again. “Oh, fuck.”

The words are simple, quiet, and apparently that’s not enough. Before you can even process the sensation of the tip of his tongue on you he’s latching onto your clit, suckling in a way that has your vision momentarily going out. You cry out and kick involuntarily, hips jumping up, but he captures your leg and presses you down into the mattress so no matter how much you squirm and squeak you can’t get away.

“Fuckfuckfuck, Spencer I wa—ah—sn’t ready—oh my god.”

He remembers his fingers deep inside you and begins rutting them and you hiss, inhaling sharply through your teeth before letting it all out in a tremulous moan. The orgasm is building up so quickly it almost feels like an attack on your poor body as you try to process it all to no avail. Every sound you make is a vulnerable mess of pleasure and pain, a clear fear of surrendering to something inevitable. Of course, it doesn’t really hurt at all. As usual, he’s blindsided you. Found you unprepared. You rake your fingers through Spencer’s hair, continuing on with your shaky moans that sound half-worried.

“Oh, please.” Really, you’re just pleading to be put out of your misery. It’s in moments like this, as the black is creeping in around the edges of your vision and your thoughts become threads in the tangle of an existence knotting in on itself with no discernible end or beginning in your mind until everything is completely abstract, that you’re reminded why the French refer to orgasm as the little death.

Your fingers lace tight enough in the wilds of his hair to pull, and he groans against you, and those vibrations are your undoing. You succumb to the dark momentarily but he continues a loving assault of gentle kisses to your clit—careful enough so as to be inoffensive even after the euphoria abates and you’re hypersensitive, still relishing soft strands of hair between your knuckles.

You’re breathing hard as you blink your vision back, looking down at him as he looks up at you from his place between your legs and rubs the top of your thigh.

“I wasn’t ready,” you pant, lips flashing into a tired smile that doesn’t hold a candle to his own livelier one.

“Took it like a champ.”

If you weren’t already so warm his sarcastic comment would inspire more heat in the apples of your cheeks.

“Dr. Spencer Reid using sports idioms?” You smile as he climbs back up your body.

“It’s unreasonably sexy that you said idiom and not simile.” He kisses you, grin mirroring yours, and you don’t complain about the slick still on his lips. “And look at that. Not afraid to kiss me when I taste like you anymore.”

“I remember what you said,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, glowing amber pools in the low light. The words echo in your head from the first time he’d gone down on you and you’d been hesitant to taste yourself.

One day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.

“So do I,” he points out needlessly. “Eerily prophetic, hm?”

“I think you just like going down on me,” you laugh.

Without the light on, his smile is just as brilliant as usual.

“You might be right about that.”

Another interlude of quiet begins, but you don’t mind it. Taking this slow, as desperate as you’ve been for it, feels nice. Easy. Waves of burning need ebb and flow, but for now, it feels nice to be bathed in his candlelight gaze, know you’re loved, and nothing else.

“What next?” You whisper after a long moment, lifting your hand to trace the line of his jaw. He leans into it slightly, lips brushing your palm.

“That’s up to you, angel. What’s going to make you feel most comfortable?”

Your bottom lip rolls between your teeth as you think and he tracks the movement, corner of his mouth twitching fondly.

“It might help if you weren’t fully clothed.”

“I think we could probably do something about that.”

He pecks the tip of your nose playfully and then he’s pushing off the bed. Your brow wrinkles as you follow suit only partially, sitting up with your legs folded under you and pulling the sheets over your body to combat the chill and the vulnerability of being completely naked.

“Oh, my god. You had your shoes on that whole time?”

“I got distracted,” Spencer defends, almost tripping over himself in his hurry to slip the loafers off.

You clutch the sheet to your chest, watching the adorable way he pushes his hair out of his face as he rushes. He’s so clearly excited—it shows in the flush of his cheek and his even worse than usual coordination.

“But on my bed?”

“I’m sorry,” he says without seeming very apologetic, leaning down to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger and pressing his lips to yours. “I’ll pay to have your comforter dry cleaned. I’ll buy you a new one. I don’t care.”

“How chivalrous.”

“I am,” he insists against your lips, shaped by what is surely a boyish smirk.

Unsurprisingly, you get lost in the kiss, dropping the sheet to hang onto his shoulders. Spencer takes advantage of the once-more revealed skin, rubbing your thigh with slow passes in a way that has you all lit up again already. It doesn’t help that his tie is skimming right over the recess between your folded thighs as he leans over your seated form, kissing you deeper as the moments pass.

“You’re distracting me now,” you scold, but your voice is quiet and smiley as your noses brush.

“Do you want to help me with my clothes?”

You nod, heart hatching like a cocoon and already slipping a finger into the knot of his tie so you can tug perhaps not gently enough. He chuckles, bracing himself with his fists on either side of your lap as you pull and yank until the fabric comes loose and you slip it from around his neck, flinging it blindly for dramatic effect. Then he slowly draws back to his full height, until you’re about eye-level with his chest. His gaze fixes on you, feverish and intent as he finds the buckle of his belt without looking. The slide of leather on leather, the jingle of the metal has the hairs on the back of your neck rising and you fight a chill as he pins you with his stare—feeling rather powerless as he towers over you, still essentially fully clothed while you’re completely naked.

You probably shouldn’t be as thrilled by it as you are.

Spencer tosses the belt on the floor and watches on, utterly charmed as you rise to your knees. His hands find your waist, steadying you as you begin unbuttoning his shirt with slow, careful fingers.

“See?” You murmur bashfully. “Helping.”

His voice is equally as soft.

“Very helpful. Thank you.”

The tension in the quiet room gets to be too much and you have to focus hard on the task at hand, failing to bite back a twisty smile. For once, he keeps his stupid perfect mouth shut and lets you push the fabric of his open shirt from his shoulders in humid silence.

Your fingers skate down his torso and you watch the muscles tense. You wonder if he notices the way he pulls you slightly closer or if it’s subconscious as you both track the path of your hands.

“Your button is on the wrong side,” you note, voice wavering slightly, once your fingers stall at the waistband of his pants.

Spencer chuckles. You feel silly.

“Men and women’s clothing tend to have the buttons on different sides, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence, before the words come pouring out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m still a little bit nervous, I think.”

“That’s okay,” Spencer assures you, hands gliding up and down the soft lines of your waist. “It’s okay that you’re nervous. But I’m going to take really good care of you, okay?”

You nod, not looking away from the exposed skin of his torso.

“And if at any point you need to take a break or stop, you’ll tell me.”

“I will, but… I don’t need to stop right now.”

“Then you can go as slow as you want.”

You swallow and take a moment to gather yourself before continuing on undoing his pants. With his assistance, you pull them down, and with them his boxers tug an inch or two lower, exposing a subtle v-shape before it disappears beneath the waistband. The fabric is obviously tented. A ball of nervous anticipation spins faster in your stomach, drawing all the heat in your body down between your legs. He’s pretty everywhere. You’d nearly forgotten.

Spencer’s stomach tenses under your light touch as you drag your fingers down, down, just to the waistband. It’s then that you look up at him for permission to continue, and find his eyes already on you, heated and intense.

“Go ahead, honey.”

Again you find yourself quite excited to touch him, but you start cautiously, simply letting your hand fall over the shape of him through the fabric. Even that has his chest rising and falling at a slightly quickened rate, and one of his hands finds your unoccupied one, twining them together. That small gesture inspires you to bolden your explorations, becoming more insistent in the way you palm at him. He feels big, which is a concern of yours. But you try not to let that intimidate you.

Already he’s quite hard, you suspect from going down on you earlier (which is flattering as much as it embarrasses you) and your fingers graze a small wet patch of fabric. You fixate on the shaky little breath he releases as you push down his boxers with new fervor, and his cock springs up.

He’s still perfect.

You smear beads of precum down his tip, and he sighs, letting his head fall against yours as you both watch. A few coquettish pumps and he’s humming, kissing your face and dragging his lips down your neck where he makes a home for himself. Apparently the sight of your hand wrapped around him had been too much to bear.

“So good. Missed this.”

“It’s just my hand,” you whisper, a little insecure that he’s maybe playing it up for your benefit.

“It’s you.”

His voice is so breathy, you sort of have to believe him.

“Can I…?”

Too nervous to voice what you really mean, you trail off, but it apparently doesn’t matter to Spencer. He lifts his head like he’s in a stupor but you’ve said something urgent.

“Anything you want. You can do whatever you want.”

“Okay. Um…”

You let go of his hand (and his dick). Spencer automatically rotates to accommodate you as you end up on your knees on the wooden floor in front of him.

“This is what you want?” He breathes, already pushing his fingers through your hair and gathering it back as you look up at him and nod.

Very quickly you have him back in your hand, trying to remember what you learned from the few times you’ve done this. You start perhaps a bit softer, less eager to prove yourself than you have in the past—simply dragging him over your tongue before enveloping his tip in your mouth, and releasing with a pop. Despite being overtly, explicitly, and undeniably sexual, there’s something almost chaste about the way you handle him. It’s a (dirty) expression of love, and you think he understands that as he rubs at your cheek affectionately.

Eventually, however, you get too excited, and you take him into your mouth in earnest, bobbing your head slowly and seeing how much of him you can take without gagging.

Spencer makes the prettiest noises—they’re breathy, and not ostentatious, but he’s got such a nice speaking voice it’s like his gasps are bars in a song. You whine around him, wriggling your hips in a rather pathetic display, and then all too quickly he’s tugging your hair so you can’t keep him in your mouth.

“What?” You ask, closer to pouting than you’d care to admit and voice slightly hoarse. “You said I could do anything I want.”

“Not if you’re that good at it. Come here.”

He helps you up and catches you in a deep, messy kiss before you’ve fully regained your footing, swaying against him, but he holds you fast, pulling away slow like strings of honey trail between your mouths.

Spencer’s eyes are fixed on yours, lips parted in a sort of wonder before he glances down to your own mouth, wiping the shine from your bottom lip. Any moment you’re expecting him to say something, to tell you you’re beautiful or perfect or that he’s in love with you—but instead he just meets your eyes again, that same wonder-struck look on his pretty face. A tiny, breathy laugh forces itself from his chest like you’re a genuine miracle.

You feel so observed—seen in a way you’ve never been seen, looked at closer than anyone has ever looked at you before. And he still looks at you like you’re the human embodiment of love, the closest mortal manifestation of the divine, Galatea come down from her marble pedestal. The way he looks at you has your heart pounding and your breathing hastened. Adoration has never been something so physical, so tangible, ever before in your life. Your blood hums at the frequency of his electromagnetic field—an energetic aura that surrounds each person and can be detected from several feet away, as he’d explained it to you. It originates from the heart and if you spend enough time close to someone, syncs up the beating of your most vital organ with theirs until it’s a perfect match. Maybe that’s why, almost as quickly as your heart had begun to pound, it slows again, and you feel any reservation flush from your body like a fever.

“Okay,” you breathe, cataloguing every angle and curve of his face to store with all the rest, all the moments that feel important. Of course, you’ll never remember them like he does yours. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try your hardest.

“Okay?” Spencer asks. He understands the confirmation for what it is, and searches for signs of hesitation on your face while rubbing reassuring circles into your hip. You nod resolutely.

As he lays you down on your bed, it feels like you’re entering some kind of altered state. Everything is muted and glowing with a watercolor aura in the dark and you really only care about the man on top of you and the way moonlight dances on his skin and the way he smells like smoky amber and rain. He makes sure the pillows are fluffed under you, before sweeping your hair from beneath your shoulders into a corona around your head. All the while his eyes are so soft on you, just like his hands, and his lips when he leans down to touch them to yours.

One of said hands finds its way to your jaw, trailing down over your neck and collarbone, before settling over your breast where he swipes a thumb over your nipple, lightly, slowly, several times.

Once again you’re struck with the odd feeling, even with his hand on you like this, that the situation isn’t sexual in the way you’d anticipated. It’s not pornographic, or even very dirty. Everything Spencer does, even as his hand sneaks down between your legs, he does because he loves you.

“One more like this,” he mutters against your jaw after a moment.

“Why?”

Your impatience yields a smile you can only feel against your skin.

“Just want you relaxed and feeling good. That’s all.”

When you assent, his fingers are already slowly pushing inside you.

It seems you’ve entered some sort of time warp as well, because you reach a gentle peak in what feels like record time, aided by his easy murmurings and saccharine praise.

“Perfect. That was perfect,” Spencer says with a kiss to your shoulder as he slides his fingers from you and you feel yourself literally dripping onto the sheets. “Can I ask you something before we get carried away?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sweet and compliant as pleasure dulls your inhibitions for the second time tonight and your head lolls into the pillows.

“Baby,” he croons, voice soft as worn paper as your lids flutter and lashes brush febrile cheeks, thumbing over the heated skin. “Need you a little more alert, sweet girl.”

“’M trying,” you whine, though it’s half self-effacing laugh. Spencer chuckles too as you shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to reinvigorate yourself. “Okay. Go.”

“Well… we don’t have any protection.” Before you can groan, loudly, he hurries on. “And that’s… I’m okay with that, if it’s what you still want. I trust you. But there will come… a moment of reckoning. And I need to know where I should… reckon. So you don’t end up surprised.”

Now you’re really laughing—a giggly mess beneath him as your arms loop over his shoulders.

“Stop it,” he whines, pressing his nose to your cheek as you turn your head in an effort to not snort at your boyfriend to his face. “That was for your benefit, you know. You get squeamish.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t take you seriously when you refer to it as reckoning.”

“Fine. I’ll rephrase. When I come, you essentially have two options. Inside, or on your stomach. Tell me where you want it.”

Your breath catches and your stomach does that tripping-over-itself thing again.

“Um…”

Another fond half laugh, at your expense, is pressed against your skin. It’s enough to prompt you into answering—he doesn’t have to say anything to make his point about your being squeamish.

“Inside,” you mutter, shy as you attempt to bring him closer so he won’t be able to look at you quite so closely. You wonder if he’s remembering the conversation you’d had over the phone last week—before he’d accidentally kind of broken up with you—about this very subject. You certainly are.

“Okay. I want you to have everything that you want.” A few kisses to your neck later, between nips, he speaks again. “Just need to hear that you want this one more time.”

“I want this,” you repeat, obedient and honest, plain and simple. “Now, please.”

Spencer responds by first kissing you, firm and loving. It soothes you, and he punctuates it with a kiss to your cheek, before he’s reaching down and guiding himself between your legs. You feel surprisingly calm, more overcome with love and the light pleasure rolling down your back as he drags himself over your clit than you are by nerves. Still, you pointedly hold his gaze, not looking down in case you psych yourself out. He slots himself in place, tip resting against your entrance.

“Remember, if you need to stop at any point—”

“I remember,” you cut him off hurriedly.

Okay. So perhaps you’re still slightly nervous.

He watches you, sympathetic though you’re not sure what for.

“I need you as relaxed as possible, okay? I want this to be easy on you.”

You take a moment, scanning your whole body for tense muscles. When you feel sufficiently relaxed, you offer Spencer a small nod, and at that, he begins pushing into you ever so slightly.

At first, it just feels foreign. He’s going so slowly, so carefully, you’re not sure he’s moving at all—until he finds resistance and the odd full feeling changes to a hint of burning stretch. Your hips jump and your breath catches, and Spencer stops immediately, relieving the pressure with a tiny shift in position.

“It’s gonna hurt,” you realize, eyes darting between his like he might be able to tell you otherwise. You’d always been aware of the possibility, but you were holding out hope that you’d be one of those people who didn’t experience any pain their first time.

“Just for a minute. Then it’ll feel good, angel.”

You swallow and nod. At the end of the day, you trust him completely. You trust him enough to let him hurt you.

“Super deep breaths for me.”

He watches intently as you follow his directions, taking several deep breaths in succession, before he begins pushing into you once more. The pressure builds and builds until he pushes past that point of resistance, and it’s like he’s breaking you in two.

“Ah,” you gasp, abs twisting as your body tries to escape the sensation without any input from you.

“I know. I know, baby, that was the hardest part. Breathe.”

He drops his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles with light pressure to distract from the pain.

You nod, lips pressed together tight as the deep ache muddles your brain. It’s an insistent pressure against something does not seem to want to budge. It burns and stretches and is laced with sour, flirtatious pleasure so that you can hardly tell what it is you’re feeling. Mostly, you’re dizzy and hot.

“Relax, just like that,” he strains, looking down. “My good girl. We’re almost there, baby.”

Cries spill unbidden from your mouth and your eyes shut as he continues to open you up deeper, until finally, finally, his hips settle into the cradle of yours.

Spencer sighs a curse under his breath, so quiet you don’t think it was meant for you.

He’s inside of you. It’s bizarre.

You whimper, and he snaps out of whatever revery he’d been in.

“You okay? How does that feel?”

You take a shuddering breath, closing your eyes and trying to clear your head to no avail—your thoughts are like TV static.

“I’m good. I need… I need a minute.”

“You can have as much time as you need. It’s a lot, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admit, voice small and weak.

“I bet,” he agrees, peppering soft kisses all over your face. “But you’re doing so well. Proud of you, brave girl. You’re doing so well and we’re gonna make sure it feels good soon, okay? Whenever you’re ready.”

“Will you please kiss me again?” you whisper, and Spencer’s brow knits with concern.

“Of course, angel. Of course I’ll kiss you,” he says, and makes good on his promise with his lips on yours. It sweetens the ache. “I’ll do whatever you want. You can have anything. You’re so perfect.”

He kisses you again, just as lovingly, and soft, like you’re delicate. All the praise is only contributing to your lightheadedness, but you don’t mind at all. It feels good.

“You can… you can move.”

“Okay. We’ll go really slow, yeah?”

He waits for your nod before his hips are pulling back and you arch at the odd sensation. When he pushes back in, eyes carefully locked on yours the whole time, you keen slightly, frowning and brain shorting out as it tries and fails to process this new feeling.

“Uh-huh. You’re okay, I promise.”

At first it doesn’t feel good. It mostly hurts. But slowly, the pain begins to abate as you acclimate to having him inside of you, and he’s careful the whole time.

“Spence?”

“Hm?”

He sounds concentrated on the task at hand—you’re entranced by the sight of him above you, the parted lips, the unkempt hair over the brow furrowed in pleasure and focus. But he’s never too busy for you.

“Does it… um—” you pause to hold back a whine—“what does it feel like for you?”

At this, he slows even further and chuckles—it’s a strained, slightly breathy sound.

“For me?”

“Mhm.”

“You feel perfect, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

The slight fry in Spencer’s voice as he curses, which is a rare event in and of itself, flips your stomach, turns you on immensely. The idea that you’re giving him pleasure too—it’s almost overwhelming. That’s when it starts feeling good.

“Oh—” you squeak, jaw dropping and bucking your hips inadvertently as the first bolt of true pleasure shocks deep in your core. He hums.

“Yeah, is that it, sweet girl?”

But you can’t answer for a long moment. Your brain is melting as your legs lock around him.

“Mm—it’s—it feels…”

“I know it does,” Spencer murmurs.

You whine and press your face into the curve of his shoulder as each thrust gently rocks your body. As the pace picks up bit by bit, you feel yourself clenching hard around him. His hips stutter and he hisses.

“Ah. Can’t do that, lovely.”

“What? Did I hurt you?”

He laughs breathily.

“No, you didn’t hurt me. You almost pushed me out. You have to relax.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. “’M trying.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. I know you’re trying, baby, you’re being so good for me.”

Your nails skim his back—a small expression of a much larger desperation. Once he’s sure you’re relaxed around him, begins going faster.

Your gasps and soft moans come more often now as he finds a steady rhythm and it feels so different when he’s actually fucking you. It feels like he’s everywhere. Every time your hips meet you feel the sweet shock of it in your teeth, your toes, the back of your neck. In the best way, you feel consumed by him. It’s not at all like you’d imagined, and it’s perfect.

“Wait, Spencer,” you breathe, struggling to form the words. Immediately he stops again, lifting his head from your shoulder to examine your face.

“What is it?”

He sounds just as wrecked as you feel, panting and strained and it feels good to hear.

“I wanna watch.”

For a moment his eyes dart between yours like he’s trying to determine what you really mean—but you said exactly what you meant. Then he laughs, a huff of air from his nose as he presses his head to yours and gives you a quick kiss.

Your toes curl as he readjusts his position, holding himself a little higher and resting your heads together so you can both look between your bodies.

“There,” he murmurs as he slowly begins to withdraw again. “Like that?”

But you can’t answer, because you’re too busy whimpering at the sight of him pushing into you. The feeling seems to increase tenfold as you watch it happen. Distantly you wonder how the fuck it fits.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Like that.”

Spencer takes this as a blessing to find a pace again, slower now as he seems to be just as enthralled by the sight as you are.

“Give me your leg,” he rasps after a few moments like that, and you don’t know what he means exactly but you lift your right leg slightly only for him to press his hand to the back of your knee and push toward your chest, effectively opening you up and giving him more range of motion. It also enables him to fuck you even deeper. Again he slows, apparently savoring the feel of you yielding around him all the way down to the hilt.

Black spots dance in your eyes as he settles at your deepest point—not pain, necessarily, just overwhelming sensation. Your jaw drops and you choke out a moan as he presses into recesses you didn’t know you had, as he shows you a part that you might have gone the rest of your life without knowing existed. He stops there, like that. Everything stops there, like that. If the cars on the road below ceased to drive, if the airplanes froze in the sky, you’d not be the least bit surprised. Somehow, you’ve unlocked a small eternity. There’s no sound but your joint heavy breathing and your heart pounding in your ears. The words just come bubbling up out of you in a little whine.

“I love you.”

Spencer’s breath pauses for a moment before he’s letting it all out at once, brushing his lips up the ridge of your nose before they settle on your forehead in what seems like a permanent kiss. A few breaths in, you allow your eyes to flutter shut. Your heart rate slows down a touch, and you settle into the moment, never having been quite so content as you are like this—never having felt quite so adored and safe.

“I love you,” he finally echoes, voice rasping, lips still pressed to your skin, still breathing against your hair. When he starts to move again, drawing back ever so slowly, you hiss softly. He raises his head from yours, and you look away from where he’s pulling out, meeting his eyes just in time for him to push back in, just as deep. They shine in the mostly-dark room and you moan unabashedly. It’s a high-pitched, sweet thing, nothing that will have the neighbors complaining—but so clearly true, from the depths of your soul, an expression of everything you’re feeling—not just the pleasure.

Although that’s good, too, as Spencer shapes you to him again and again, the head of his cock kissing places nobody’s ever been and places you hope nobody else will ever venture to. This is all you need. Him.

“Jesus,” Spencer groans, eyes fixed on your face as he fucks you slowly. But you can’t bring yourself to talk, too new to this kind of pleasure to find it anything other than mind-boggling and world altering. Your lips are still parted, allowing each sound to pass without filter. “Listen to you, beautiful.”

When he stops again, just to look down and marvel at you, you’re conflicted. On the one hand, you can taste the pleasure on the back of your tongue and he keeps taking it away when it’s so close. But on the other—you’re just as overwhelmed as he said you’d be. Your body has never had to process this kind of sensory information before, and you’re exhausted, but it’s so good.

“Spencer,” you manage. He looks up, pupils blown and eyes lidded where they’d normally be wide. “Please don’t stop.”

He swallows, spurred into action again as soon as you say it.

“Good?”

You nod and whine again as he picks up the pace bit by bit, remembering to push your leg back once more so he can get as deep as you need him.

“So good,” you exhale at the top pitch of your voice. Your brows pinch and you release a fuller moan as Spencer finds a speed that’s fast enough to constantly feel good no matter where he is. You’re gasping for breath, back arching—and he finds a new angle, catching against the spot inside you that renders all those years of human evolution that gave you sentience and intelligence a waste. He chuckles airily at your series of series of affronted moans and halted gasps.

“Right there? That's a good spot, isn’t it?”

“Oh, go—fuck, fuck!”

It feels so good it almost hurts, and your eyes are stinging to prove it. Your legs clamp tighter around him and you realize there’s a very lewd wet sound and you can’t believe that’s you.

“Spencer, you’re—oh my god, I love you,” you whine, and it sounds like you’re pleading for your life. At this makes his own sound of pleasure, and hastens his messy circles on your clit as if in reward.

But it’s too much all combined.

Your hand claps to your mouth to obscure the loud, licentious moan that comes out—but Spencer immediately moves his hand from between your legs to grab your wrist and pin it gently to the bed, intertwining your fingers.

“Don’t do that. Let me hear.”

You nod, and he lets go of your hand to return his fingers to your clit. If possible you get wetter around his cock—you can feel yourself gushing.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine as if pained.

“Yeah? Gonna finally let me feel you cumming, angel?”

He has a filthy mouth when he wants to. The words hit like high voltage to your core and the very pit of your stomach. You can’t even respond beyond a desperate sob.

“Show me, baby. I’m right here. Let go.”

You cum around his cock with a broken cry and it’s like a purge of every drop of angst you’d felt over the past week or so—hell, it’s a purge of all the insecurities that had bubbled to the surface since you started dating him. None of it matters anymore. How could it matter when you have him? When you have this?

The orgasm washes you out like a tidal wave, taking everything with it. It’s strong, and it’s so good, so intense, your body is overwrought with sensation and it’s too much even though it’s perfect. Your brain is drawing a blank as it tries to react to the feeling, and it’s like every button on the damn panel has been hit.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Spencer grits, and you feel it in the way he adjusts his position, shifting as he grips at the edge of the mattress for leverage and the thrusts become messier, needier. You gasp as his other hand tangles in your hair, turning your head to ghost your lips over his forearm. It’s not entirely surprising when his own lips find your shoulder—but the feeling of him finding his release just as his teeth sink into your skin does come as quite a shock. It doesn’t hurt, and you’re sure there’s no skin broken, but it’s an undeniable fact that he has grounded himself in the throes of passion by biting down on you.

Inside you, he feels hot. Searing, almost, as his spend tries to fill space that doesn’t exist. There is absolutely no room for anything else inside of you. Stars dance in your eyes at the overstimulation, but long after he’s finished he’s still fucking into you—albeit much slower and with far less technique. Spencer moans like a two bit whore, like he’s reached pain to a point of ecstasy, and to you it’s as good, as special as the singing of the planets. If he’s as sensitive as you are now, it’s no small feat for him to keep going on like this. It’s a testament to how much he doesn’t want it to be over. The pleasure is carrying him away, but you’re beginning to feel how soft you must be and how if he continues on like this you may bruise like an overripe peach.

“Spencer,” you manage, skating your hand up and down his back in what you hope are soothing lines. “Baby.”

He whines as his lips detach from your shoulder, but his hips finally slow to a stop, nestled inside you.

“Jesus, fuck, I'm sorry,” he breathes, opting now to bury his face in your neck (with significantly less biting this time).

You’re still reeling, toes still curled, still struggling to breathe as your head spins and spins and spins. His chest pushes against yours with every heaving breath, hot and heavy on your skin, and that’s the only sign he’s still alive until his hand eventually reanimates in your hair, scratching your head tenderly.

For a span of minutes, you stay like that—silent, twined together like caducean serpents. His weight on top of you is perfect. This, the lack of differentiation between your body and his, is perfect. You don’t know where he ends and you begin and you don’t need to. It’s a blissful moment.

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, lifting his head to look at you with flushed cheeks and messy hair and sparkly eyes.

“Hi.”

He smiles.

“You’re so pretty.”

“You too,” you murmur, moving your hand from his back and pressing your thumb into the hollow of his cheek. His eyes map the curves of your face as he pushes your surely askew hair back.

“How do you feel?”

It takes you a moment to seriously consider his question, scanning your body for any undue pains, but for the moment, you find none, beyond a dull aching throb that you can manage.

“Good. Tired.”

You wince at the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. Spencer hums sympathetically and presses a sticky kiss to your lips which makes it a little better, though you can’t ignore how uncomfortable all the previously pleasant wetness has become between your legs.

“Here—stay here, I’ll get a wash cloth and—”

“It’s fine,” you insist, holding on even as he tries to roll off of you. “I just need… will you stay here for a little bit?”

“Of course,” he promises, now pressed close to your side and propped up on an elbow, “whatever you want.”

You lavish in his gaze, warm like a spotlight, as he strokes your cheek and plays with your hair. Very quickly you’re lulled into a doze, eyes fluttering shut. Minutes stretch. You feel drunk on waking dreams, and perfectly at peace. Safe.

“Angel girl,” he christens you fondly. More than anything, it’s an observation, so lovely it sinks into your skin like a balm, soothing every tired muscle and little mark he’d made. Even half-asleep, it makes you smile.

“You’re an angel,” you slur, reaching blindly for him, and he chuckles, catching your wrist and helpfully settling your hand on his cheek.

“I thought you were asleep.”

You hum, “mm-mm,” looking up at him with just as much adoration as he has for you. Those cuddle hormones must be kicking in because soon you’re attempting to pull him back on top of you. He doesn’t quite comply, probably for fear of crushing you—rather he settles next to you, gathering you in his arms.

Silence blankets the two of you, but it’s not unpleasant as you just watch each other with barely-there smiles curling your mouths. This kind of intimacy still manages to give you butterflies, even after everything else you’ve done. This kind of satisfaction, reverie in the sound of each other’s blood flowing and lungs filling. Setting aside words because you don’t need conversation as a pretense for wanting to be around each other anymore. You don’t need an excuse to look at him like this. You don’t need words any more than you need clothes. It’s enough to just be.

“I love you,” he says, a soft reminder, and entirely redundant with the way he’d already been looking at you, touching you.

“I know. I love you too.”

The smile flickers brighter on his face.

“And thank you.”

Your eyes narrow minutely as you consider what he could possibly be thanking you for.

“For what?”

“For loving me. And trusting me. It’s…” your heart squeezes as you realizes tears are pooling in his eyes. He takes a moment and clears his throat. It’s incredibly endearing. “It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

You look down, thumbing at the sheets where you’ve hoisted them over your bodies.

“You do realize how lame we are if we have sex and both immediately start crying, right?”

At this he laughs loudly but not loud enough to pop the little bubble you’re in, and you look up just in time to catch the brilliance of his smile, the way it changes his whole face and he becomes superhuman in his beauty, the lines that form by his eyes and the way they narrow and crystalline tears bead his lashes like precious gems.

“Don’t cry,” he requests gently, hypocritically as your own eyes sting. The way his smile fades is like the sun setting. Gorgeous, like everything else he does. “You’ve cried so much, honey. Please don’t cry.”

You sniffle, gathering yourself.

“I’m not. That would be pathetic.”

Spender leans forward to kiss you tenderly a few more times. Ordinarily you’d worry about coming across as clingy when you hold onto him so closely and so insistently like this, but for now you don’t care. Neither does he, it seems, as he seems unable to get you close enough. Eventually, you end up curled against him, head tucked under his chin and dozing on and off as he traces shapes into your skin.

“What are you writing?” You mumble some time later, cheek smushed against his shoulder. He only responds with a soft hm, like he was lost deep in thought. You clarify, “it feels like you were writing something.”

“She Walks in Beauty.”

Your lips pull into a sleepy smile.

“The Lord Byron poem?”

The first time you’d met Spencer, he’d inadvertently caused your painstakingly annotated copy of Lord Byron’s works to go flying all over a cafe, and then kindly helped clean up the pages and reorder them for you in record time. Among the poems had been She Walks in Beauty.

“Yeah. I was trying to figure out when exactly I fell in love with you, and as someone who is deeply skeptical about love at first sight, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I keep coming back to our first conversation. I mean, I believe in genetic compatibility, and how that contributes to attraction and what we think of as chemistry, but—”

“Wait, what about our first conversation did it?” Your cheeks ache from smiling as you speak. “As I recall I was being a bitch and I was covered in coffee.”

He laughs dreamily, still tracing letters over the small of your back. You wonder what part of the poem he’s at now.

“Yeah, mean to me and covered in coffee is pretty much exactly my type. But I think it was actually the annotations on that copy of Lord Byron’s works. They were so insightful, and personal, I—it kind of took my breath away, and I know I shouldn’t have read them all but I couldn’t stop. You were compelling, and charming, and funny and wildly intelligent and beautiful and… and I didn’t stand a chance.”

Everything aches. It’s a good ache. Despite being seconds from tearing up all over again, you snort. He never told you about that first day.

“You thought me writing ‘sister fucker’ in all caps every time he mentioned Augusta was charming?”

“Oh, obscenely so. But now that I’m looking back, I feel like… I feel like I can’t remember not being in love with you. I mean, I remember when I realized I was, and that was later. But it was like I met you, and then I was just… waiting for you to catch up.”

You grab his hand and interlace your fingers, watching the way the ambient nighttime light from the window and the bathroom dips them half in color.

“We were pretty much on the same page. I was debating courthouse versus small intimate ceremony as soon as you left.”

You watch him watching your joined hands, features soft and relaxed, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly as he speaks.

“Definitely small intimate ceremony. I have too many friends who would kill me if they weren’t invited to the wedding.”

You giggle and pretend the thought doesn’t give you butterflies. You imagine a ring on your finger, the one he’s got between his own. Marriage had never been something you’d considered. Not when you had no reason to. It seemed like something for other people. But maybe one day, it will be for you, too.

“Did you know Lord Byron had a daughter who is regarded by many as the first computer programmer? She wrote the first algorithm for a theoretical machine that was so complex it couldn’t be built with the technology available at the time. It was called an Analytical Engine.”

He sounds almost wistful as he gives you the utterly unprompted, but still welcome, abridged version of her life. The description is ringing a bell—but you can’t quite place her, sleepy as you are.

“What was her name?”

“Ada Lovelace. She was exceptionally gifted. The odds of parent and child being so extraordinary in their respective fields are incalculable, but from a purely theoretical perspective, negligible. I mean, they’re both massive historical figureheads. That’s extremely uncommon.”

You adore it when he goes off on these tangents—the passion that stains his voice, the ardor that grips him until he has no choice but to tell you exactly what’s got him so excited. You could listen to him talk for hours. It means he’s here with you, and he wants you to love what he loves.

Since he met you, that’s all Spencer has wanted—for you to love what he loves.

You want the same.

“Pretty name,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Tell me more.”

part eight

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic

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quantum1mmortality · 2 months ago

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omg uhhhh…

curly giving/receiving head headcanons??…

it’s so generic but I’m on the floor sobbing I’m desperate for more of this man, you’re an incredible writer and I love what you’ve written abt curly so far!!

I want to give this man the most world shattering head he's ever had in his whole life, like soiled sheets and fucking mind boggling orgasms. RIGHT NOW

Tw/cw; Afab!reader, cunnilingus AND filatio!!!! that's all I think

Not proofread

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Receiving

He whimpers.

No but like seriously, he does whimper. He'd be so caught up in the feeling that just slips out, along with him saying your name ofc 🤭

He'd be more of a sheet gripper than a hair gripper. Like I said in my marriage hcs, Curly tries his best to not be rough with you; and in his eyes, gripping onto your hair is being rough.

He mainly thinks that way because he's under the assumption that it hurts you, which he wants no part of. So, he sticks to what he thinks is best for you.

But sometimes he just can't help himself, the pleasure he's feeling overrules his own morals, and he breaks.

So every once in a while, he'll grab a hold of your hair and just.. push you down a little further and hold you there. It isn't his fault, he doesn't mean to! But he feels awful about it in the moment

Once he's finished, he's an incoherent mess. He's so fucked out he can't even form words properly, but after a few minutes he can say "thank you". Why does he thank you? He thinks it's nice; a gentlemanly thing to do.

He'll eventually apologize, just give him a few more minutes to compose himself.

Giving

Curly would be the type of man to constantly want you sitting on his face. And I mean CONSTANTLY.

He'd definitely use it as foreplay all the time. Even if you don't need it, he'll still insist. He probably gets more pleasure from it than you do.

Even though he doesn't want to hurt you, that rule for him doesn't apply when he's eating you out. His hands leave actual MARKS from how hard he's pulling your thighs down while trying to keep you still.

Do you guys remember what doja cat said about big noses? Curly would DEFINITELY position your waist in a way that your clit is resting on his nose. And then he'd use his grip on your thighs to rock you back and forth, as if you're riding it

As you can imagine it doesn't take long to cum after he starts doing that, and he's not letting a single drop go to waste. It's his favorite snack actually, he likes working for what he deserves 🤭

More often than not he'd ask to do it again, but it takes so much energy out of you that you physically can't sit up. It's like he's sucking the life out of you, both literally and metaphorically.

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A/n: Got me holding my breath I've been dreaming of this all night, thinking all the time about you hope that's alright

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing smut #mouthwashing curly #mouthwashing x reader #curly mouthwashing #captain curly x reader #captain curly #curly x reader #curly x reader smut #i never know how to tag these #like why is tagging smut so... embarrassing...

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dearieshima · 27 days ago

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blue

feat. lovely banter with zayne in the morning

c.w. should I label this as improper use of medicine? 💀, very suggestive, fluffy, MDNI, 1k+ words, fem reader

In the softest hour before dawn, when the town of Linkon lay wrapped in the hush of a blue so tender it felt almost sacred, Zayne sat at the edge of your bed, the early light casting his form in gentle shades of indigo and sapphire. Shadows stretched long as as he carefully buttoned his shirt, his fingers moving with a deliberate rhythm, hoping not to disturb you.

In that quiet intimacy, your arms, weighted with sleep, reached for him. He startled, the tension in his shoulders easing when he turned to find you awake, your eyes carrying the gentleness of lingering dreams. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered, his voice a lullaby. His hand slid softly over your hair, and then he gently adjusted the blanket around your frame.

"Mmm, so you're the type of guy to see yourself out after spending the night with a woman?" you murmured, a playful edge laced with drowsiness.

Zayne let out a soft hmph, the sound warm and tinged with a hint of amusement. "I'm the type of man who has a very busy day ahead of him," he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.

His hands moved to work on his tie, his fingers maneuvering the silk with skilled efficiency. "You," he added, pausing for a moment to look down at his work, "have the luxury of staying in bed, asleep, for another couple of hours."

You raised, the blanket slipping and pooling at your waist and exposing the erotic canvas of your skin in the hues of healing.

Mauve hickies adorned the column of your neck like a necklace. Plum love bites, puffy and tender, marred the smooth swells of your breasts, peeking out from your white lace bra. On your waist, a ghostly imprint of a possessive hand lingered.

Zayne froze, his hands clutching his loosened tie as his jaw tensed almost unseen. His eyes, however, remained thawed and warm to shift with such frequentness to drink you in.

He blinked rapidly before resuming his motion, loosening the tie around his throat as if it was the reason behind his loss of breath. He inhaled before he gently beckoned you to lay back down and attempted to tuck the covers back over you.

"Don't sit up. You need your sleep," he said softly, his voice slightly deeper than usual. Despite his words, there was a hint of guilt and tenderness in his tone, betraying his concern.

You pushed aside the covers and leaned into his shoulder, your fingers curling into the hem of his shirt. “Lemme... Lemme iron your shirt.”

Zayne’s resolve faltered as you pressed closer, your warmth seeping through the fabric of his sleeve. The scent of your love making still lingered on you.

“You expect me to think you can hold an iron when you can barely hold your eyes open," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His hand found your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “You'll have me hurrying up the process so I could rush you to the ER.”

You blinked up at him, your eyes heavy but earnest. “Can I have some water?”

He sighed but rose without complaint, returning moments later with a glass of cold water in one hand and a couple of pills in the other. Setting the water on the nightstand, he sank back onto the edge of the bed. His gaze swept over you, taking in the exhaustion etched across your features—the faint lines of fatigue, the dark shadows under your eyes. He knew how much your work as a hunter drained you, though he also knew now wasn’t the time for a lecture.

Which, of course, didn’t stop him.

"The first one is ibuprofen for pain relief," his eyes flickering to the bruise blooming on your throat, "and the other one is a multivitamin, which, by the looks of the full capsule in your medicine cabinet, is one you should've been taking daily, prescribed by your doctor."

You pouted, your voice soft. “I just forgot. And they taste weird.”

"You forget a lot of things," he said, his tone half-chiding, half-concerned. His fingers deftly cracked open the vitamin capsule, holding the pill up between you. "They're medicine, not candy. They're not supposed to taste delicious."

“What are you—?”

“Making sure you actually take it.” His hand tipped your chin upward, thumb and forefinger firm but careful. His voice dipped into something commanding. “Open.”

Your lips parted, your eyes meeting his as he leaned closer. He placed the pill on your tongue, but the flick of your it against his fingertip drew an audible hitch from him.

Zayne froze for a heartbeat, his eyes darkening with something unreadable, something heated. His thumb lingered on your lower lip, tracing its curve as his gaze held yours.

“Swallow,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, his breath brushing against your skin.

You obeyed, your throat working as the pill went down. His eyes tracked the movement, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face. His thumb stayed at your lip a moment longer before he pulled back and handed you the water.

“Good girl,” he said softly, the words laced with a low, almost teasing warmth.

You drained the glass in one go, setting it back on the nightstand with a faint clink. Your eyes met his again, the weariness in them replaced with a spark of something else entirely.

“Now I’m really not tired,” you said, your voice breaking the quiet tension in the room.

Zayne leaned back, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. He was aware of the drowsiness that was about to settle in soon, thanks to the ingredient in the pills named Diphenhydramine.

Zayne pulled the covers up to your chin, his fingers gently tucking the fabric around you. He took a moment to admire the sight of you, wrapped up in your nest of warmth, the faint warm light of the early morning seeping through the windows, clearing the chillness of the blue. He should have left a while ago.

"It'll hit you soon," he said. "You'll be dozing off before you know it."

"Rest," he murmured. His hand lingered, squeezing your shoulder gently before pulling away. "I have to go."

"Wait," you said, tugging lightly on his sleeve. "Have a nice day at work."

"I will."

"And don’t eat too many sweets. Remember, your dentist said sugar-free," you added, smiling softly.

"I’m sure one pastry won’t hurt," he teased.

"Your lunch is in the fridge... don’t forget it," you murmured through a yawn. Zayne has been deliberately leaving his lunch behind for weeks now, a thin excuse for you to stop by later and see you again.

"I won’t," he lied smoothly.

Your breathing slowed, the weight of sleep pulling you under.

Zayne feigned a glance at his watch --and God, he really should've left by now-- pretending he had important duties that needed tending to, but secretly reveled in the extra few minutes of banter and banter with you.

Then it happened.

"I love you," you whispered, the words tumbling out mid-yawn, the 'you' stretching softly as your eyelids drifted shut. It was the first time you’d said it, the confession slipping free without a second thought.

Zayne froze, his heart stuttering in his chest. For a moment, he just stood there, watching you as you surrendered to sleep. It's the medication talking, he silently told himself, even as the words echoed in his mind, sending a warmth spreading through his veins.

He gently placed his hand on your head, his fingers carding through your hair in a soothing manner as he watched your eyes flutter closed.

Zayne watched as your breathing slowed into the soft, even rhythm of sleep, your face relaxed and peaceful. He lingered for a few more seconds, his gaze tracing the lines of your face, committing them to memory. He bent down to kiss your forehead. "I love you, too. I'll see you in the afternoon."

As gently as possible, Zayne removed his hand from your head, the touch light as he slowly made his way to the door.

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boowritess · 8 months ago

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very mild 18+ simon riley x reader

lmaoo i can't breathe Simon Riley is just a man.

atleast to you.

when he's home, all he is to you is dry humor, a couple beers every night, sat in front of the tv on his spot on the couch, the game is playing - some soccor or rugby match. he doesn't wear his mask, his clothes are a simple t-shirt and some pair of shorts he just threw on.

he uses your shampoo and conditioner, as much as it pisses you off because it's expensive and for some reason he uses half the fucking bottle everytime he's home, but when he does the groceries he still comes home with '2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner' he would’ve got the '3 in 1' but the last time he did that he got no head for 3 weeks.

he'll go to the pub, take you out, pushes the trolley, holds your bag, let's you dress how you want it, belly gets a little soft because he eats food like he's never ate before, buy you anything you want even after the 'do you really need it though?' talk.

he's bit lazy on workouts only goes on the occasional run, but will fuck you whenever you want; always vanilla and only gets rough when you ask.

he will say he'll fix whatever appliance needs tending too but won't do it right away, starts the occasional handyman job at odd times.

it's just - he's so mundane and normal that you'd never know just how dangerous he is ???? like he so carefully hides that side from you. seriously. when he's home, he throws his gear in the bottom of his closet in a box, locking Ghost away and just existing as Simon.

even when the rest of the task force come around on the occasion. they're so normal and are just... men. yelling at the tv during a sport match. teasing each other. stealing snacks and helping with cleaning. they never speak about work and when you ask them, it's always a smile and shrug, "just another day really." "little boring and slow." "oh not too bad." their answers are so half-assed, that you don't even ask anymore; which is what they want.

but you really aren't missing anything. not when you don't even know what you're missing out on.

it's crazy, because he even keeps Ghost hidden when you're being harassed by men. whether that be when you're shopping or just going for a walk.

he'll loop an arm around your waist or over your shoulder, look at the guy with a grin - that's more of a sneer, "can i help you, mate?" he'll drawl. his stature and stare is enough to make the man who had been harassing you back off.

"what a freak..." you mutter with a roll of your eyes, letting Simon guide you away as he presses a kiss to your temple, a deep chuckle leaving him.

around midnight you wake up to Simon in the laundry room washing his hands. he doesn't blink or hesitate when you wonder in and wrap your arms around his waist. "what're you doing?" you mumble, sleepy eyss dropping to the sink.

Simon's hands are red, and you would be alarmed, should be alarmed. but how could you when Simon hums softly, a sound that rumbles deep from his throat, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. he's so warm and casual that you don't even do a touble take seeing the blood.

"caught a rat. right pest they are. the trap i set snapped it clean in half." Simon's mutters, he raises a bloodied hand to you, sniggering when you crinkle your nose up in disgust and step away from him.

"ew, i'm going back to bed." you huff, yawning and leaving him to what he was doing.

Simon laughs softly as you head off. "just be a sec, love." he says as you go. all he receives is a yawn and a tired 'mhm'.

he cleans his hands and then his phone chimes. he pulls it out and it's a private message.

'getting rid of your pest now, LT.'

image attached

Simon opens the picture and sure enough there's the man from earlier in the boot of a car. all bloodied like Ghost left him.

Simon heads back upstairs to your shared room, you quietly snoozing away. you don't steer or wake as the closet door opens and Simon's putting his mask back in with his gear. No. Ghost is too quiet to let you wake from such a warm and sweet sleep.

he turns from the closet after putting everything away and changing clothes. he crawls into his side of the bed and wraps his arms around you. letting your body nestle back into his side. limbs tangling together.

just you and your simon.

a/n: inspired by a tik tok video on how he is just a man lmaooo

#my post #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mwii

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ghostsgrl666 · 8 months ago

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roommate!ghost who doesn't say much, but he does all of the housework and always seems to know when you've had a bad day because suddenly you hear a knock on the front door and the loud rustling of a takeout bag before he's slowly pushing your half closed bedroom door open, slipping in to silently offer you your favorite food. You don't know what he does for work or where exactly he's from but he's always there when you get home from a bad date, or a good one for that matter. And everytime you go to the bathroom or grab something from the kitchen, the moment you come back the guy is stuttering together a string of excuses as he practically scrambles out of your apartment.

You drop down onto the couch, holding back tears and asking ghost why guys don't like you. He rubs your back with his wide palm and draws circles on the inside of your knee with his thumb, wordlessly comforting you. It's innocent, you tell yourself, he's just a touchy guy. That's why he always lets his hand graze your waist as he shifts past you in the hallway, always lets his fingers linger two seconds too long every time you hand him something. You lose confidence in that conviction, though, when you end up in his lap as the tv screen darkens with the end credits of the movie he had been watching (really counting down the seconds until you got home from your date). His big arms are wrapped around you and your head is buried in his neck, tears eventually turned to a steady warm synchronization of your breaths together. As you shift your weight, hips dragging up his leg, you suddenly feel him between your legs. His whole body tenses as the warmth of you presses on his hard cock over his sweatpants. You roll your hips again, this time pressing harder against him and he all but fucking moans, a low broken sound escaping his throat. His hands come to your waist and squeeze as you do it again and again and again, not stopping until he whispers the dirtiest things you've ever heard in your life against your skin while you come for him. Not stopping until his mask is somewhere on the floor, his lips finally opening up to you in all the ways he has just been waiting to show you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon my beloved #yandere simon perhaps?#simon riley smut #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost smut #cod x reader #cod smut #roommate au #roommate!simon

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poguehearted77 · 21 days ago

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Co-Star Confessions

Pairing: Actress! Reader x Drew Starkey

Co-Star Confessions-> The cast takes you along on a trip to take a lie detector test for an interview. The jokes are rolling and the tea starts to spill.

Summary: A lie detector, a dark room, and unspoken tension pull you into a whirlwind of revelations, where secrets are spilled, emotions run high, and your growing romance with Drew becomes impossible to hide.

Belongs to my: OBX Season 5: Payback for Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

"Okay be honest, who else went on a deep dive of doom last night and watched all of Blackbox's previous interviews?" Madelyn turns from her place in the passenger seat, facing you, Madison and Chase so you can hear her question clearly.

All hands go up. The anticipation is high and circling in the car. Today the cast has split up into two cars as you're being shipped off to another studio to record an interview with Blackbox.

"Some of those questions were brutal, and you're hooked up to a lie detector so there's no chance you can avoid the truth." Chase lets out a weighted breath, his mind running off with the possible questions they could ask. There's a small sprout of fear blossoming around the possibility they'll pry open closed doors about his and Madelyn's break up.

The concept is simple: Prior to the interview, Blackbox has done their own research and collected some surface-level, intermediate, and mildly invasive questions that the fans of the show are circulating online. One by one, the cast will sit in the empty black room with no one but the polygrapher and a lie detector, the questions get asked and if you're telling the truth you get a point, if you're lying you lose a point.

The castmate with the most points at the end gets to ask any co-star any question of their choice.

"I can't believe I let Madison drag me into this." You scoff and all she does is smile bright and innocent. It took some convincing of the producers but she's very persuasive when she needs to be.

"We're family now. If we go down, so do you." Chase holds your hand and gives it a condescending squeeze. "I take that as a threat." You snatch your hand away and everyone laughs.

As you arrived, it seems the car with Carlacia, Drew and JD had beat you guys there. Their driver was already pulling off the lot, telling you the others were inside. You got out of the car behind Chase and adjusted your clothes.

Today, your stylists had picked out a white long-sleeve shirt layered under a sleek black vest, paired with a gray mini skirt, black sheer tights, a small shoulder bag, delicate gold acccesories, and a sleek pulled-back pony-tail for a perfectly polished look.

You could already hear the chatter from the studio from out in the hall as you entered the room behind Madison, more chatter erupting as the full cast is reunited. You did your rounds to greet the others you hadn't been riding with. "You look great," Drew compliments as he briefly rests his head atop yours during your hug. You fit in his arms as perfectly as a puzzle.

His pathetic instincts allowed him to take a deeper breath to get a stronger pull of your gentle perfume that intoxicated his mind. "I don't remember getting a compliment from you this morning!" Carlacia accuses him playfully and he laughs along before flattering her endlessly and you thought it was cute.

There’s no denying it. From the very beginning, you and Drew have danced around the unspoken tension, the sparks that have lingered just beneath the surface. But lately, those sparks have started to feel dangerous, like a fuse waiting to ignite. The two of you can’t be left alone for long—what starts as two chairs between you inevitably narrows to one, and then, before you realize it, none at all.

One second you're both rehearsing lines in the studio-b trailer and the next you're passed out on the couch side-by-side. Even though that only happened once, it was more than enough. You've blown through nearly two-thirds of filming the final season and it was easy to consider Drew one of your closest friends, both on and off-set.

There were late-night phone calls, early morning face-times, minimal texting since he hardly replied to his messages but lots of heated glances that shouldn't make you feel as hot as they did. Like right now.

Madelyn is currently removing a piece of lint that had fallen onto your hair from god knows where, meanwhile, you pretended you couldn't feel Drew's deep gaze from behind Madelyn's head, but you shook it off. You had to.

It wasn't long before you're all being ushered to take your seats in the black room, getting ready to record your introduction which will be the only time the whole cast is in the black room together for the interview.

"We're the cast of Outer Banks and welcome to Blackbox." You all say, introducing yourselves personally then retreating to the holding room where there are five chairs, a one-way glass looking into the black room and a microphone.

The assistants spun a wheel which decided that JD is the first one up on the chopping block. "Keep the questions pg-13, please. I've got family that's gonna see this." He pleads, letting himself be strapped into the chair and hooked up with the various components of the detector. Meanwhile, you took the seat in the holding room between Carlacia and Drew.

"So he really can't see us?" Madelyn questioned, waving to JD through the window, but he was unresponsive. "All he sees is a mirror, but when you use the microphone, he can hear your voice in the speakers in the room." One of the cameramen explains and you all nod along.

"Okay, Madelyn, you're first to read the questions. Pick up one cue card from the surface-level, intermediate and invasive stack and project your voice into the mic." She's directed but you all listen for when it's your turn.

Madelyn: "JD, What's your favourite memory from filming season 5 Outer Banks so far?"

He jolts a little in his seat, not expecting to hear Madelyn's voice so clearly in a room where he can't see her, but he answers nonetheless.

JD: When Chase and I were rehearsing that scene where we have to hang-glide off a cliff but Chase's hands slipped and he misses the bar, and he just goes falling to the foam platform like twenty feet below us, but it wasn't even that. It was the scream he let out. I still think about it.

"He's telling the truth." The woman informs.

Chase has his head in his hands while you and Carlacia hold onto eachother, laughing until you're gasping for air.

Madelyn picks up the top cue card from the intermediate pile.

Madelyn: Which castmate are you closest to?

"Oooh." There's a collective sound that sweeps across the studio, it made everyone uneasy, not because of the question. It's a difficult question and everyone knows there are no hard feelings involved but if this is an intermediate question then you should all be nervous.

JD sighs, "You know what-- Unstrap me." He pretends to grab at the wires and it elicits a round of laughs while he thinks about it.

JD: This is hard. I feel like I have such a different relationship with everyone, but..... uhhh... If I had to narrow it down, I guess probably Madelyn.

There's a long silence, everyone waiting for the polygrapher to confirm or deny. "He's telling the truth."

Madelyn: "It must be fate that I'm the one asking your questions. Luv ya. Now, for your final, invasive question. You recently implied in an interview that you're seeing someone, is that true?"

Your hands clasp over your mouth. "Brutal," Carlacia whispers under her breath while you and Drew lean over the edge of your seats as if you didn't already know the answer to this question.

"No." He denies it, another stomach-churning silence. You can see the nerves rolling down JD's face as he waits for the results. "That was a lie." The crew is making some indistinct noise while the cast is stunned to silence. None of you were going to make it out of this interview alive.

JD's head falls with a guilty grin, dreading the news this would spread in the press. He almost immediately unlatches himself from the machine and enters the waiting room with the rest of you, sending in Chase.

"That shit is intense. It's just so dark, and ominous, and you've got a spotlight on you. Makes you feel like you're on trial for a crime you didn't commit." Drew stands to give him a pat on the back, "You did good, man. Hopefully Maya isn't too blindsided by that last question."

Maya is JD's secret girlfriend, official as of last month, you've met her a handful of times but you clicked almost instantly and often texted on Instagram and shared reels.

The game went on, and the questions didn't get any easier. You watched as you all trickled in and out of the rooms, getting paired off in an order something like this:

Madelyn asking JD

Drew asking Chase

Carlacia asking Madelyn

Chase asking Y/N

Y/N asking Madison

Madison asking Carlacia

JD asking Drew

There's an acrylic nail poking your shoulder and you shudder. "You're up," Carlacia informs you and you nearly vomit. The questions have been ruthless thus far, you honestly wonder how and why the producers approved this.

"Hey Madison, this is for you." You hold up your middle fingers, regretting ever letting her get you involved in this bloodbath. She blows you a kiss and wishes you luck.

Chase: "Y/n-"

You're not sure what it is about it, but you and Chase have had enough bloopers on set, that this felt no different, even though you couldn't see him, you broke out in laughter. Before the mic cut out you heard Chase's abrupt laughter cut through.

This is how you two always were. Unable to keep it together. The directors hated when you had a scene together (even though they'd laugh too). "Okay okay, I'm sorry. I'm ready." You reassure, "That was a lie", The polygrapher debunks your confession and it sends everyone rolling for another five minutes due to its spontaneity.

"Okay. For real this time." You clear your throat, waiting for Chase to start with the questions.

Chase: "If you weren’t acting, what would your job be?"

"Ooh, I love photography, my phone is always gonna be in your face, and I've got like a dozen cameras. So, probably a photographer." You answer. The question is light, but it doesn't erase the uneasy feeling bubbling in your stomach. "True."

Chase prepares to move on to the intermediate stack of cards, shuffling them, just for fun.

"Here we go," Madison leans over to JD, they both knew there were bound to be some wild cards for you and Drew. Ever since your casting as Piper was made public not too long ago, the fans immediately flocked to find all your socials.

The rumours between you and Drew were already starting to spin. All stemming from one photo added to one of Carlacia's many photo dumps a few weeks ago. The image is of you playfully feeding Drew a strawberry from when you'd all done some sightseeing and visited the local Portuguese farms.

Chase: "Fans noticed you recently reposted a TikTok that said, 'When he’s tall enough to climb like a tree>>'—was that just for laughs, or did you have someone in mind?"

Your hands raise to your face and you scream, Madison screams, JD laughs, Madelyn kicks her feet while Carlacia gasps--Simply put, the cast is overcome.

Drew straightens a little, now more intrigued than ever (as if he wasn't before). His eyes sparkle with hope? Interest? Certainty. A subtle wave of confidence runs down his spine as he confirms to himself that you're talking about him. You both know it, and you've never been so glad that you couldn't see his face.

"My TikTok account is private how did they even-?!"

Chase: "Answer the question Ms. Y/n."

You could hear his smirk through the mic. Oh, he was enjoying this too much. You made a mental reminder to send Kelsea all the worst images that you've taken of him. "It was just for fun," you shrug.

"That was a lie", You knew it was coming, honestly, but at least you tried.

Chase: "You've recently been cast as the lead in a new rom-com called The Love Equation set to release in 2026, congratulations."

Chase prefaces the question with the recent news that was unveiled to the public merely a few days ago. It was a very recent endeavour of yours.

Not long after you started filming for Outer Banks, you'd received a call back from this project and filming was set to start a little after the OBX premiere which is a little less than three months away.

"Thank you, thank you. I'm very excited and grateful for the opportunity." You say, pretending you weren't dreading the question that's soon to follow. Chase's flattery made you nervous, regardless if he was just reading what was on the card.

Chase: If you could pick any castmate to star alongside you in a rom-com, who would you pick?"

Drew's jaw locks at the question. His grip on the arm of the chair tightens subconsciously as he watches your every move. From the way you looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think to your left foot pacing an unsteady rhythm.

All while Madison was watching Drew, a small smile creeping up on her lips. She needed no further confirmation from the two of you, your body language was loud enough. To her, at least.

"Drew." You say nothing more, nothing less. You don't want to fan the flames that fans have already sparked to life from a simple picture. "She's telling the truth." Yeah, obviously, but you don't say that out loud.

The time seems to fly now that your turn had passed and finally, it's Drew's turn. Deep down you've been waiting for this all day, but if you're being honest, you're a little scared for him.

Drew has one of the biggest and most blunt fanbases of the cast. You've seen how they can get sometimes, you've read the TikTok comments and seen the X threads. Hopefully, nothing gets taken out of context or blown out of proportion.

JD: "What’s your favorite way to unwind after a long day of filming?"

His lips pucker a little in thought, and it dawned on him. "I recently got gifted like, an ungodly amount of bubble bath, but I've actually been using them lately. So, I'll say a nice, hot bath, yeah."

The polygrapher confirms that his statement is in fact true and the round progresses.

JD: "If you had to be stuck on an island with one of your castmates for 24 hours, who would you pick—and what would you two do to pass the time?"

Drew fights the grin on his face, "I'd say Chase, we would go hang-gliding-" He's hardly able to get the sentence out before he's interrupted by his own cackles.

Chase adds his own thoughts into the mic, "You know what, Drew, fuck you, okay?" Chase states before returning to his seat while Drew chokes over his laughs to deliver an insincere apology. "That was true." The room erupts with more laughter at that.

JD: "Your final, invasive question, have you ever secretly dated or hooked up with someone from a movie/show you've worked on, including this one?"

The entire studio goes pin-drop silent. Madison's hand reaches out to hold yours, for comfort, or maybe support? Your eyes are glued to the window that shows a nervous Drew, the most nervous you'd ever seen him. He's starting to sweat.

The two of you have never hooked up, but now you're curious. You would get to find out if he's gotten involved with other girls he's worked with before. Was everything he did just an act? Was it a thing he did with everyone?

"I have not." He answers.

There's silence.

The polygrapher is doing it on purpose, you're sure of it.

...

....

........

JD turns around to face you all and whispers, "Guys, I'm literally shaking for him. Look!" He held out his hand with the card, and it showed a true reflection of his words.

"That is..." She drags out the verdict.

The anticipation got so bad you've all somehow ended up standing, you all might as well press your noses up against the glass.

"True."

The cheering is loud when it swallows the holding room. It's almost shameful how much of a weight you felt lifted off your shoulders at the declaration. Drew is the only one to have told the truth for all three questions, giving him 3 points. He wins.

"Now, Drew. You get to ask any co-star any question you'd like." One of the crewmates instructs as they had you all lined up in the room under Drew's judgement. He stalked along, looking everyone in the eyes, yours lasted a little longer than he was willing to admit but he eventually stopped on Madison.

"Madison, Madison, Madison." Drew taunted in the mic and she rolled her eyes with an all-knowing grin.

Drew: "Not too long ago you were disrespecting my childhood delicacy, the uncrustable. Now, there are rumours going around that you've been seen with them lately, is it true?"

Small giggles were let out around the room. Drew is unbelievable.

"Yes." Madison whispers, looking off to the side.

Drew: What was that? I'll need you to speak up.

Madison: Yes! It's true. Satisfied?

Drew: Very. No further questions, your honour.

You all film the closing sequence, reminding the audience the final season will be released on Netflix on August 30th and September 25th, 2025.

You're all making your way out to the cars. The original groups naturally switched up as you all jumped into the car with people you were in conversations with as you left the studio. This time it's you, Drew, JD and Madelyn.

"Wow, that was lowkey worse than I thought it was going to be." JD admits from the passenger seat and you snicker. Without even realizing it, your head was laying on Drew's shoulder, feeling the sleepiness begin to settle in after an eventful afternoon.

"All that drama genuinely drained the energy from my body." You yawn, and Drew subtly shifts so that you'd find more comfort in him, and you snuggle up just a little more. This is a feeling he could get used to.

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza, @wearemadeofstardust0, @cadhlabear, @thepopcultureaddict, @citr0us, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account, @madi44444,@willowpains, @riaras-everthroner, @iteuosav

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quimichi · 26 days ago

Text

¡! ❞ MAKING OUT WITH HXH GUYS

warnings: NSFW - MDNI, Ging Freecs, this man needs his own tw, kissing, making out, pet names, teasing, yeah i think thats it?

summary: Making out with hxh guys

characters: HxH guys x F!Reader + Neferpitou (they/them) dunno where to put that creature

word count: 5.940

a/n: any character you want added? Tell me lol

Chrollo

Chrollo is kissing you with a passion that borders on fervent. His hands touch the curves of your face— as if trying to memorize how you feel under his skin. He wants to memorize your smell, how each of your curves and dip fits against him.

His tongue sweeps along your lips, desperate for more. Chrollo is craving you; craving the sensation of your skin against his. Chrollo's hands slide down your chest and to your thighs, pulling you even closer against him, his touch insistent and demanding. He pulls back and gazes at you, his hand tilting your chin so that you're looking up at him. His eyes are dilated, almost completely black, and his voice is ragged as he speaks.

"Don't look away from me," he murmurs. "Your eyes. Let me see them. I need to see you." His mouth is on your neck, his hands roaming over your skin. He's desperate. His tongue follows the path of his lips, tasting the air with a fervour that borders on the needy. He lets out a ragged exhale that turns into a moan against your flesh.

"You're mine," he groans. "You're perfect. You're mine."

Dalzollene

Dalzollene is pressed against your body, hands at your hips. His head dips to kiss you, lips trailing across your jaw and down the column of your throat. "You're so good to me," he murmurs between pecks and kisses. "Good," he repeats. He presses closer against you, hands slipping under the hem of your shirt. Dalzollene's body presses hard against yours, pushing you back against the wall. One of his hands leaves your hips to come up under your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your stomach.

His other hand grips your hip, holding you in place. His lips find your sensitive point just under your jaw, and he nips you there. "My good girl." He says, as though he means it. "Gods, you're good to me." His kisses are hot, almost feverish, against your skin as his lips dance and suck to a new spot after just leaving the last. One hand grabs your hip tighter, pinning you to the wall behind you. The other slides down your chest and stomach, leaving fire in every place his fingertips graze you. "You're gonna make me weak if you keep being so good to me," he rasped against your neck. "Oh, you're so goddamn good to me." Dalzollene nips the soft flesh of your collarbone.

Feitan

"Ouch-!" Feitan lets out a soft laugh against your lips. His teeth nip at your skin, taking the tiniest tastes of you, relishing in the sweet moan that escapes your throat as he does so. His hand curls around your cheek, fingers tracing the line of your jaw.

"You are delicious," he murmurs, his voice low and sultry. "I could feast on you for eternity." Feitan's hand slides back to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. He tugs, pulling your head back and baring your neck for him. He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Who do you belong to?" He whispers, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. "Say it. Let me hear those sweet little words." His hand continues to grasp at you, as if he cannot get enough of your touch. His teeth graze against the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along the line of your pulse. "Whose are you?" He breathes, his voice as soft and sweet as honey. "Tell me. Who do you belong to? Answer me. I will have my name on your hips, your back, everywhere. I'll carve it into you."

Ging

"Watch my-?" Ging stutters before cutting himself off, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. He blinks once, twice, before letting out a soft, almost inaudible exhale of breath. "My tongue?" Ging pulls you against him. One of his arms wraps around your waist, bringing you right flush against him. Gings other hand slides lower, slipping down to your hip.

"You're a brat, aren't you? No one ever complained about my kisses, ever." He murmurs, smirking. "Probably cause you never ever kissed someone, ever." You mock him. "You've always been a brat." Ging lets out a quiet laugh.

He tugs his hand from your hair, coming to rest it on your hip instead; his grip tightens ever-so-slightly. The hand at your stomach begins to rise, creeping just beneath the edge of your shirt. His hand slides higher, fingertips brushing against your skin, just shy of the waistband of your pants. Ging lets your ear fall against the crook of his neck, the action bringing you even more closely against him than you were a moment ago— it's as though he's attempting to meld the two of you together like an experiment.

He grins. "How long has it been since you've been on your best behaviour?"

Hanzo

Hanzo is a mess of kisses. He worships your lips like a shrine, he worships the curve of your neck, he worships the slope of your shoulders, the dip of your waist, everything. In a moment, he is a man drowning in an ocean of bliss— his body pressed against yours, his hands gripping you tight, holding you close to him.

The man is a kiss-soaked mess— his body a trembling mess, every kiss turning him to jelly. He holds onto you like he never wants to let go. "Did you ever-" but you were quickly shut down, "Never before." The answer comes in hushed, urgent tones. His hands trail over you like fire, tracing the curves and lines of your body like your skin is a map he wants to re-draw a thousand times.

"Never like this." His hands roam down your back. "Not with anyone like this." His words end on a gasp as his hand comes down to cup you, his touch possessive and almost reverent. It is a caress, but at the same time, it's claiming you.

"I have longed to touch you," he whispers, his words like a prayer. "To caress you… to hold you…" His words are like nothing he'd ever thought of before, but he seems to be spilling them without a care. It's as if he has been holding them back for years, and your touch has forced them out. For the first time, Hanzo is a man without a filter, no hesitation, no hesitance. "To touch you..." he murmurs, as he leans forward, pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck. "So desperately."

Hisoka

"Yes." He moans between kisses, arching up into you. He presses his body against yours, as close as two souls can be. Every kiss, every touch, only makes the fire inside him grow. His fingers, cold as moonlight, dance over your skin. His lips are soft, but his touch is hungry— he wants you, needs you, like a starving puppy that only a single meal will suffice. "Oh," he whispers against your lips, "OH~" he moans, "Mmm, yes, keep it coming." He lets out a shuddering breath. Hisoka's fingers dip into your hair and thread through the soft strands, grabbing the locks in a way that makes it hard for you escape from his hold.

"So good. You're so good, so—" He cuts off a moan, his breath hitching in anticipation of something. "Can you shut the fuck up, clown ass-" you blurt out.

Hisokas eyes gleam, sparkling like jewels as he looks up at you. He loves it when you take control like this. All those sounds he made before are nothing compared to his cocky grin now. "Mmm, make me," he responds, teasingly.

Hisoka's hand slides up your arm, all the way up and his fingers dig into your shoulder hard. His smirk is playful, but that look in his eyes… that's no joke. A low growl rolls past his lips.

"I dare you," he teases. "Make me shut up."

Illumi

Kissing Illumis lips feels like kissing a statue. His body is rigid, like the very air around him has frozen. The only response you get from him is from the way he shudders against you, or from the soft sound that slips from his lips when your tongue touches against his.

The kiss feels as if it were frozen in time. Illumi is completely and utterly frozen. The only sign he makes of life in his body is his hands— they're resting on your shoulders, fingers curling and releasing.

Your lips part from his, it's pointless and in a way embarrassing for you to keep going. "Did you...ever made out before?" "No." His answer is simple. His fingers grip tighter against your shoulders, pulling you a little closer to him. The stiffness in his body grows to the point that you might believe he stopped breathing entirely.

"Mother has taught me." "WHAT?!" "She said that making out, or kissing is a waste of time and should not be part of the relationship process. It takes away too much time." "Ah-"

The little sound you make makes Illumi pause.

His fingers flex and loosen against your shoulders. He's tense, body frozen in place, when suddenly he pulls you a little tighter. "Ah," he repeats, your single little sound is so perfect to his ears. Soft and breathy.

"Well, seems like you have to...teach me then."

Kite

"My everything." Kite's fingers trail along your jaw, over your lips, tracing the lines of your face. "My only love." He buries his nose into your neck, breathes you in. "Please." He says, the word almost a whimper of desire.

"Please, don't ever jump so reckless into danger again." "...Promise." "I hope so." The corners of Kite's lips curl up into a slight, affectionate smile, but it's a shaky smile. He buries a hand into your silken hair and breathes against your throat.

"Promise me you'll run when i tell you to. You stay where you are when i tell you to. You do as i tell you to. We don't know what we might encounter in NGL."

"Good." Kite's entire body relaxed, a shudder coming over him as your word echoed through his mind. He breathed out against your skin, nuzzling into that sweet spot beneath your jaw. He closed his eyes, pressing his lips against you in a kiss, and again, and again. He wants to lose himself in you.

"Please, do as told and leave me behind if you must."

Knov

Knov's lips are as cold as his skin is warm. It's a strange sensation, one that seems both heavenly and sinful at once. His arms are wrapped around you as though he would never let go. There's an almost reverent expression on his face as his lips connect with yours, and his hands roam your body as if he is trying to prove to himself you're really there.

He kisses you. Deeply and passionately, as if he were starving and you were the first thing that wasn't ice in his mouth. Knov's lips are cold, his hands hot against your skin. He guides you closer to him, one arm curled around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. You can feel the heat of his body pressed against yours, a stark contrast to the cold of his lips.

His other hand is buried in your hair, fingers tangled in your locks like a man who was desperate to touch you. "Gods, you're beautiful," he murmurs. Knov's eyes roam over you almost possessively, as though he wants to look at every inch of you. He's silent like this, for the first time in as long as you can remember. He's so focused, so intent on you, that he has forgotten how to hold a conversation. All of his attention is on you— your form, the way your hair bounces as you move, the way your clothes mould themselves against you— he's completely captivated.

When he finally does speak again, his voice is rough. Deep and husky.

"I've missed you."

Knuckle

"C-Chill out-!" Knuckle's reaction to that is quite a lot of things, most of them sinful, and you can't tell when he stops kissing you or when he pulls back. For a moment he just stares at you, eyes wide. "You-" he breaths. The words fail him, replaced by a soft, shaky exhale. For a moment he's too stunned to move, staring.

But then, you're pressed against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you as close to his body as humanly possible. He buries his face into your neck, pressing kisses to the skin. The way he kisses is desperate, desperate like a man starving in the desert. His breaths are hot against your skin, and his hands are gripping your waist, holding onto you so tightly he fears you might disappear.

"What as gotten into you." you chuckle lightly as his lips and hair tickle your skin. "You," he chokes out, his voice coming as a sharp gasp against your neck. His head lifts, and he kisses down the column of your neck, and you can hear the way he says "you" between kisses, and it sounds like a prayer, like a plea, like a vow. "You've gotten into me—"

Kurapika

"Feeling better?" You ask him, holding his face gently in your hands. "The world feels less cold," he admits. His hands come up to hold your face. He's never seen anything as precious as you before, and there is a sense of reverence in the way that he looks at you.

"I've never felt... whole." His fingertips trace the lines of your jaw. "I'm better now," he says, voice barely above a whisper. As he speaks, Kurapika's hands are still tracing the expanse of your cheek, the line of your jaw, the curve of your cheeks— as if he's memorising how it feels to finally touch you.

His eyes have softened when they look at you. The tension in his body seems to have left at last. "I'm better when I'm with you," he says. He kisses you. His lips are soft and warm against yours, the taste like sweet wine against your tongue, a heady mix of sweetness and intoxicating desire.

His arms are gentle as they wrap around your waist, drawing you closer still. As if your proximity isn't enough, he pulls you over so that you're sat atop of him on his lap. His lips are hungry— a desperate need against your mouth as he kisses you over and over again.

Leorio

Leorio kisses back fiercely, lips pressing against yours fervently, tongue slipping past your lips. His hands slide up to cup your face, fingers tangling gently in your hair, cradling you against him as if he cannot get enough of you. He melts at your touch, breath leaving him in soft, shuddering gasps. He pulls back just slightly, only by millimeters— his lips just barely ghosting over your skin, his breath hot and needy and soft against your neck. Leorio swallows, lips parting slightly. The sound of his breath against your skin has an unmistakable undertone of need. He presses closer, pressing his body against yours, body shaking against you. Every breath he takes has his name falling from his lips.

"Gods," he gasps, voice a desperate whisper. "Bab…I don't know how much patience I have left."

He presses his lips between your collarbones, leaving soft, reverent kisses against smooth flesh. "I'm going crazy." You are making him absolutely unravel.

He murmurs your name as he presses kisses against your neck. He's whimpering now, a litany of praise against your skin like a desperate prayer. "Your- Gods, I need you-" His fingers clutch at your shirt, body trembling. "-I need to be closer to you."

The way he's shuddering against you is like a leaf in the wind. A shudder, a press, another kiss to your skin. "I'm going to break if I don't have you now."-

Menthuthuyoupi

"Wait-! Not so r-!" Menthuthuyoupi gasps, a low, startled sound that catches in his throat. He blinks down at you. "Not so rough?" His words are muffled against the soft plush of your lips, but the sound is clear. He pauses, lifting his head slightly— his lips barely leave yours, and he's still close enough that his body is flush against yours. His mouth brushes against your lips, the sound of his deep and gravelly voice rumbling from his chest.

He leans closer, his eyes still fixed on yours, and he murmurs. "Or not so loud?"

"Rough-!" "Yes." His breath is hot on your face, his tongue flicking out to trace your bottom lip, a slow, deliberate stroke of heat. A shudder runs through him as he pulls back just enough to speak. He tilts his head, and he looks up you. "You like that?" He tilts his head, his mouth only inches away from yours. A smirk pulls at his mouth, and he teases you in kind. "Rough." Menthuthuyoupis breath hitches against your ear. He shivers, his body taut with tension as his hand moves to the nape of your neck, fingers tightening against the soft skin.

"Rough." He murmurs once more, his voice barely a touch above a whisper. He pulls back slightly, and the look in his eyes is like a wildcat stalking its prey.

"You want rough." He repeats, as though it is the most obvious thing in the universe.

Meruem

His lips move against yours automatically. He kisses you with a sense of reverence so intense, you'd think you were worshipping a god in the shape of a man. Meruem's heart is in his throat. This is all he's ever dreamed of, all he's dreamed of since the day you first turned your eyes onto him. He kisses you like a dying man who is being reborn (literally). A man starving who cannot fathom having food, but here it is, right in front of him.

Just before you pull away, Meruem murmurs.

"Mine." His mouth curls up at that. He grins, but there's hunger behind his eyes, and something else too. A sense of possession. A deep, feral need to keep what is his and his alone. "Mine to devour," he agrees. "Mine to love. Mine to hold. Mine to eat if i so desire." Meruem kisses you again, this time more aggressively, as if he's trying to memorize every detail of your lips so that he will never forget the taste again. His hands, large and strong, come up to rest on your waist; his fingers dig into your body, claiming you as his with a possessive force that takes your breath.

He breaks the kiss, only to move back in, kissing you again and again. Each time, his embrace around you deepens, becomes harder. His breaths are becoming heavier.

"My Human tastes so good."

Morel

Morel is a man who is all restraint. He is meticulous, precise, and disciplined. He has a reputation as a hunter for his precise, deadly combat, but he has also been known to be a slow, almost deliberate lover.

His kiss against your mouth is slow and unhurried. When his lips part from yours, he pauses to gaze at you, as if you are a precious gemstone. Morel will look at you as if for the first time, even after months of seeing you. No matter how many times he's been in your presence, every look is like the first. His expression is always one of reverent awe. His hands are cool, soft, and steady. They rest against your face when he kisses you. He holds you close, like a flower held in a gentle breeze that will protect you from all the storms of the world. His movements are deliberately slow, as if he is savouring every inch of you.

"Morel..." His name on your lips makes his body shiver with something he couldn't have prepared for in a million deaths. He is as if carved from stone. The word that slips from your mouth as if falling from the gods themselves makes him feel like he's been touched by lightning.

"Say it again…?" he whispers.

"Morel." "You'll remember to scream that later." "Wait what?"

Neferpitou

Neferpitou shivers at the sensation of your lips. Soft. Plump. Just the right amount of firmness. When your hand cups the side of their face, they tilt their head into your hand — as though they couldn't be more content to be in your grasp.

"Was...was that a kiss…?" They ask breathlessly. Neferpitou has always been quiet, but they are so very desperate for you. Neferpitou kisses you like a drowning man, with a desperation that almost seems to consume the room. There are no words that need be said to describe this, only actions.

When your back hits the wall, Neferpitou is flush against you, their lips still on yours, tongue tracing over your teeth. Their hand reaches up to grasp you by the neck, pressing against your jaw with the same sort of urgency.

Their breaths get deeper, more ragged with want. "You're mine…" Neferpitou breathes when they finally pull back from your kiss, leaving only a few inches of space between your lips. Their thumb brushes over your lip, lingering as if they couldn't bear the thought of letting it go.

"Say you're mine, human!"

Netero

His lips are warm, softer than they have any right to be. His arms are around you, firm as a mountain, but gentle in a way that says he's being careful. He tastes of the rain, like the afterglow of a storm. His arms tighten against your back in a way that makes it perfectly clear: he intends on holding onto you for all eternity. He is centuries old— but he feels young with you. He holds you against him like a relic, a treasure from the very first second that he's made you his.

Your body fits against his, the two of you slotting together like the final bit of a puzzle. He is warm against you, his head buried against the crook of your neck, as if you are a pillow, and all his thoughts are on you. His face is pressed into your hair, and he inhales slowly, your scent filling his senses and his eyes flutter shut. It feels as if a part of him has been missing all his life, and then you came along and you fit so perfectly into his arms that all at once he realises: you were always that missing piece.

"I've been waiting for so long," he mumbles. "I'm not going to let go of you now."

Nobunaga

Nobunagas head is in the crook of your neck. He is breathing deeply, as if you could drown out the whole world with the scent of you alone. "I love you," he breathes again, against your skin. "You're it… you're all I need…"

His hand gently runs up your arm, holding you against him. He's clinging to you like a barnacle. Nobunaga's breath hitches as your touch moves against his jawline. "You're too good for me." His words are barely a whisper. His eyes close as soon as your hand touches his face, and he's completely quiet now, save for the sound of his breath.

If it weren't for his heart beating, one would almost assume that he's dead. He's as still as a statue, as if the mere whisper of your touch could bring him shattering to his knees. "You," he murmurs again, his voice low, "you're everything. More. So many good things I'm not. You're— I would die for you. I would."

His grip on your arm tightens. "I'm lost in you… I'm—" he trails off, swallowing thickly.

Pariston

"Somebody might-" "Let them," Pariston murmurs against your mouth. He's breathless, his face a few inches from yours, eyes wide and fixed in a mixture of reverence and adoration. "Let them look. Let them see your good man; your beautiful lover." He pulls you closer, bringing you flush against him. There's something almost feverish in the way he looks at you. "Let them see that you're mine. Let them know you're the only one that matters." "But-" "But?" His tone matches yours; gentle, questioning. "But what?"

His eyes search yours, as if he's almost afraid that you'll tell him to stop— that he'll be forced to part from you, even for a second. He holds his ground, unmoving, his body pressed close to yours. Pariston smiles at you, a tender curve of the lips. It's a smile full of warmth and adoration.

It's the kind of smile that is utterly unguarded, a simple, unburdened smile that comes from nothing but love and affection. Pariston's tongue peeks out from behind his lips to moisten them. He brings a hand up to hold your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin.

"You look pretty when you're flustered," he comments. "And so flustered," he teases, his finger trailing lower down your face to brush against your neck playfully. "Are you scared that they'll think I'm taking advantage of you, my love?"

His hand slides down your arm; a shiver goes through you as his fingertips linger over your forearm. "Scared that they'll think that I'm making you mine?"

A pause, before he adds in a husky drawl that sounds more like a growl, "Scared that you'll like it?"

Phinks

"Only strong for you," Phinks murmurs with a soft gasp, breathless and trembling.

His arms tighten around you, fingers gripping your shoulders as he pulls you closer, needing to have you in his embrace. The only thought his mind is able to form is of you, of you, of you. Phinks breath hitches.

His fingers tighten around your waist. His lips part easily as his head cocks back and his breaths grow more urgent. He makes a low, soft sound as his fingers clutch tighter to your body, and he presses himself closer to you. Phinks can't get enough of this. He can't get enough of having you close, of having you so close to him. Of hearing you breathe, of feeling the weight of you on top of him.

He kisses you more roughly this time, tongue pressing against yours. One of his hands grips your waist, pulling you closer, and his fingers dig into your skin.

He pulls away and presses his lips to your neck, lips whispering against the skin.

"You drive me insane." One of his legs hooks around yours and he rolls, reversing the positions so that he is on top of you, staring down at you from above. He presses against you, fingers gripping your hips tightly.

Pokkle

"Me, shy?" Pokkle almost laughs, only holding in the sound with a stifled huff. He raises his face slowly to look at you, his eyes glistening just like they almost always do when he looks towards you. "I am not shy," he says. "I simply—"

His voice trails off once again and he looks down at his feet. He lets out a low, shuddering breath— he's never been a good liar. He lets out a quiet, breathless laugh.

"I'm not getting shy at all. I'm not. I just…" He looks up, eyes meeting yours almost immediately, like a flower seeking sun. "A moment of weakness. A brief vulnerability— I-"

He sighs. God, he is a bad liar.

"Shut up and keep kissing me." You whisper, leaning closer to him. Pokkle freezes at that order. His breath stops in his chest. For a moment, it seems he's stunned speechless by the statement.

And then, he reacts. All he does is stare for a second, and you catch a spark of something new in Pokkles eyes. "Okay," he says; his voice is barely a whisper as he responds to you, soft and just a little bit breathy. He pulls you close.

Razor

His hands are gentle as he touches you, as he runs his fingers over you like you are pure light. Razor loves to tease you, loves to hear your little whimpers and gasps as his touch slides over you. "Did you do that on purpose?" Razor asks, voice slightly breathless as he presses his thumb over the spot were he just left his mark. "I don't believe you're this bad at practicing nen." there's a slight edge to his voice, "and I know you aren't that bad."

"Or— maybe," he murmurs— "I'm just that skilled at making you lose your focus." Razor lets his fingers dance over your skin while your heart beats faster under his touch. "You're so easy," he muses. His tongue slips out, running the tip along the seam of your lips. When he speaks again, his voice is a husky whisper:

"You're so desperate just for me to touch you."

His fingers dance along the inside of your shirt as they slip under the fabric, caressing the warm, supple skin beneath his fingertips. He kisses you again. His teeth close around your bottom lip. He nips at your mouth with more force. He gently bites and sucks and pulls until you're letting out the pretty noises that drive him crazy. When he releases your lip, a thread of saliva still connected to his mouth, he grins against it.

"You're not very quiet at all."

Shaiapouf

His kisses are soft, as if he is touching a piece of art that could crumble under the pressure of his own touch. He holds your gaze as he does, eyes wide and open, like a child that has seen something that has rocked his very world. His tongue is soft and slow against your mouth, warm and gentle like the summer sun. His body is warm as well, every muscle under his clothes as taut as tautrope. He moves slowly, languid, languid. He would not speed the pace on his own accord. He's content to worship you with his lips. His mouth moves to your neck, his lips brushing against the bare skin, soft as satin.

He's silent as he presses kisses against your throat, his nose brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. He inhales your scent, as if it alone was a sacrament he was consuming.

He moves lower, his mouth moving to the hollow of your throat. He pauses there, then moves down to the collarbone, his hair splaying across your skin. Shaiapoufs tongue runs along the contour of your collarbone. He lets it dance across the skin of your collarbone, as it would a melody on the strings. He presses gentle kisses there, moving his way back up along your throat to your jaw.

His hands are at your face, stroking softly across your cheek, your chin, your jaw. His touch is like a caress. He strokes over your lips.

Shalnark

A small whimper sounds in the back of Shalnarks throat as your lips meet. He is quick to return the kiss, as if every fiber of his being is focused on that one singular contact. He reaches up, resting his palm against the curve of your jaw, turning your head so that he can deepen the kiss.

His breath is hot against your skin, his other hand gripping your waist, fingers digging hard into the fabric of your clothes. "You're mine," he murmurs against your lips, almost desperately. His fingers tug at your clothes, trying to pull you closer. If he could have, he would have torn them from you, and then your body, so that he could have you even closer.

Shalnark tongue brushes over your lower lip, and he makes a soft sound—a small whimper—as he does so. He is desperate, and his touch is rough. In that moment, he simply wants to be close to you. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"Mine," he mumbles, again.

Shoot

Shoot melts into your kiss, a soft gasp of surprise escaping him as you kiss him, and he responds quietly, his hands hovering as if afraid to touch you. He's timid, but also hungry, desperate to feel your lips upon his.

His body presses against yours as your lips touch, and he makes another soft gasp as his hands finally touch your skin. You take his hands in mine and place them on your waist. Shoot hands freeze as they slide against your waist. His fingertips touch your hip, gently wrapping around you. He swallows hard, the sound loud in the quiet, as he pulls you closer. He lets his fingers explore your back, sliding up to your shoulders. His hands are cold, but not unwelcome. He keeps going, as if he's lost himself in the simple pleasure of touching you. "Your skin…it's so warm," he murmurs, voice a little breathless. The words are like smoke from his lips, his body shivering against yours. "I didn't expect—"

A soft noise sounds from his throat, and Shoot tugs you closer against himself, his body molding against yours like clay. "It's been too long. I've missed the touch of warm skin," he complains, leaning forward to bury his face into your neck.

Uvogin

Uvogin is in control— a gentle yet calloused hand against the sensitive skin of your jaw, lips moving against yours. When he speaks, his voice is soft, gentle, and deep- "Mmmm, I could kiss you forever." He murmurs against your lips, his thumb tracing soft patterns upon your neck, as if mapping out the shape of your pulse.

He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, gently nipping, then kissing again. He's pinning you against a wall, his body trapping you against it, his hips against yours.

Another kiss, deep and hungry, tongue pressing against your lips in an almost desperate demand for more of you. Uvogin doesn't speak, his mouth busy, claiming, exploring. His hands roam up your back, pulling you flush to his chest. "You're so perfect," he mutters in between kisses, his voice husky, heavy with a desire he seems unable to control. One hand slides into your hair, holding your head in place, his body pressing you down, holding you in place against the wall.

His lips travel down your jawline, across your neck, teeth nipping and tongue soothing in a pattern that is both maddening and delicious.

Wing

Wings tongue slips between your lips as he draws you in for a kiss. His hands grip at your body, pulling you close, pressing you close until you can barely move. His head tilts slightly to the side, lips moving at a slow, torturous pace. He seems to drink you in, savoring the taste of you. He's gentle, oh so gentle, and yet at the same time he can't bring his lips away from yours. "Please," he whispers, his voice a low growl when he pulls away just enough to speak. "Please don't let me go, not now. I haven't seen you in weeks."

Wings arms are wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you tight against him as if he'll die if he lets you go.

He presses his body close to yours, his head leaning on your shoulder. He's desperate for a moment of peace and your presence, and yet he knows that you could leave at any moment. "I won't." Wing grip around you tightens at those words. He inhales shakily, his body shuddering. His breath brushes over your neck, warm against your skin.

"Say it again." He demands, lifting his head to look up at you. Despite his firm tone, his eyes are soft, almost pleading. He's desperate to hear it from you, for you to reassure him.

"I won't leave you." When you promise him that, he releases a shuddering breath. "Thank you."

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devotedlyandrogynousyouth · 2 months ago

Text

Virgin! Jason Todd

Virgin! Jason Todd who is absolutely whipped as soon as he meets you. Im talking stuttering, fumbling over himself, even a slight blush, dare I say. He just doesn't know what to do with himself in the presence of somebody so blessed with a goddess' beauty.

Virgin! Jason Todd who tries to act tough anyway (because, in all honesty, he is literally a murderer and not just some soft guy anymore.) And fails horribly. Its endearing to see him try, though... With those strong arms that could either snap you in half within moments or hold you throughout the night.

Virgin! Jason Todd who's constantly needy for you, both in an intimate sense and just for affection in general. In fact, you don't think that there's ever an extended period of time where his hands aren't on you in one way or another.

Virgin! Jason Todd who's so into dry humping that it's an every other days occurance. Laying down on the couch or bed cuddling? His hard dick is pressing right up against your clit through both his and your shorts. Doing yoga because your back is sore from work or cooking dinner when he gets home late? He's lightly thrusting onto your plump ass as soon as he gets his hands on you.

Virgin! Jason Todd who initiates things himself for the first time, starting with you simply sitting on his lap while watching a movie. Then, slowly, he starts kissing down your neck with warm lips and even warmer breaths while moving you to straddle his thighs. You can already feel him getting a bit hard from this alone.

Virgin! Jason Todd who gets so into the light kisses he oh so graciously presses against your lips that they end up turning into a heavy make out session. His tongue and yours are tangling together in such a sinful and addicting way that its hard to get enough.

Virgin! Jason Todd who slowly grasps at your hips to grind you at a torturous pace on his toned thigh. The slight amount of friction is divine after getting so worked up over a few kisses, but it's not long until you're humping his thigh like a bitch in heat as you normally do.

Virgin! Jason Todd who's never been afraid to eat you out, and he'll be damned if he doesn't tonight, too. You are his favorite meal, snack, and dessert, after all.

"Come on, gorgeous... You know the drill." He whispers in that deep, gravelly voice from between your legs as you close them, desperately wanting to do something for him in return. "Nuh uh... Let me eat that pretty pussy of yours before anything else, sweetness." And eat he does.

Virgin! Jason Todd who gets off on your pleasure. Every time you moan or squirm yourself closer to his face as he laps at your aching hole and bundle of nerves, he grinds himself right into the mattress or side of the couch.

Virgin! Jason Todd who wants you to ride him for your first time together so he can bury his face into your chest and hold you as close as possible. And because he's scared of going at a pace that you won't like, but after how many orgasms he's pulled out of you just by giving you head, you're sure you wouldn't mind whatever makes him happy.

Virgin! Jason Todd who has to actually stop himself from blowing his load just as you put his girthy tip in. He just cant help it... Your tight, warm, and soaked walls fluttering around him is just too heavenly.

"Fuck... Stay right there, sweetheart. Right there. Please." His voice is strained with his effort and slightly muffled as he buries his face into your chest.

Virgin! Jason Todd who is in pure bliss as soon as you start moving, even at such a slow pace to begin with while your creamy walls get used to the stretch of his beautiful, leaking cock.

Virgin! Jason Todd who never realized how much of a moaner he was until he got to have his first time with you. Sure, he's gotten himself off humping your ass or the mattress while he ate you out, but this was on a whole other level.

"Fuckkk..." His head is thrown back against the pillows or headrest of the couch as his hands grasp your ever moving hips. "Can't take much more of this, pretty girl." Jason is almost whining at this point, the sound of his skin slapping against yours joining the obscene sounds in the air of his apartment. "Gonna.. Im gonna-"

Virgin! Jason Todd who cuts himself off with such a gorgeous moan and whine as he cums that it has you going right alongside him. The large, calloused hands on your hips only tighten as you feel his cock fill you up with thick, warm, pearly ropes of cum.

Virgin! Jason Todd who can only whisper praises and words of love for the first couple of minutes coming down from his intense high.

"Fuck... Fucking love you, y'know that?" His chest is still heaving with every panting breath he takes. "Milking me dry with that pretty pussy..."

Virgin! Jason Todd who makes aftercare a top priority very early on, even though he's just barely gaining his own bearings.

"I love you, pretty girl... So much." He presses kisses along your sore and achy thighs as the cool, damp washcloth brushes over your most sensitive and overstimulated parts.

Masterlist

#batfam #batfamily #batman #redhood #arkham knight #arkham knight x reader #dc #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jasontodd #jason todd #redhood x reader #red hood x reader #red hood #arkham knight smut

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 6 months ago

Text

When They Call You Clingy So You Distance Yourself| Maknaeline Pt1

Warnings: Cursing, Mentioning of Blood

Pt2 Pt3 Hyungline (xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

JISUNG|

There was nothing you loved more than Jisung's singing. Well maybe Jisung himself.

But from the moment you heard him sing you knew that it was game over for you. You didn't know what you had done to have God bless you with the off chance of running into the chubby cheeked boy on the street during a last-minute girls' trip - the result of a horrible breakup.

And you sure as hell didn't know what you did to have him become smitten with you at first glance, softly asking for your number - even though it was obvious you weren't going to stay long.

But after a week of non-stop texting and meme exchanging it was obvious the feeling was mutual so long distance was something you were willing to try.

And it was the best decision you had ever made. Two and a half years strong.

The last year you had spent in South Korea had been filled with wonderful memories too, and you quickly found yourself getting used to living life with Hanji.

"Sungie!" You burst into the studio and Jisung jumped in fear. "I brought you something!"

He turned around with wide eyes and his mouth opened slightly. "What is it?"

You handed him a couple of his favorite snacks and an energy drink. "I figured you were tired since the guys told me you didn't come back to the dorms..." You wrapped your arms around him and peeked over his shoulder at to what he was scribbling in his favorite, beat up notebook. "What are you writ-"

Jisung quickly closed his notebook. "N-nothing."

"Lemme see!" You giggle reaching for it again. He quickly pulled away. "Jiji you always show me your songs!" You said, not noticing his growing irritation.

"Y/N stop I don't want you to see this one." He said grabbing his notebook.

"Why not?" You whined, trying one last time to grab it. "Thats are thing you show me your songs even before you show the guys!"

Your hands folded around the broken metal spine and part of the papers themselves and Jisung pulled away with an extreme amount of force.

The small part of metal that had no home in the small holes of the spiral bound book hooked its way into your hand. And with Han's forceful pull, ripped open your skin as well in a thing but deep wound.

You hissed in pain slightly from a small paper cut on your middle finger, which was ironic considering the much deeper gash in the palm of your dominant hand.

"Dammit Y/N!" He snapped looking at his ripped pages.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to..." You said quietly.

"Well you did!" He mumbled turning his back on you looking for tape on Chan's cluttered desk.

"I'm sorry."

"Its whatever." Han mumbled, his back still turned to you.

You hold your wrist, you hand bloodied. "Jiji-"

"Y/N I want to be alone right now." His voice was firm, and you could tell he was trying to hide his growing anger. You wanted to respect his wishes but your injury seemed to throb even more by the second, even more blood spilling out.

You nodded but opened your mouth to speak again trying to ask him for help with your gushing hand. "I know but-"

"FUCK Y/N!" Jisung screamed slamming his hands on the table. "Just leave me alone! Stop being clingy for two seconds and give a moment to breathe! You just ruined something extremely important just because you don't know when to stop messing around."

You bit your cheek, trying to stop the tears that were pricking your eyes from falling.

You knew that Jisung was only calling you clingy to to get you to go away. To hurt you enough so you'd want to leave. He had done it before.

And even though it was a bad habit, it was proving really hard for him to break.

You quickly made your way out after watching your boyfriend for a few more seconds as he started tearing small pieces of tape from the dispenser.

And even still you couldn't help but have your heart flutter at his concentration as he bent down to carefully place pieces of tape on the ripped pages.

Dammit. Why do I always have to go and ruin things... You think to yourself as you head out to your car. Grabbing an extreme amount of paper towels to soak up the red liquid streaming from your hand.

You go to wipe your tears, but only smearing blood on your face causing even more tears of frustration, sadness and disappointment to fall from your eyes.

Fuck. I'm gonna need stitches.

You drove to the hospital, continously blinking to keep your vision clear through your emotional state. You were so focused on the road and replaying the whole situation that had just occurred in your head you didn't realize your phone was ringing.

Once you computed the ringning you frantically reached for your phone, so you could talk to Jisung - apologize, just talk things through - not remembering the state your hand was in and feeling it rip open even more, causing your phone to slip and a strangled cry of pain escape your lips.

Incoming call from - Jiji *heart emoji. angel emoji. squirrel emoji.*

Your phone had fallen in between the crack of your seat and you tried grabbing it while keeping your eyes on the road.

Incoming call from - Jiji *heart emoji. angel emoji. squirrel emoji.*

"Holy shit can't I-"

You heard the blaring of a horn and by instinct you turned opposite of the direction you heard it coming from, only to have the noise covered by metal crunching on metal.

Missed Call from - Jiji *heart emoji. angel emoji. squirrel emoji.*

Beeeep.

You have one new voicemail.

"Jagiya - I saw blood on my paper. Were you bleeding? Look, I know you probably don't feel like talking to me and that's valid. I say a lot of mean things to get space- and I know how wrong that is of me. Just...call me back okay? Let me know you're okay...there was...a lot...of blood. A lot...I'm worried. You can be mad but please just let me know, okay? I feel bad. I had a reason for hiding the lyrics; but it just seems stupid now. Because you got hurt because of me...I know I'm ranting but I'm worried sick. So please just...text or something. At least tell me you have the cut bandaged or something. Because baby if I would have realized sooner you were bleeding that much...God I feel like an idiot. Just call me, okay? Or you know what text if you don't feel like talking...just let me know your safe...the guys are worried too...you left a trail...God I feel so bad. Maybe I'm exaggerating but it looked like so much...I love you. Okay? I love you."

Click.

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

FELIX|

You heard your front door unlock and looked behind you to see Felix walking in.

He slipped his shoes off and immediately headed towards the game room you had set up from an old study when you and him had frist started dating.

Your desk was still in the corner, but you had set up all of Felix's extra gaming things throughout the rest of the room. Stringing up LED lights and making it as aesthetically pleasing as possible since had taken a liking to filming some of his lives in that room once your relationship had gone public.

You got up from the couch and followed Felix into the room. He didn't seem like his usual cheery self. And his determined steps into the game room differed from his usually excited steps and leaned more towards annoyance.

"Lix is everything okay?" You asked, coming to stand by him. You placing the energy drink you were sipping on by him as you reach out to give him an embrace.

"I'm fine Y/N." He mumbled, trying to shake his PC awake. Then trying to turn on the LED's and lamp next to him. When they didn't turn on he tried plugging his phone in to the extra charger that he always kept plugged in at your home, groaning when that too didn't work.

"You seem upset love, you know I'm here for you."

"I said I'm fine." He snapped as he got up and started looking at the different wires connecting the lights and other various things in the room. "This damned thing."

You got up and looked at the wires yourself. "Let me see-"

"I got it, Y/N." Felix said sternly as he moved his makeshift desk back carefully from the wall enough to squeeze back there and look at the outlets.

At the same time you notice the extension cord didn't look like it was fully plugged in. You let out a small noise of acknowledgement and crawled under table to plug it in.

It was too bad Felix didn't notice your other hand resting on the ground for balance, as he stepped on it while trying to get a better look.

You yelped in pure shock, your head coming up to bang against the underside of the table- and Felix jumping back in surprise - and reaching out to balance himself but instead knocking over your drink onto his extremely expensive keyboard.

You had never heard so many profanities string from his mouth at once.

"I'll go get towels-"

"Are you fucking slow Y/N?!" His voice was harsh. Nothing like the gentle tone he always used with you. "Maybe you are. Would explain why you'd think a fucking corrosive drink could be easily cleaned from a keyboard. GOD." He groaned slamming his fist down.

"Felix I didn't-"

"I didn't know! I didn't know!" Felix mocked. "Well no shit you didn't know. Who in their right mind puts an open drink next to a set up that probably costs more than your monthly wages."

You felt your chin start to tremble and you tried to take a breath.

"You know maybe if you weren't clinging to me 24/7 this wouldn't have happened. Now thanks to you I have to find replacements." He grumbled pushing past you.

You turned to follow him like a lost puppy.

"Dammit did you not get the hint?!" He shouted turning back towards you. "You really are slow holy shit." He spat out.

You watched him make his way towards the door grabbing his keys and just walking out in his house slippers that's how angry you had made him.

"I can fix it..." You whimpered, trying to wipe your tears as you collected an arrangement of towels both dry and cloth. "I-I can f-fix itttt..." You whine as you hold the towels with shaky hands trying to mop up the mess.

"I-I'll fix-fix it-" You keep repeating to yourself until your vision is so blurred by tears the they flow over into the crevices of his precious keyboard. You try to soak up the mousepad he had customized, and the fabric of his chair.

"I'll...fix it..."

Soon enough those three words didn't sound like words you had said them so much.

Your hands were red and raw from scrubbing down the table so much. And you could barely even breath through your desperate cries.

His words kept ringing in your head.

He sounded so angry. You had never seen him like that. And it scared you. It scared you so much.

So much it had you considering if his accessories were the only thing he'd ever consider replacing.

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

SEUNGMIN|

You sat in the dressing room, waiting for Seungmin to come back stage.

Tonight was the kickoff concert for their mini tour. Just ten destinations. A mix of normal venues, mini music festivals and things of such.

Ever since you and Seungmin had become a thing a little over three years ago, you had made it your mission to attend all of his concerts. While at first you flew under the radar of attendance- you soon became the "Where's Waldo" of sort when your relationship became public- stays doing everything they could to spot you in the crowd.

Tonight was no different other than the fact that everything went abswolutely horrible.

Malfunction after malfunction. Although most of the Stays were too preoccupied with the the visuals and the improv to really care about the mistakes on the crew end of thing.

And you had come backstage to tell Seungmin the same thing that all the Stays in the crowd had been thinking.

You did great.

Most of the time on Seungmin's shorter trips you stayed out of his way. Calling him and just infroming him of the different places you were visting in the cities, and asking if he would like any specific souvenirs. Thats the way you balanced out most. Thats the way things had worked and you figured they would continue to work...

Until Seungmin came in,.

"What are you doing here?" He asked throwing his jacket on the closest chair, and immediately going to strip off his shirt.

"I just wanted to come in and see how you were doing." You said quietly- gently.

"Appreciate it but you're not exactly helping my situation. I come into the dressing room for a breather - some space but your in here." He sighs grabbing a towel and trying to soak up his sweat.

You frown and look at him, his puppy eyes clouded with frustration.

"I just wanted to tell you that you did good...none of that was your fault. I just wanted to make sure you were aware of that..."

"Y/N. You're getting overwhelming. Seeing you home, at the studio in the audience- I can't catch a fucking break. Its like you're acting as my fucking shadow- clinging on to me wherever I go. Normal couples don't do that." He said as he stepped behind a portable stall to change completley.

You opened your mouth but closed it quickly, not wanting to start something you knew Seungmin was more than likely to finish.

"Like everytime I see you it's such a burden really..." Seungmin came out drying his sweaty hair with a smaller towel. "Like don't you ever get sick of seeing me all the time?" He gives out a smile and a laugh, but his eyes don't crinkle the same way they usually do.

You bite your cheek. "No...why would I get sick of seeing you? Why...would I ever see you as a burden?"

Your boyfriend looks at you in the reflection of the mirror, and turns to see the pain in your eyes.

"I came back here to comfort you Min...but instead you want to find ways to tear me down? So effortlessly at that?" Your voice is growing in pitch by the second but getting quieter and quiter. "I've spent three years supporting you in everything that you do. I've spent money to surprise you on trips Seungmin! When you know I don't have the money to do that!" Seungmin flinches when you use his full name. It had been so long since he heard anything other than a nickname fall from your lips when talking to him. "I always put you before me...am I really that much of a burden to you Seungmin?"

The quiet boy just looked at you.

"Dammit say something!" You exclaimed.

"I...don't know what you want me to say Y/N...I appreciate you coming to my concerts. I do...but don't you have another life outside of me?"

You clenched your jaw. "You're geniunely asking me that? When we've spent over three years together?"

Seungmin sighed. "You know I don't mean it like that..."

"Then how do you mean it?"

He fidgeted and opened his mouth to say something but bit his tongue and thought for a second more.

"You know what...maybe you're right Seungmin." You grab your purse and coat.

"Where are you going?" He asked, a bit of panic creeping into his voice.

"Away." You mumbled. "You're right Seungmin. I don't have a life outside of you. And maybe that's why this doesn't feel so right anymore."

You reach for the door and you feel both his hands wrap around your arm.

"B-Baby...y...you don't mean that...you don't." He pleaded softly. You watched as his brown eyes searched your face for any bluff. "We're right...we feel right-we we fit right..." His voice took a little pitiful whine to it and you felt as if you just kicked a puppy.

Right now he looked like a kicked puppy.

You had to turn your face away so he couldn't see your walls built in anger break.

Because no matter how petty you could be you wouldn't do that to Seungmin.

Would you?

"Seungmin...you think you can just go and say those things...the things that effortlessly hurt me?" You took a deep breath. "It's like you put no thought into how you crack my heart."

Not break. He couldn't break it...

"Jagiya...please...please stay?"

Couldn't my ass. He damn well could. And two could play that game.

"I'm leaving." You said pulling your arm from him roughly, knowing that you ripping yourself from the embrace you relied on so much would hurt him the most.

"You don't mean it...we're both frustrated...Jagiya..."

You decided not to look back as you walked out the door.

Knowing just how quickly your resolve you fold if you saw just how easily Seungmin's heartbreak was painted on to him.

You knew you'd fold the second you saw how his heartbreak mirrored your own.

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JEONGIN|

Please leave a message after the tone.

You groan as you guide yourself to the counter, holding onto it trying to find unwavering land in the battle of dizziness you were fighting.

Please leave a message after the tone.

"Pick up..." You groan as you try to hit the call button for Jeongin, your vision was clouded and you mistakenly pressed your second most recent call.

"Y/N? What's up?"

"Ji...Jisung...grab Jeongin for me?"

"Y/N...he's a little...irked right now. We were poking fun at him when you called but I think we went a bit too far... I don't think its the best idea..."

"Jisung, please?"

You heard Jisung shuffle around, and you heard the crunching of leaves as he made his way towards the sound of loud laughter.

"Innie! Your girlfriend is one the phone!"

You think you're hearing things when you hear Jeongin's distinct groan- but you don't have time to think about it before you hear all of his elder group members "ooh" and "ahh" at the youngest member.

"What is it?" The annoyance in his voice is evident.

"Innie...I don't feel good." You say steadying yourself on the counter. Your hands are slick with sweat, just like the rest of your body.

"Y/N I don't know what you want me to do about that." He says, covering the mic to yell something at the members- who are making kissing noises and mimicking romantic music in the background. "I'm hours away and I'm not gonna be back until Monday."

You whimper as you lower yourself onto the ground, your head swimming with dizziness - all while feeling as if someone tigthened a rubber band around your noggin.

"Stop being so dramatic and take medicine if its that bad." He finally says. "It's embarassing to have you blow up my phone while I'm on a guys trip - and even more embarassing for you to blow up my friends phones as well."

Something about the way he says my makes your heart sting slightly. As if you hadn't cultivated friendships with the guys as well.

"Maybe if you had answere-"

"Just stop Y/N! I'm not a baby! And having you cling to me...its making the guys think that. I mean don't you see how annoying that looks? Childish? Being clingy is downright childish."

You can't really focus on Jeongin's angry rant because you vision is getting blurry, and your head is throbbing so horribly, and your body is getting so clammy you can't focus on anything other than how shitty you feel.

"I think I'm gonna pass out-"

You hear Jeongin's exasperated huff. "You always have to make it about you don't you?! I'm trying to tell you how I want you sto stop blowing up my phone so damn much while I'm with the guys and you're here being dramtic. We're adults Y/N. We don't have to rely on each other for everything! So just lay down if your feeling that bad. I don;t cal you for everything."

You groan into the phone. "Jeongin-"

"Holy shit Y/N, can't you take a hint? For fuck's sake...I'll talk to you Monday." He said before hanging up, his tone exuding the aura of a typical "too-cool-for-anyone" teen boy or more specifically a hormonal attitude filled PMS monster.

You take a second to breathe, the nausea that was hitting you in waves only coming in faster and stronger.

You scrolled through your contacts and just clicked on one. Your fingers were trembling and you could barely press the speaker button before dropping your phone to the ground in a moment of weakness.

I'm gonna pass out...just...a minute longer...wait until someone answers...

You decided to not delay the inevitable and just lay on the cool ground that you'd end up on anyway. Might as well save yourself from an uneccassary bump.

"Hello?"

"I think I'm gonna faint..." You groan.

"The fuck? Y/N? What? I'm on my way I'm at the studio I'll be there in a minute..."

You give a small hmm and lean more into the floor if that was possible.

It brought you back to when you were a child, and would decide to randomly nap on the ground.

Maybe I am childish...

Maybe he was right...

You're mine clears as your mind goes static then black as if a switch turned on.

"Y/N? Y/N!"

When you open your eyes your blinded by lights and instantly annoyed by the beeping of mulitple machines.

"Y/N-ie!" You see the smiling faces of Chaeryeong and Yeji. Then Ryujin, Lia and Yuna's faces pop around you too.

"The doctor said your blood sugar was extremley low." Yeji said grabbing your hands. "He said that they're gonna run a few more tests on you too see what the cause of it was."

"We were worried sick when you called Chaer so we all came!" Lia exclaims.

You smiled gratefully, your head still throbbing slightly.

"Thank you." You said quietly.

"I called Changbin." Chaeryeong commented. "I thought it was best that one of the Kids relay the message to your boyfriend."

You pop up in bed, the sudden movement dizzying you. "What? What did you say?"

"I just told him we found you past out in your kitchen. At that point we didn't know what caused it...so all I said is we were bringing you to the hospital."

"Your boyfriend has been calling your phone for the last hour and a half." Yuna says nodding towards your phone.

26 missed calls.

"Hah...so he calls me clingy and childish then proceeds to call my phone 26 times?" You groan as you throw yourself back onto the hospital bed.

The ITZY girls look at you with sympathetic looks, Yeji squeezing your hands gently as well.

"Fuck it." You mumble, a fit of anger bubbling inside you as you swiped away all the call notifications, an insurge of pettiness filling you. "Clingy and childish my ass. I'll show him what that actually looks like."

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@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang

#skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids reactions #skz reactions #skz stay #skz angst #yang jeongin #stray kids #lee felix #han jisung #kim seungmin

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