#fic: get a thrill through your fingertips

[caramelapplesauce]

hey guys so i did abandon get a thrill due to a large lack of motivation and bad mental health. i updated the page and it’s still on my ao3 but there won’t be more added to it.

[pinksturniolo]

summer smash

chris and matt sturniolo x fem reader

a blurb from the versus universe

summary: chris and matt decide to take you with them to chicago for the summer smash festival. later that night in the hotel room, when matt shows you what he filmed on his vlog camera, a certain idea sparks his interest…

content warnings: heavy smut, threesome (no male on male/incest), poly relationship, oral male and fem receiving, doggy, sex tape, fluff (literally a summer smash lmao)

disclaimer!: this story is purely fictional and came from my own twisted mind, pls don’t take anything in this fic literally. i highly doubt matt and chris would ever share a girl, however for us horny freaks, the idea is fun 😂 and matt if ur lurking and you see this… no you didn’t 🩷

matts large hand wraps around your calf as he tugs you towards the end of the bed, standing over you with his vlog camera in his other hand.

he captures the sight of your wet, throbbing core as he spreads your legs wider by pushing your thighs open, his teeth digging into his bottom lip at the view of you beneath him. squirming.. leaking… practically buzzing with the need to feel his fingers against you.

but he doesn’t touch you there just yet, a hint of a smirk on his face as he locks eye contact with you. “touch yourself. i wanna see you get even wetter for me.”

his instructions somewhat shock you since you’ve never touched yourself in front of him before but your heart is racing with the thrill of him watching you, lust pumping through your veins.

“go ahead darling. for me?” he coaxes, noticing your brief moment of hesitation. his voice is sweet like honey and he holds the camera steady, his eyes focused on your fingers as you drag them down your pelvis, slowly dipping them into your folds.

he still holds your legs open, his one hand gripping your inner thigh. his mouth starts to part when you rub your fingers back and forth slowly through your pussy, the feeling of increasing wetness coating you and a small whine escapes your throat.

“mmm such a good girl aren’t you?” he says, the words coming out breathy as matt finds it a little hard to resist pulling his achingly hard dick out right now and slipping inside you. but he’s enjoying this game of simon says and it’s going to be especially fun later when he watches it back on his camera.

see, matt’s always had the fantasy of recording you. capturing you in your most vulnerable moments with him. the way you sound as you moan for him, the way your body looks as he brings you to the cusp of pleasure, the sinful way your eyes roll into the back of your head as he thrusts into you.

it all started as you were laying next to him a few moments ago, his arms wrapped around you as your head laid on his chest, excited as he showed you what he filmed earlier at the festival.

you wanted nothing more than to go to the concert with them but had other obligations for work, however they still insisted you come with them on the trip.

matt’s excitement turned into lust when he saw the silk shorts you had on, your bare thighs squishing together on the bed and once his hands started running over your skin, he just couldn’t turn down the opportunity to get you naked on camera.

after all, it was for his eyes only. chris was preoccupied in the shower and he had every intention of using this time to act out his little fantasy.

“does it feel good baby?” he asks and you nod, your eyes slipping close as you dip one finger inside, your spongy walls tightening.

“keep your eyes on me.” he says and your eyes snap back open at his request, his icy blue gaze sending another wave of pleasure through you.

“rub that clit for me.” is his next order as he focuses the view of your nimble fingertips circling your bundle of nerves, your body more than happy to obey his demands.

you whine loudly now, incredibly wet from touching yourself and observing the way matt watches you, a slight flush of pink on his face, his mouth parted and veins in his forearm showing as he grips your thigh even harder.

“matt…” you breathe, unable to hold back the neediness in your tone.

“yes?” he replies, licking his lips as he leans down now, resting on his knees in front of you, his hand moving dangerously close to where you want him the most.

“please.. touch me.” you beg him and his smirk grows wider at your response, his eyes flicking up to your face.

“is that what you want sweetheart? you want me to help you out?” he chides, the condescending tone of his voice making you clench around nothing.

“yes, please. so bad.” you’re shameless in the way you want him and he’s more than happy to oblige as the camera captures him slipping his middle and third finger into your dripping hole, the metal of his cold rings against your skin making you moan loudly.

he curls them inside you as he goes deeper, pressing against your sweet spot.

“fuck baby, i can’t wait to be inside you.” he all but moans, his words making you drip down his hand.

“feels so- mmm -gooood” you babble, struggling to keep your words coherent as he pumps his fingers into you at a merciless pace, the lewd sounds of your wetness being heard.

“yeah? keep talking to me baby, you sound so fucking pretty like this… all worked up for me..” he rasps and you just about cum from his praises alone before he sets the camera down, now completely set on having you orgasm on his fingers, bringing his head down to suction his lips around your clit.

he swirls his tongue, sucking and lapping at your clit while brushing your g spot repeatedly with his his fingers, his breaths coming out in hot puffs as he buries his face into you.

with a loud moan of matt’s name, the coil that’s been building in your abdomen releases at the same time you hear the bathroom door open, and see chris step out from the corner of your eye.

you turn your head to see him standing there, steam filtering out from the shower he just finished, a white towel hanging low on his hips. droplets of water fall from his hair as he stares back at you and the sight of your legs shaking around matt’s head sparks jealousy within him.

"I leave for 10 minutes and this is what happens, huh?" he complains, walking towards the bed.

your heart rate is increasing again from seeing chris in just the little hotel towel, barely coming down from the high matt just gave you.

"couldn't help myself..." matt mumbles, still lust drunk and eyes locked on your body as he gets up from his knees, gripping your hips and turning you over so you're face down on the bed now.

"think you can cum for me again my love?" he asks, smoothing his hands over your curves before he grabs the camera again, the perfect view of your ass out for him, as he positions his cock against your entrance.

"yes.." you say, and you look up to see chris's shocked but intrigued expression as he takes notice of matt filming you, his towel still around his hips as he sits back against the headrest of the bed.

"what the fuck matt? are you making a sex tape? did she even consent to this?" he asks and you can't but giggle as he looks at you, a slight tone of concern in his voice.

matt simply scoffs at his question. "you're ruining my video, idiot."

before anyone else can say anything, matt slides inside you with ease, both of you letting out sounds of pleasure as he sets a slow pace that steadily builds you up to the edge once again.

chris watches with growing arousal as he sees the expressions of pleasure on your face. it's one of his favorite things about you - how lost you get in moments like these. the sight is so enticing that without realizing it, his hand grazes over his own growing arousal through his towel. he bites down on his bottom lip, unable to break eye contact with you. you want him to feel good just as much as you're feeling right now.

it's not foreign to the three of you, to let them both share you. usually, you split your time in between the two of them. but in moments like these, when you had them both to yourself, they were more than happy to please you at the same time.

from an outside perspective it can be alarming and taboo. and weird. but to the three of you, it became the most sexually satisfying and almost natural relationship to be experienced. at first, the arrangement was hard as you navigated the uncharted territory of sharing your heart, body, and soul with two vastly different men.

but once the initial hesitation melted away, a world of unparalleled intimacy opened before you. chris and matt became your twin flames, each illuminating unique facets of your deepest desires. with chris, passionate trysts of unbridled lust set your very being ablaze, his insatiable hunger to possess you leaving you breathless. matt, in contrast, worshipped you with a tenderness that rendered you amazed, cherishing every inch of your form as if it were a masterpiece crafted solely for his reverence.

you existed in a realm of pure ecstasy, the three of you inseparable as you reveled in the delights of your unorthodox bond.

"need some help baby?" you ask and he wastes no time shuffling closer to you, your face now directly in his crotch as he tugs the towel down, eager to feel your mouth on him.

matt picks up speed a little as you feel him deep inside you and you whine as stick out your tongue, sliding it along the side of chris's cock before smushing your wet lips against it. he groans and lets out a deep moan, his jaw slackening as he watches you.

he grips your hair tight in his hand and pushes his cock into your mouth. "did my sweet girl get off without me, hm? being all needy with matt while i was in the shower" he says with a smirk.

his words cause you to moan around him, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through his body. you look up at him with the most innocent of expressions, and he pants as your lashes flutter, taking him deeper into your mouth and down your throat.

"fuck.. you're so beautiful.." he groans while his hands find their way to your breasts, kneading them gently, as your hips rocked back and forth, meeting matt's every thrust. It was a symphony of lust and desire, with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, accompanied by your muffled moans and chris's whimpers.

"damn, you're so wet..." matt groaned, his voice raw with lust. "I bet you've been dreaming of this, haven't you, baby?"

you moaned in response, too consumed by pleasure to form coherent words. matt's angle changed, hitting that spot deep inside you, sending electric jolts of pleasure shooting through your body.

your orgasm is fast approaching, and between their combined efforts, it feels so damn good that you think you might just pass out from pleasure. you clench around matt so tight he's seeing stars and your muffled cries are heard as you cum around his dick.

through it all, you manage to keep your head bobbing sloppily on chris, his hands still holding your hair as you suck him off as best as you can with matt pounding into you from behind.

"shit baby, feels so fucking good.." chris says and he shudders, his seed spilling onto your face, as matt slammed into you one last time, filling you up.

all three of you are spent and panting, your bodies covered in a mix of sweat and arousal and once matt catches his breath and cleans you up, he goes to run the shower again, letting you know to join him when you're ready.

chris holds you close to him before you go, pressing sweet kisses to your cheek. "that little fucker is crazy if he thinks i'm not getting my own fuckin' fancy camera to make our own private movie. better than whatever mediocre shit he filmed..."

a/n: in conclusion im a whore for chratt im sorry 🤷🏻‍♀️

taglist!! <3

@sturniolopepsi @tillies33ssss @whicked-hazlatwhore @riasturns @christhopersturniolo @junnniiieee07 @seahorsie11 @inveigledvex @mattslolita @certifiednatelover @glassesmattsbae @eryismum @sturncakez @wh0resstuff @ribread03 @sturniololoco @75sturn @mattscoquette @jnkvivi @h3arts4harry @chrizznmetswife @bambi-slxt @streamermattsgf @mattspolitank @sturnsxbitvh

[clonecaptains]

No Vacancy

a tyler owens x shy reader fic

warnings: none! she/her pronouns mentioned; no use of y/n; this is all cozy fluff

word count: 3k

summary: you're part of the wrangler crew and have a crush on tyler. and you're debating on acting on these feelings. you might just get your chance when he shows up at your motel room.

a/n: this is my first tyler fic! this is the ol 'there's only one bed' trope - and im already planning a part two! hope yall enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All these motel rooms look the same. Warm earth tones all over the place and strange prints on the bedspread. But after a long day like today, it’s a welcome sight. That bed’s calling your name. You shrug your bag off your shoulder and hit the light switch. The lamp in the corner illuminates the room in a warm glow. It’s cozy.

The door clicks behind you; and you stand in the room for a moment deciding what you want to do next. Your job was done for the day. You are the official tornado wrangler social media accounts manager. Now that the wrangler team has gained a substantial following, it’s your job to post updates about new videos or the latest t-shirt design up for charity purposes. You’ve posted what you needed to post for the day, and now is your chance to rest.

You decide on a shower to think about the events of the day while you clean off.

Today was a first for you. It was your first time being in tornado while sitting in the passenger seat of Tyler’s truck. You’ve been on the team now for a while, but it was part of your initiation they’d said. Tyler was sweet. He pulled you aside telling you that you didn’t have to if you didn’t want to. And you really didn’t want to, but you wanted to prove to yourself that you could. More than that, you trusted Tyler would keep you safe.

You loved watching him, and his excitement was contagious despite your fears of this major storm. He’d been blasting his storm playlist, but when it got close to the moment, he made sure you were ok.

When the storm hit and passed you over, you couldn’t help but scream – in fear or excitement you don’t know. You grabbed Tyler’s arm in the heat of the moment, and feeling his warm skin under your fingertips was more of a thrill than the storm was.

You’re not sure how well you’re keeping the secret that you’re completely in love with him. You fell the first day you met him several months ago. And while you did prove to yourself that you could handle a tornado – you don’t know if you can handle the ache you feel when you’re around him. Riding shotgun in his truck today and touching his arm will keep you on cloud nine for the next week.

A creak in the pipes of this old motel tears you from your thoughts. You get out of the shower and dry off to put on your pjs. That’s when your mind drifts back to Tyler. How sweet he was with you all day leading up to your first tornado, and how he let you hold his arm. How he checked on you a dozen times after to make sure you weren’t too shaken.

You were shaken, but not but the storm. No matter how often you’re around him – he has the same effect on you. He makes you feel dizzy. His presence is so hard to ignore. It’s not just his handsome face or broad muscular frame – though that certainly is a factor – it’s his charm and relaxed demeanor. He’s a perfect balance of rowdy and sweet. And you are smitten.

You wince thinking about how it’s probably painfully obvious to the rest of the team. And what’s worse, it’s obvious to him too. If he’s seen it – and hasn’t said anything then you can only assume he doesn’t feel the same way.

All of this goes through your mind during your nightly routine. It’s early in the night, you left the wranglers down in the parking lot – most of them were still having a beer chatting over the day’s storm. You can faintly hear people talking outside while the night is winding down.

You settle into bed turning on the TV when you hear keys turning in the lock on your door. Much to your surprise – the door opens and who but Tyler himself is standing in the doorway. He’s just as confused as you. He steps backwards out of the doorway to check the key in his hand and the number on the door. He smiles with a soft huff – shaking his head at something you didn’t know what until later.

“This is the right room according to this,” he holds up the key and closes the door behind him. Suddenly the room feels a hundred times smaller. You feel yourself start to panic.

“They set this up,” Tyler continues. “I know it was Boone,” he laughs setting his bag down on the table near the door. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he tells you right away to try and ease the fear he can probably see in your eyes.

You don’t have a reply because you’re still shocked he’s standing in your room.

“You did great today by the way,” Tyler was still talking, and you were glad for it.

But you do find your voice, “Thank you.” That actually means a lot to you.

“Wasn’t too bad, was it?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. He’s rifling through his bag.

“No, no,” you feign being nonchalant and he cracks a smile. “Tyler, do you want to check if there’s another room available?” you ask him in the same breath. “I don’t want you to sleep on the floor, that won’t be comfortable at all.”

“Tryin’ to kick me out?” he gives a little wink as he reaches for the phone to call the front desk.

The phone call was quick – not long enough for you to decide which outcome you’d prefer.

Do you want him to stay? if he stayed then you’d have to deal with your crush being in your room all night. Having to play it cool as best you could. Or do you want him to leave? And regret later that you didn’t say anything about how you felt when you had a good chance to in this moment

The choice is made for you in the span of a few seconds.

“No more rooms,” he clicked his tongue. “The floor’ll be fine!”

That’s one of the things you admire most about him. He’s considerate and polite – and he’s happy to be. You know the floor is not comfortable. But he offered like it was the most common thing in the world.

“I am gonna shower first,” he says. “You showered right?” he asks pointing at you, and you nod “yeah! Go for it!”

Now that he knew he was staying, he takes off his boots. Something about them resting on the floor by the doorway makes your heart ache. It’s so close to what it could be like if you were together. A taste of domestic life with Tyler.

He disappears into the bathroom, and you resume flipping through the TV channels. You hope that will distract you from thinking about your crush being very naked and wet on the other side of that door. It’s not like you intentionally linger on it, but when you hear the shower curtain rings slide along the curtain rod and the water kick on - your face warms heavily.

When you hear him quietly hum in the shower, you feel yourself begin to relax. Something about it warms your heart, you think maybe he feels comfortable and doesn’t mind being heard while he hums.

You know the tune, one of the songs he’d been blasting in the truck recently. That makes you think back to being in the tornado again. You can’t believe you did that. Maybe that is your sign to do something else brave. If you could weather that storm surely you could admit your feelings to Tyler.

What if he didn’t feel the same? Then you’d have to awkwardly share a room, and the rest of the time spent working at this job with him knowing you have a crush on him.

How many times have you heard him say “if you feel it, chase it.” If he felt it, would he not have chased it by now? You feel it and you want to chase him, but he makes your knees weak.

What if he does feel the same? How do you maneuver this? There are too many questions, and you don’t know any of the answers. All that you know was you have it bad for him and it hurts. It’s such an ache. Being around him all the time for work, but never having him. You’re embarrassed to admit how much touching his arm earlier was a thrill, it’s all you’d been able to think about.

The more you think about all of this, the harder your heart beats. You’ve barely had time to process anything since he’s been in your room. It gets even worse when the shower stops. You hear when the curtain opens, and when his feet touch the floor.

Then you hear your name.

“There aren’t any towels.”

Oh no. You forgotten you’d used them both. You weren’t expecting to have to share.

“I’ll go get you one! I’m sorry I used them both!” You grab the key and dart out the room, you dn’t even care that someone might see you in your pajamas. You’d rather go grab one for him than wait awkwardly for a towel to be brought up. The less you have to think about him naked in the next room the better for your sanity.

You grab the towels and an extra pillow from the front desk and head back.

“I’m coming in!” You laugh opening the door, and you hear him laugh from the bathroom. “Ok I have them,” you tell him near the bathroom door. He opens it just a smidge and sticks his hand out. You both laugh when you hand him the towels. The awkward moment acknowledged and laughed at instead of worrying about it.

“Thank you,” he replies as he closes the door.

You sit on the bed again, but this time instead of sitting in the middle – you sit more on one side. It’s big enough for you to share so you don’t see why not. It’s not fair for him to sleep on the floor.

As hard as you try to prepare yourself for sharing a bed with him, it lands like a brick in the pit of your stomach when he steps out of the bathroom. The scent of his bodywash hits you first, you always loved how he smells. But just looking at him, he’s a dream.

He’s wearing a soft worn t-shirt and some gym shorts. His hair’s a mess, and it makes you giggle to see it so unruly. He smiles at your quiet laugh.

“Something funny?” he prods running the towel over his head again before hooking it on the back of the door.

“Your hair is always so perfect!”

“You’re getting an exclusive behind the scenes look,” he smiles moving towards the table where he’d put his stuff. He digs through his bag to pull out his phone and charger - plugging it into the nearest outlet.

“Tyler?” your voice comes out timid. He looks up from his phone and sets it down to give you his attention. “You can stay up here,” you point to the empty half of the bed. “I got an extra pillow too.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” his eyes are soft, his brows furrow.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable on the floor!”

He’s quiet for a moment. He looks at his hat sitting on the table amongst his things, and he strokes along the brim of the hat. Usually, you’re able to read him but this leaves you a little miffed. It makes your heart start to beat a little faster from the anticipation.

“Alright,” he decides standing up.

Ok, ok. Don’t panic. This is what you asked for.

He checks the lock on the door making sure it’s locked, and he turns off the floor lamp in the corner.

“On or off?” he asks near the bathroom. When you tell him ‘Off’, he taps that light switch and the loud hum from that light stops. The only light now is from the TV across from the bed.

Your heart is fluttering in your chest when he pulls the covers back. When he sits down and you feel his weight on the mattress - that really gets your heart pounding. He pulls the blankets back over himself and lays down with a heavy sigh. You know he’s tired, he’d been driving like a maniac into storms all day.

Though he’s more than just a rowdy storm chaser, he works long hours helping families and doing charity work. You love him for all these things. And you’re glad it’s dark because you feel like you might cry. He’s so close, and you have no idea what to say or do to tell him what you feel.

“Can I turn this off?” you ask trying to hide the quiver in your voice.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies and sinks further into the blankets. Both of you shift to get comfortable now in the dark, and his leg touches yours - causing you to jump. You don’t mean to gasp, but it slips out.

“Sorry!” he laughs and it relieves some tension. Some. You can’t calm down and you don’t know how to. He’s just a few inches away!! You were both lying on your backs, and his shoulder’s almost touching yours. You can still smell his body wash from earlier.

Just say it. Tell him you love him. You survived a tornado today!

You try to hype yourself up, but it isn’t working.

Before you plan out anything to say, you blurt out his name. That’s all you can muster. But this time, it’s worse than before, and your voice quivers audibly. More than that, you’re starting to tremble.

“Hey, hey- it’s ok,” he rolls over on his side to face you. “Me too,” he says and you have no idea what he’s talking about. Until he reachs for you in the dark. “Give me your hand,” he whispers and you roll on your side to face him. You reach towards him, and he gently wraps his hand around your wrist – guiding it to his chest. He puts your hand over his heart, and you feel it pounding under the warmth of his skin and soft shirt. “You see, I have a crush on this girl-“

Your eyes have adjusted in the dark and it’s enough to see the soft, almost shy look he gives you.

“Really?” you whisper. “Me?”

He lets go of your wrist and puts his hand on top of yours and presses down, emphasizing his point.

“Why haven’t you said anything til now? What happened to ‘if you feel it chase it’?”

He clears his throat comically and shifts a little, “Well, I-, ok you got me. Maybe I was a little nervous.” He shrugs. Your hand hasn’t moved from his chest, neither has his hand. He slowly starts to curl his fingers around your hand.

“You? Nervous for me? Do you know what I’ve been thinking about all day today?” you pause. “I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this.” He scoots a little closer to you, ready to listen. “It wasn’t the tornado I’ve been thinking about. It’s been how it felt to touch your arm today.” Your face is on fire. But it gives you a thrill to feel his heart jump and see the smile on his face widen.

He lets go of your hand and hooks his arm so his forearm is close to your face. “Would you like to again?” he teases, and you shove his chest playfully. He laughs, a good deep laugh. He’s relieved and happy. It makes your face hurt from your own smile, and you shyly move your hand from his chest to touch his forearm.

The air shifts. You both feel it when you stroke up and down his arm. You aren’t going to tell him how much you love feeling his arm hair under your fingertips. But he could probably figure it out. Maybe you didn’t mind if he knew.

He reaches for you then, your hand curls around his wrist this time. His hand cradles the back of your head, and he pulls you closer.

“I’m sorry I waited so long for this, I didn’t want to scare you. But truth is I was scared,” he admits.

“I was too, I was scared you didn’t feel the same way,” you whisper back. Your faces are so close to each other, and your bodies almost touching. You can feel the warmth from him.

He lets out a soft grunt like he’s been hit, shocked at what you just said to him.

“Can I?” he asks. You know what he’s asking. His expression is so sweet, so gentle. Another reason you love him. You feel safe in his presence, in his grasp.

“Yes,” you whisper, and then you start to laugh at yourself.

“What?” he smiles laughing.

“I was just gonna say you should ‘chase it’,” you smile. You barely finish the sentence before he closes the gap between you. Warm lips on yours, his nose pressing into your cheek. The stubble on his chin brushes your skin as you whimper into his mouth.

It’s a brief kiss before it breaks. There’s a slight pause where you look at each other smiling, enjoying the moment. Then he dives in for a deeper kiss. His arms pulling you closer, holding you tight to him. Though you wouldn’t dream of pulling away.

At some point you do break apart, both a little breathless. You feel dizzy and lovesick from the way he’s looking at you; something tells you he feels the same.

He starts to laugh again, shaking his head. “We won’t hear the end of this one.”

“Nope,” you smile knowing already what Lily and Dani will have to say.

“I know Boone had a hand in this.”

“Lily and Dani too, they’ve been pushing me to talk to you for weeks,” you giggle burying your face in his neck. He hugs you to him and squeezes. He adds a little reassuring rub on your back. “I’m still scared,” you admit, a secret murmured into his skin.

“I know,” he squeezes again. “Me too. Don’t want to lose you. But you’re worth chasing.”

You hum happily into his neck when a big yawn takes over you.

“Sorry,” you giggle, his laugh joining yours.

“You had a big day. Riding in your first tornado! That and the kissin’ outta wear anybody out,” he winks. Then tilts his head down to kiss your forehead. “Get some sleep.”

“Don’t let go,” you yawn, cuddling into his chest.

He whispers quietly against the top of your head, “never.”

[thewickedjazzy]

Level 3: Baby Fever [Breeding] for Kinktober.

ᡣ𐭩osamu dazai x afab! reader.

ᡣ𐭩Synopsis: you're thrilled to kick off the new kinky card game with your boyfriend, but you definitely didn't expect it to culminate in your first time going raw.

ᡣ𐭩Warnings: nsfw, mdni, 18+ content, smut with plot, breeding kink, mating press, bdsm elements, breathplay, alcohol consumption, profanity, kink and fetish themes, sexual challenges, pregnancy kink, unprotected sex, cum mentioned...etc.

ᡣ𐭩Word count: 2.3k

ᡣ𐭩-check Kink Coin to unlock bonus fics´-

“Is everything set?” you ask, eyes locking onto your boyfriend’s figure as he places the last decently sized shot glass on the table looking you up with a mischievous smirk, sweet excitement sparkling in his brown irises.

“all set, my love.” he chuckles, enthusiasm radiating from him warm as the sunshine of spring as he rests both hands on the table in front of you, his sleeves rolled up and shirt fully unbuttoned.

you take a deep breath, feeling the exhilaration twisting in your stomach. tonight is the night you’ve been waiting for—a card game you’d eagerly anticipated all week: freak or drink. while the game is pretty straightforward, the risks and rewards are irresistibly enticing. each card drawn could push your boundaries, could strip you bare—figuratively and literally—just thought of it makes your thighs press together instinctively.

“okay, let’s start!” your voice betraying the nervous excitement that courses through your veins. you bite your lip as your hand hovers over the deck before pulling the top card from the pile, feeling the cool edges glide across your fingertips as you flip it over, eyes going wide at the challenge: “ sensual stuffing.”

you snort softly, caught between disbelief and laughter. “no way,” you scoff, shaking your head with a smile.

“c'mon, baby... are you shy?” dazai teases, leaning in closer against the table, eyes roving over your form, stripping you down before he even touches you.

you roll your eyes as the familiar rush of high heavens of pleasure pulse through you. “not shy, just... strategic,” you purr, smirking as your hands slide beneath the hem of your dress. the lace of your panties catches on your fingertips as you slowly drag them down, stepping out of them and holding them up, feeling the cool air hit the places where your warmth had been trapped.

with a sly grin, you twirl the delicate lace between your fingers, holding it up like a prize. “open up, pretty boy.”

dazai’s smirk never fades, his lips parting ever so slightly as his eyes flicker between your face and the panties dangling between your fingers. it feels exhilarating to push boundaries, especially with that brown haired-brat, who always keeps you on your toes.

you step closer, heat rushing to your face spreading a pink tint under the barrier of your skin as you bring the lace closer to his mouth. slowly, you press the delicate fabric past his lips, watching him hum softly, his tongue grazing the lace before biting down just enough to hold it in place, never breaking eye contact.

his smirk falters for a moment as he tastes your slick drenched panties, before he groans pulling the lace out of his mouth.

“two things that i love,” he murmurs, “you and how easily you get wet.” his tongue darts out, flicking over his lips, tasting the ghost of you still lingering there as he lazily draws the next card from the deck. it's obvious that his focus isn’t on the game but rather on you, completely.

he holds the card between his fingers for a moment, his smirk widening devilishly as he reads it aloud. “fuck yes!! 'body shot.'”

before you can respond, dazai’s grip tightens around your waist, hoisting you up effortlessly. the world spins for a second, your breath catching in your throat as he slams you down onto the couch, knocking the air from your lungs. you barely have time to gasp his name before his hands are on you again, fingers slipping under the fabric, peeling the dress from your body as if it were nothing more than a flimsy barrier in his way.

he doesn’t stop, brown irises completely dilated as he grabs the shot glass filled with your favourite amber liquid before tipping it ever so slowly over your chest. the cold alcohol spills onto your bare breasts and the sudden cold sensation makes you arch into him feeling a shiver ripples down your spine as the liquor trickles over your nipples, leaving a glistening trail.

“fuck...’samu,” you whimper, thighs instinctively clenching as he watches the liquid pool at the curve of your breast.

without hesitation, his lips are on your naked bud, tongue flicking out to lap up the trail of alcohol all over your aerola, relishing the feeling of his mouth hot against your chilled skin as he slurps up every drop with a fervent hunger, sucking and nibbling on your sensitive nipples, taking his time, to admire the way you writhe beneath him. each flick of his tongue sends jolts of pleasure straight to your core, juices already starting to slick your thighs.

“you're a moaning mess when we're just getting started?” he pulls away with a low chuckle, stretching his arm to draw a card from the nearby table.

you’re barely recovering from the high of his touch, breath coming in short, needy gasps, “ugh—show meee,” you whine, making a grab for it.

“holy fuck—” the burnet curses under his breath, pausing for a moment.

“whattt?” you pout, leaning closer to catch the words on the card. 'breeding'. oh no! you’ve always been so careful—always on your pills, always using protection. you never let yourself slip, never let caution fall away. but this time? you can’t help it. the temptation eats you alive, a desperate, yearning desire to feel every inch of him, raw and reckless. what if it’s even better than you imagined? what if it’s a pleasure so intense, it leaves you breathless, trembling, and utterly undone?

the thought rushes through your mind and before you can fully process it, you feel his cold fingers dig into your bare skin again lifting you from the couch. needless to say, the next thing you hear is the bedroom door swinging open. suddenly, you’re being pushed down onto the bed, the soft mattress beneath you bouncing with the force.

“listen baby, we’re not just gonna try for a baby tonight. we’re gonna make one.”

once he says that with a whisper, your cunt clenches around nothing instinctively, you part your lips to utter something— anything.

“aa—’samu?” you manage, breathless, as he climbs onto the bed, hovering low, his hands press the mattress on either side of you.

“you’re gonna take all of me tonight, hmm?... spread your gorgeous legs baby—uh, fuck yes, just like that.” his large palms push apart the plushy gates of thighs and spread you wide by your perky ass cheeks, giving him a clearer view of your flushed folds.

no amount of imagination could prepare dazai for how much you're leaking right now. juices soaking your pillowy folds, and he can not move his eyes away from you. it's like he's been craving this very moment a long time ago.

“ahh... i've always dreamed of this moment, filling you up with my seed, ngh—!” you never expected to crave his thick, hot cum to fill you this much, but with the way he hangs above you now? mop of brown hair tickling the tip of your nose while his gaze locks on your spread-open thighs and puffy pussy—so ready to welcome his angry flushed cock, his pants hang low, barely clinging to his hips, just under the heavy weight of his balls.

“’s-samu—” you gasp, barely able to breathe his name. oh god, he's losing it, going absolutely wild just hearing his name drip so sweetly from your glossy lips. you feel it before you see it—his thick, swollen tip pressing against your slick entrance, throbbing and red as it starts to push inside your tight, resisting cunt.

“gonna wreck that pretty little pussy of yours,” he growls, head dropping forward to rest on your soft alcohol stained breasts “stretch it wide, make you my slut.”

“ffffuck- this feels better than i imagined—” he exhales sharply, trying his best to resist the urge not to slam his entire lengthy cock deep inside you.

you thrash under his touch, the languid, torturous rhythm making your hips buck toward him, seeking any sort of friction. “nngh—samu-please... more,” you gasp, eyes fluttering closed, head spinning from the combination of enthusiasm, desire, and his tip teasing your entrance.

he cannot help but hug you to his chest, feeling your heartbeats ripple through your ribcage and mingle with his own, he pushes several more inches through your sopping folds, your hips buck up involuntarily circling them over his cock, listening out for the lewd noises that sounds from both your sexes rubbing against one another.

drops of thick precum oozing from his cock finding solace between your gooey walls, the sensation of his bare lengthy cock slipping slowly inside you is ethereal.

finally he slams his entire cock through your fluttering cunt with a throaty groan, jaw completely slack as he gasps next to your ear shoving both of the legs to your chest from beneath your knees, completely folding you in half and sinking his cock deeper and deeper inside you. the full stretch makes your cunt clench and thighs spasm before trembling against his palms.

and oh god, the feeling of dopamine surging through you as technicolor bursts of pleasure dance behind your eyelids. you know your boyfriend's body all too well—his cock is more long than thick, with most of the heft in his swollen, heavy balls, slapping against your doughy ass with each thust. but this time? it’s different—this time, there’s no barrier between you. it’s raw. his bare cock filling you up to the brim in ways you’ve never felt before, and you can feel almost evey ridge, every vein of it pulsing between your tight, slick walls, making your nerve-endings buzz with pleasure.

“you feel that baby? ngh— you want me to make—oh shit—your pretty pussy leak with my cum hmm? put a baby in you?” he says in a low bristling tone making you swallow his cock even more with his words.

the constant hitting of his tip against your spongy spot is too much, but you can't push him from this position, even when your pretty nails are scaping his back, nothing would push him away.

“our baby's gonna have those pretty eyes of yours? and those sweet, soft lips?” he purrs gently, as if he isn't rearranging your guts and bottoming out inside you with a harsh, resounding slap of skin on skin, his heavy balls smacking against the curve of your ass as he drives himself deep to the hilt almost breaking the bed as it creaks beneath you from the force of his thrusts.

“’sammuuu ahh— t’much mngh fuck—you're insane.” you cry out frantically, voice hoarse, body jiggling like jelly with each harsh thrust.

“stay with me, babe… mmff— it’s only been thirty minutes..i know you can handle more.” he murmurs, his forehead pressed against yours, lips forming a soft ‘o’ shape. “ goddammit mngh—you ready to be a mama?” with that, he begins a fast, deep rhythm inside you, his slender hips delivering the perfect stroke.

each thrust has his tip brushing delightfully against your cervix, making your cunt spasm wildly as each thrust sending your essence to splatter against his abs, slick and messy.

“fuck- s’tight and perfect,” dazai growls deeply, pressing his weight against you as he slips his tongue into your mouth, capturing your swollen pink lips and swallowing your moans and whimpers with your knees positioned on either side of your chest.

dazai osamu, the devil that he is, the man who has cradled your heart in his hands, is giving you the best night of your life—guiding you to meet whatever divine force dwells above the clouds as he fills your gooey hole so perfectly.

“mmph shiit—’s-amu..’m clos-e” you cry as he keeps hitting into you roughly, his pelvis grinding against your swollen clit as he grunts ferally into your mouth.

“yeah? gonna let me cum so hard inside you, baby?” he drawls against the sensitive skin where your jaw meets your neck, before gripping your ankles and pressing them back near your ears, his cock sinking into the endless black hole between your thighs, as if he's being consumed by the gravitational force of your cunt.

“gonna make you pregnant... fuh-k—your pussy feels so good mmph holy fuck—i love you hahh.. i fuckin’ love you,” he groans as his vision starts to blur with white-hot pleasure, his balls tightening almost painfully and hips stuttering as he pushes deeper into you, the sloppy heat of your tight walls squeezing every last drop from him. the moment he feels your walls spasm around his twitching cock signalling that you're cumming a throaty groan leaves his chest, spilling hot thick globs of cum inside you—and you couldn't help but unconsciously count the amout of pumps he's feeding your delicious cunt with. seven.. eight.. nine.. ten??—holy fuck! twelve? his cock pulsing with every shot as he kept going, pushing more and more of his release into you till tears cloud your vision.

his breath starts to subside, body finally beginning to relax as the intoxicating pleasure starts to fade into a hazy afterglow. he lets out a long, shaky sigh, pulling out leisurely, your soft whimper catching his ear as his softened cock slips free from your stuffed entrance with a slick 'plop' sound.

his eyes fix on the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of your now-so-wide cunt, a trail of white drops of ambrosia running down toward the bedsheets before he scoops some of it up with two fingers, pushing it back inside you again.

you instinctively grip his wrist tightly still breathing heavily, however you don’t stop him, in fact, your body shudders at the sensation as he gently plunges his fingers deeper, making sure every last drop stays inside as he watches, fascinated with how your trembling body accepts it all again.

he lets out a breathless chuckle as he glances at the nightstand, reaching for his phone, he then opens the camera app, focusing on you before snapping a picture of your dripping pussy.

“ugh ’samu, what are you doin’?!” you groan, trying to catch your breath.

“i'll save this for when our kid's old enough and say, 'this is how we made you.'”

“please don’t tell me you’re starting a scrapbook!” you breathe out, rolling your eyes, still trying to steady your racing heart.

“and ruin the surprise for our kid? tsk..never! i’ll keep the best bits for a bedtime story instead.” the burnet chuckles lowly, his hands tenderly massaging your trembling legs, fingers digging into the soft skin.

“that’s one way to guarantee therapy bills in the future.”

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguro @writingandmusing @corruptedwrathkitsune @thedamselzelda @fyodorssimp1 @vikkinakahara @laylabuurr

[badathumanemotions]

Hey, would you be able to write a nsfw fic with spencer but maybe where a few of the team members decide to play poker at Rossi’s and it turns into strip poker with like a bit of truth or dare and you end up sat on Spencer’s lap with like barely any clothes on or smt. And then like later they end up having to share a room at rossi’s and then yk..

High Stakes

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI Master List Category: Smut CW: Strip Poker, Half Naked Lap Sitting, Grinding, Dry Humping, Oral Sex, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Face Fucking, Dirty Talk. WC: 5,799 I have no idea how to play poker. (Not Proof Read)

"Alright, who's up for a round of poker?" Derek Morgan announced, his eyes scanning the table.

You looked around at the weary but smiling faces of your teammates. After a long, successful case, dinner at Rossi's had been the perfect way to unwind. The aroma of his homemade lasagna still lingered in the air, mingling with the sweetness of their dessert.

"I think I'll pass," Aaron said, pushing back his chair with a stretch. "It's been a long day. I'd love to join you all, but I better get home to Haley and Jack." His eyes crinkled at the mention of his wife and son.

Rossi nodded, understanding. "Alright, I'll walk you out." They disappeared into the hallway, leaving the rest of the team to rearrange the furniture in the den.

You felt a hand on your shoulder. "You in?" Emily Prentiss asked, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

You nodded, trying to hide your nerves. "Sure, I'm in. It's been a while since I played, but I'll give it a shot."

The table was soon set up with cards, chips, and drinks. You took a seat next to Spencer, who was already shuffling the deck with a focused intensity that was a little unnerving.

"Okay, everyone," Rossi called out as he re-entered the room. "Let's get this game started." He took his place at the table, his eyes showing a hint of fatigue. "But remember, I'm only playing a couple of hands. It's been a long day and I need my beauty sleep." His comment was met with laughter from the others.

The first hand of poker began, with Spencer dealing the cards with a swiftness that spoke of his years of experience playing the game. His eyes darted around the table, reading the subtle tells of his teammates. You took a deep breath and picked up your cards, feeling the smooth edges against your fingertips.

As the hand unfolded, the banter grew more playful, the stakes rising with each round of betting. You watched as Derek Morgan's face remained unreadable, his poker face firmly in place. Meanwhile, JJ's occasional glances at her cards betrayed her excitement, while Garcia's fidgeting with her chips was a clear sign she was bluffing.

Spencer's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied his cards, his mind racing through probabilities and possible outcomes. When it came down to the showdown, he laid out a full house with a smug smile. "Well, well, well," he said, collecting his winnings. "It seems like Lady Luck is on my side tonight."

The room buzzed with good-natured groans and teasing. "How does he do it?" JJ jokes, shaking her head.

A couple more rounds went by, the tension rising as the pot grew. Each of you played strategically, the air filled with anticipation and the clinking of chips. Prentiss leaned back in her chair, her arms folded as she studied the table.

Finally, after one particularly intense round, Rossi rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Alright, I think I've had enough fun for one night. I'm going to call it quits and head upstairs." He glanced around the table. "If anyone wants to crash here tonight, the guest rooms are all yours. No need to drive home if you're feeling too tired."

The team bid him good night, their eyes lingering on the chips and cards as they continued to play. With Rossi's departure, the atmosphere grew slightly more competitive. You felt a thrill as the game went on, the camaraderie of the team mixing with the cutthroat nature of poker.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, a devilish grin spread across his face. "You know what would make this night even better?" he suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"What's that?" Prentiss asked, her interest piqued.

Morgan's grin widened. "How about we spice things up a bit?" He suggested, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Strip poker, anyone?"

The room fell silent for a beat before bursting into laughter. You felt your cheeks heat up, surprised by the proposal. Prentiss's smile grew wicked. "Now that's a twist," she said, her gaze flickering to JJ.

JJ caught your eye and noticed your hesitance. She leaned forward, placing a reassuring hand on the table. "You know, we can always play truth or dare instead," she suggested, her voice low and soothing. "It's less… risky."

Morgan's smile grew. "How about both?" he proposed, raising the stakes. "You can opt to either take a piece of clothing off or complete a truth or dare from the group." The room buzzed with excitement and a little trepidation. You swallowed hard, trying to decide if you were ready for this.

Garcia squealed with delight. "I'm in!" she exclaimed, her cheeks already pink.

You took a deep breath, the adrenaline starting to pump through your veins. The thought of playing strip poker was a bit intimidating, but the alternative rule of truth or dare had its own thrill. You found yourself nodding in agreement. "Alright, why not? Strip poker with a twist it is."

The game continued, the stakes now higher in more ways than one. Garcia was the first to go, losing a shoe to a bad bluff. She giggled, tossing it aside and taking a shot of tequila.

JJ's eyes widened slightly as she had to remove her sweater, revealing a tight tank top underneath. The room was getting warmer, and not just from the heat of the game. The tension grew palpable as each player weighed their options: fold and risk embarrassment, or push on and hope for the win.

You felt your heart race as the game continued. With each round, the pile of clothing on the floor grew. Before you knew it, you were down to your last few pieces of clothing.

The next hand was dealt, and you picked up your cards with trembling hands. You had a good hand, but the idea of losing was now more than just about the game. You studied the faces around the table, looking for signs of who might be bluffing.

Morgan leaned in, his gaze intense. "You're looking a little flushed, Y/N," he teased. "Is it the game or the thought of what's next?"

You couldn't help but laugh nervously, feeling the heat in your cheeks spread down your neck. The game had indeed taken a turn, and you found yourself in a situation you never would have imagined when you accepted the dinner invitation. You had continued playing, the excitement and the thrill of the game keeping you in your seat until you were down to just your bra, skirt, and panties.

The hand began, and you focused on your cards. You had a decent hand, but not a sure win. The betting went around the table, each person raising the stakes. You looked around, trying to read their faces, their body language, looking for any hint of what they might be hiding.

As the final round of bets were placed, you felt the weight of the moment. If you won this hand, you could keep your skirt on. If not, well, the thought sent a shiver down your spine. You placed your bet, trying to keep your voice steady.

Morgan called, his smile never wavering. Prentiss folded, a knowing look in her eye. Spencer studied you closely, his cards held tight to his chest. Garcia bobbed in her chair, her curiosity and excitement palpable.

As the tension grew, so did the distraction of your state of undress. You noticed Spencer's eyes darting to your chest every few seconds, the effort he was making not to stare becoming more and more obvious. You couldn't help but feel a thrill of power at the sight of him so flustered. The others had also caught on. They knew Spencer's intense focus was split, and they hoped to use his distraction to their advantage.

The final card was flipped, and you watched in horror as Morgan revealed his winning hand. The room erupted in cheers and whistles, your heart sinking as you realized you had lost your last piece of lower body clothing. With a dramatic flourish, you stood and dropped your skirt to the floor.

Spencer's eyes traced down your legs, his cheeks reddening when he realized he'd been caught staring. He quickly looked away. The room fell silent for a moment before the laughter and clapping began again.

Others had invoked the truth or dare clause here and there, but you hadn't yet. Each time someone chose dare, it seemed to push the boundaries a little further. Garcia had to sing a karaoke song, JJ had to do a sexy dance, and Prentiss had to tell a steamy secret from her past. Each moment had been met with laughter and cheers, but you couldn't shake the feeling that the real fun was just getting started.

The next hand was dealt, and your heart pounded in your chest as you realized you had nothing. You didn't want to remove your bra, so you knew what you had to do. You took a deep breath and announced, "Dare." The room grew quiet, all eyes on you.

Morgan's grin grew wicked. "I dare Y/N to sit on Spencer's lap for the rest of the night." A chorus of laughter and cheers erupted around the table. Spencer's eyes widened in shock, his cheeks burning.

You felt your own cheeks rouge at the suggestion, your heart skipping a beat. Being that close to Spencer, especially in your current state of half-dress, was both thrilling and terrifying. But the excitement of the game and the desire to keep playing overrode your nerves. You nodded, trying to appear nonchalant. "Fine."

Spencer's body moved back before he even had time to process the words. His chair scraped against the wooden floor, creating a sharp sound that echoed in the tension-filled room. He looked up at you, his eyes wide, his expression a mix of surprise and something else that you couldn't quite decipher.

You took a deep breath and slid onto his lap with more confidence than you felt. His body was tense beneath you, his muscles rigid as he held himself perfectly still. You could feel the heat from his body, the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt and into you. Your heart was racing so fast it felt like it might leap out of your chest.

The others smirked as they shuffled the cards for the next round. They could see the electric tension between you and Spencer, and it only added to the excitement of the game. Prentiss began to deal, her eyes glinting with amusement as she took in the situation.

The next few rounds, Spencer's focus was undeniably scattered. His usual poker face was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a constant battle to not look at you sitting on his lap. His hands fumbled with his cards, and his bets were erratic. It didn't take long before the team noticed and capitalized on his distraction.

"Looks like someone's lost their mojo," Prentiss teased, placing her cards on the table with a smirk. You tried to ignore the smug looks from the others, focusing instead on the way Spencer's breath hitched every time you shifted slightly.

The next hand was dealt, and you could see the determination in Spencer's eyes as he picked up his cards. This time, you noticed the way his thumb brushed against your bare skin as he held his cards, and the electricity that shot through you was anything but calming.

You tried to keep your focus on the cards in your hand, but Spencer's proximity was making it near impossible. His breath was warm against your neck, and you could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath you. You thought you had been careful hiding your cards, but apparently, not that careful.

"You're holding your cards too tight," he whispered into your ear, his voice low and gentle. "It's giving you away." You felt a shiver run down your spine, and you couldn't help but lean into him slightly. His scent filled your nose and it made your head swim.

You took a deep breath and tried to loosen your grip, his words sinking in. The whispers continued, his breath warm against your neck as he pointed out small tells from the others at the table. His voice was a comforting rumble, guiding you through the game.

Slowly, the closeness didn't feel so awkward. In fact, there was a strange sense of comfort in having him so near. You found yourself leaning into him slightly, his arm wrapping around your waist in a protective embrace.

As the game went on, Spencer's whispers grew more frequent. He noticed every little detail about the others' playing styles, sharing his insights with you in hushed tones. "Look at how Garcia's thumb is pressing down on her chips," he murmured. "She's bluffing." His voice was low and calming, his words of advice a secret shared between the two of you.

You followed his lead, and slowly, you saw your luck begin to change. You won a couple hands, the pile of chips in front of you growing. The warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, and the gentle guidance of his whispers had a surprising effect on you. You felt more relaxed, more confident. The daring glances and smiles you exchanged with him grew more frequent, hinting at the thrill you both felt.

Then it happened. As you readjusted yourself higher on his lap for better comfort, you felt it. The unmistakable pressure of Spencer's erection against your backside. A blush crept up your neck, and you froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. His breath hitched, and you knew he was just as aware of it as you were. The room's temperature seemed to rise a few degrees.

You wondered how long he had been like that and how you hadn't noticed it before. His arm tightened around your waist, and you felt a low groan in his chest. You felt yourself start to get wet, the heat and the thrill of the moment making your body react despite the situation. You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself.

Without realizing it, your hips had begun to slightly rock against him, the friction sending waves of pleasure through your body. You could feel his cock growing harder with every movement. The others at the table were too engrossed in the game to notice, but you were acutely aware of every little sound and sensation.

Spencer's breathing grew shallower. His hips made the tiniest of movements, pushing back into you in a silent bid for more. You bit your lip, trying to keep your breathing steady, but it was getting harder by the second.

The game continued around you, but the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. Each time his hips rocked against yours, it sent a jolt of desire through your body. You could feel your own breath quickening, your chest rising and falling more noticeably with every shallow breath.

You tried to keep your poker face, focusing on the cards in your hand, but it was difficult when you could feel his hardness pressing into you. Spencer's whispers grew softer, his voice a gentle rumble that made your skin tingle.

Suddenly, Garcia broke the spell, standing up from the table with a dramatic yawn. "Alright, I think I've had enough for tonight," she announced, her cheeks still flushed from the alcohol. "I'm going to crash in one of the guest rooms."

Her declaration created a domino effect. One by one, the others began to nod in agreement. The energy of the game dissipated as they all started to collect their scattered clothing. You felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment as Spencer's arm loosened around your waist.

Reluctantly, you slid off Spencer's lap and began to gather your clothes from the floor. The fabric felt cold against your skin, which was now sensitive from his warmth. You couldn't help but feel the loss of his touch as you dressed, the excitement of the moment fading into a confusing mix of arousal and awkwardness.

"Thank you for a… memorable game," Spencer said, his voice strained as he stood up. His eyes darted around the room, avoiding yours.

You tried to ignore the wetness between your legs as you helped the others clean up, focusing on the mundane task of gathering the cards and chips. Your body was still humming with the tension that had built up during the daring rounds of poker. The room felt too small, too hot, as you tried to act like nothing had changed.

The group chattered about who would take which guest room, the conversation light and easy. Yet, you couldn't help but feel the weight of the moment lingering in the air. The way Spencer's arm had felt around your waist, his erection pressing into you, was etched into your mind.

"Dibs on Morgan!" Garcia exclaimed, slapping a hand on Derek's arm playfully.

You laughed along with everyone else, trying to shake off the lingering tension.

"Alright, let's all head upstairs," Prentiss suggested, breaking the spell. "Three guest rooms, and we're all adults here."

You nodded, eager to escape the charged atmosphere, and followed the group up the stairs. You felt Spencer's gaze on you, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking the same things you were.

Without a word, Emily and JJ claimed the first room they saw. Garcia and Morgan didn't waste any time either, disappearing into the room across the hall. That left you and Spencer, the silence between you heavy with unspoken tension as you both stared at the last guest room at the end of the hallway.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. Spencer's eyes darted to the room before meeting yours. "Looks like we're sharing," he murmured, his voice low and filled with a hint of something that was definitely not disappointment.

With a sudden burst of courage, you grabbed his hand, your pulse quickening. He looked surprised but didn't resist as you led him to the last open guest room.

Once you closed the door, you pushed Spencer to sit at the edge of the bed, his eyes widening as you straddled his lap. His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, holding you in place.

"Do you want this?" you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. His eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation or doubt, but all he saw was the same hunger reflected in his own.

"God yes," he replied, crashing his lips against yours with a fervour that stole your breath. The heat between you was undeniable as your bodies collided, his hands gripping your hips tightly. The kiss was deep and hungry, his tongue delving into your mouth as if he could devour you whole.

You grind against his lap, happy to feel that he was still semi-hard. His grip on you tightened, and you could feel his cock growing harder with every movement of your hips. The feeling was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but moan into his mouth.

Breaking the kiss, you leaned back, panting heavily. Spencer's eyes followed your every move as you stood up and began to strip away your clothing, until you were left in your underwear.

You sat back down onto his lap, this time with a sense of purpose, your legs straddling his. He groaned into your neck, his hands roaming over your bare skin as you kissed along his jawline. His touch was gentle yet firm, leaving a trail of heat wherever he went.

Spencer's fingers slid up the outside of your thighs, his touch feather-light, sending shivers of anticipation through you. His grip tightened as they reached your ass, cupping you firmly. He pulled you closer, aligning your hips with his, and you gasped as his erection pressed against you.

You rocked back and forth, the friction building between your bodies. His breath was hot against your neck, his kisses leaving a trail of fire along your collarbone. You wrapped your arms around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pressure grew.

Suddenly, the angle was just right. Your clit rubbed against his erection with just the right amount of friction, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge. The sensation was intense, your eyes rolling back in your head as you bit back a moan.

With every grind, you grew closer to the edge, your breath coming in short gasps. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body trembling with the effort to stay in control. Then, with a final, desperate thrust, you climaxed, your body shuddering in his embrace.

Spencer watched you, his eyes hooded with lust. He could feel your wetness soaking through the fabric of your panties, and it was all he could do to keep from tearing them off.

With a surprising show of strength, Spencer picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. You gasped as he laid you gently on the bed, his body hovering over yours. He paused for a moment, his gaze searching yours for any sign of hesitation, but all he found was desire mirrored back at him.

His hands traced the line of your underwear, his thumbs hooking under the waistband. Slowly, so painfully slow, he began to lower your panties. You watched as he pulled them down, revealing your wetness to the cool air of the room. Instead of tossing them aside, he folded the damp fabric and tucked it into his back pocket with a smirk.

He spread your legs wide, taking in the sight of you with a hunger that made you blush even deeper. His eyes roamed over your bare skin, lingering on your most sensitive spots. He leaned in, his breath hot against your folds, and you shivered.

Without further teasing, Spencer's tongue darted out, licking a slow path up your slit. You gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily. He took his time, savouring the taste of you. His tongue was soft and insistent, lapping at your clit and dipping into your entrance.

You grabbed fistfuls of the bed sheets, your back arching off the mattress as he worked you into a frenzy. The feeling of his mouth on you was heavenly, his skilled tongue flicking and pressing in just the right places. You were so close, your body tightening in anticipation of another orgasm.

But just as you were about to tip over the edge again, Spencer paused, leaving you panting and desperate. He slid a finger into your wetness, and you could feel him smiling against your skin as he found your g-spot with ease. The addition of his fingers sent a new wave of pleasure crashing through you, making your legs quiver.

As his tongue danced over your clit, his fingers began to move inside you in a rhythm that was both torturous and heavenly. He knew exactly how to hit that spot, his movements measured and precise, as if he had studied your body's every response. You moaned, your body begging for more as he continued to explore you with his mouth.

Spencer's mouth grew more urgent, his tongue lapping and sucking on your clit messily. He was too desperate to care about the wet sounds he was making, too lost in the taste of you to be self-conscious. His teeth grazed your sensitive flesh, and you gasped, your nails digging into his scalp as you held him in place.

He could feel your orgasm building, the way your muscles tightened around his fingers. With one final, deliberate thrust, he pushed you over the edge, his tongue never leaving your clit as you came hard against his mouth.

As your body trembled with the aftershocks of pleasure, you felt a surge of energy rather than exhaustion. The orgasm had been so intense that it seemed to have recharged you. Without warning, you sprang up from the bed, a mischievous grin playing on your lips as you turned to face Spencer.

You reached behind your back and unhooked your bra, letting it fall to the floor. Spencer's eyes widened, his gaze drinking in the sight of your breasts. Your nipples harden in the cool air.

Standing before him, you began to strip Spencer of his clothes. Once down to his last article of clothing you knelt before Spencer, your eyes never leaving his as you gripped the waistband of his boxers. His eyes darkened with anticipation as you began to pull them down his legs, revealing his cock, which stood at full attention. Your heart raced as you took in the sight of him, the anticipation of what was to come making your own body respond in kind.

You reached out and gently touched his cock, feeling the heat and hardness of it. Spencer's breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as you explored his length with curious fingers. The tip was wet with pre-cum, and you couldn't resist leaning in to taste him. Your tongue flicked out, a soft and tentative touch that made him jerk in surprise.

Encouraged, you took him fully into your mouth, his length stretching your lips wide. You could feel his hands tighten in your hair as you began to suck, your mouth moving in a steady rhythm. Spencer moaned, his hips forward to meet your eager mouth. You took him deeper, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag slightly.

You paused for a moment to adjust, then took him as far as you could, holding yourself there and swallowing around his tip. The sensation was overwhelming for Spencer, his eyes rolling back in his head. His hips bucked slightly, pushing himself deeper into your mouth, and you could feel his muscles tightening beneath your fingertips.

Finally, you pulled off of him, licking your lips to catch the last drops of his arousal. Looking him in the eye, you whispered, "Use me." It was a simple request, but it held a world of meaning. You wanted him to take control, to show you the full extent of his power over you.

Without hesitation, Spencer grabbed the hair at the back of your head and guided his cock back into your mouth. You moaned around him. He began to move his hips, fucking into your mouth with a gentle rhythm that grew more urgent with every passing stroke. His grip on your hair tightened.

Your eyes peered up at him, watering slightly from the effort to keep up with his pace. You could see the desire in his gaze, the way his pupils had blown wide with lust. It was a heady feeling, knowing you had this powerful, intelligent man at your mercy, reduced to a trembling mess by your touch.

But Spencer had other plans. He pulled out of your mouth with a soft groan, his hand still tangled in your hair. "Not yet," he murmured, his voice husky. "I want to feel you first."

With surprising strength, he offered you a hand and pulled you up from the floor. Your legs were shaky, but he held you steady. You climbed onto the bed, feeling the cool sheets beneath your knees. You positioned yourself on all fours, the soft mattress sinking slightly with your weight.

You dropped from your hands to your elbows, arching your back and sticking your ass up in the air. You couldn't help but wiggle your hips back and forth, a silent invitation to Spencer.

He moaned at the sight, his eyes glazed over with desire. He scrambled onto the bed behind you. His hand reached out to cup your ass cheeks, the heat of his palms searing into your skin.

Spencer spread your pussy lips apart with his thumbs, revealing the glistening wetness that leaked from your swollen entrance. His groan was low and guttural, a sound that sent a thrill of pleasure through your body. His thumbs traced slow circles around your opening, teasing your sensitive flesh.

With agonizing slowness, you felt the tip of his cock nudge against you. He pushed in gently, the head of his erection parting your folds. You gasped, your muscles clenching around the unyielding intrusion. Spencer waited, giving you a moment to adjust.

Inch by inch, he filled you up, his cock stretching you deliciously. You could feel every ridge and vein, his length sliding deep within you until you were fully impaled. He didn't move for a moment, letting you get used to the feeling of being so completely filled.

Then, once he felt you relax, Spencer set a punishing rhythm, his hips slamming against your ass. The room was filled with the sound of skin on skin, the rhythmic slapping echoing off the walls.

You whimpered, your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to process the sensation. It was intense, overwhelming, but you didn't want it to stop. Spencer's hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding you back onto him with each thrust.

The scent of sex and desire filled the room as he claimed you, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with the wetness of your pussy. Each time he pushed into you, your nipples scraped against the soft cotton of the bed sheets. The friction was maddening, making your already sensitive breasts feel like they were on fire.

Spencer's hands moved to your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh as he adjusted his angle. He threw his weight into each thrust, the force of his hips pushing you further into the bed with every movement.

Then he slid one hand down your body, his fingertips skimming over your stomach and pausing when they reached the apex of your thighs. He found your clit, swollen and sensitive from his earlier attention, and began to rub it in gentle circles.

The combination of his deep strokes and the pressure on your clit was too much. You felt yourself climbing again, the pleasure building to a crescendo. You began to moan, the sound muffled by the pillow you had buried your face in.

Spencer leaned over, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you like that?" he whispered. "Do you like it when I fuck you like this?" He grunts out.

You nodded, too lost in the haze of pleasure to form coherent words. His whispers grew more explicit, describing every little sensation he felt, every way your body was responding to his. "You're so tight, so wet for me," he continues. "Your pussy is squeezing my cock so tight."

With each thrust, he whispered about his desire for you, how long he had fantasized about this moment. "I've wanted to fuck you like this for so long," he groaned. "To feel you this way, to hear you like this." His words were like a drug, leaving you craving more.

"Remember when you were on my lap downstairs?" Spencer panted, his hips never slowing. "How badly I wanted to rip your panties off and bury my cock inside you?"

You moaned, his words painting a vivid picture in your mind. The thought of him wanting you that badly, of him fighting his urges while everyone else played the game, was an aphrodisiac.

As Spencer whispered about how he had imagined watching you bounce on his cock in the middle of the poker game, your orgasm crashed over you. You couldn't hold back the moan that tore from your throat as your pussy clenched around him, the muscles spasming with pleasure.

It was wet and messy, your juices coating his cock with each withdrawal, only to be pushed back in with a slick sound on his next thrust. Your thighs were sticky with your arousal, and the scent of sex grew stronger.

You felt your body tightening around him, your pussy pulsing with each stroke. Your orgasm was still fresh, but the relentless pace Spencer had set had you spiraling towards another peak. His breath was hot and ragged against your ear, his whispers of filthy confessions only fuelling the fire within you.

As Spencer spoke of his fantasies, his hand never ceased its torment of your clit. The pleasure grew unbearable, your body a live wire. Then, as if on cue, another orgasm washes over you, making your legs shake uncontrollably. You cry out, your voice a high-pitched whine.

His thrusts grew erratic, his own need for release becoming apparent. You felt your pussy flutter around his cock, the walls tightening and releasing in time with your racing heartbeat. It was this feeling, the tightness and the warmth of you, that pushed Spencer over the edge.

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself as deep inside you as he could go. You felt his cock twitching, and then the warm flood of his cum filled your pussy. He groaned your name, his hips jerking as he emptied himself into you, his orgasm intense and uncontrollable. The sensation was intoxicating.

Panting, you both collapsed onto the bed, your bodies entangled in a mess of limbs. You clung to him, your chest rising and falling in time with his, your breaths mingling in the quiet room. Spencer's arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as if afraid to let go. You felt his heart racing beneath your cheek. You were both thoroughly exhausted, the passionate frenzy leaving you drained yet content.

After a moment, you lifted your head and met his gaze. His eyes searched yours, seeking reassurance, a silent question hanging in the air. You offered a soft smile, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. The tension dissipated, replaced by a gentle warmth.

As your breathing evened out, you leaned in to capture his mouth in a slow, sensual kiss. The taste of yourself still lingered on his lips. Spencer's arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.

Your hands roamed his body, tracing the contours of his chest and shoulders, the feel of his skin smooth and warm beneath your fingertips. He mirrored your movements, his touch gentle and exploratory, as if committing every inch of you to memory.

Spencer's lips trailed down your neck, peppering kisses that sent shivers down your spine. You nuzzled closer to him, your breathing slowing as the weight of sleep began to claim you. "With how loud we were, we're definitely sneaking out before the others wake up, right?" you whispered against his skin.

He chuckled, the vibration running through you. "Right," he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. You could feel his smile against your shoulder. His hand traced lazy circles on your back, the gentle pressure lulling you closer to slumber.

[mrs-weasley-reid]

MADE HIS MARK

Spencer Reid x bau!reader

Synopsis: a shivery trip to a liquor cellar turned into a steamy secret between friends and a not-so-subtle reveal between a small herd of colleagues. Word Count: 5k+ WARNING: SMUT. please, please, MDNI !!! penetration (piv). unprotected sex (but fr wrap it up!!!). fingering (a lil bit). obsessed!spencer (bc why not?). ex friends with benefits to lovers. a pinch of angst if you squint. cursing. troublemaker spencer reid and reader. not proofread!! A/N: heavily influenced by the song Dress by Taylor Swift. I love me a TS song. I'm obsessed, and I saw the opportunity. Also, this is my first Spencer Reid smut fic. Be nice, and tell me what you think!

  The sharp brush of spring and little kisses from the evening air prompt you to savor the shivery feeling on your skin.

  You take a deep breath before sliding your heels off, dangling them in your hand as you trail down the maze of a hallway in Rossi’s lavish home. Your dress is now a product of a shoddy decision. 

  All you knew was how presentable and wedding-appropriate it was, but you never realized why you would wear such a dress barely sewn for the crisp evening weather in May.

  “Hiding from everyone?”

  A smile instantly layers over your painted lips before you can even raise your gaze ahead. There’s this tickle of warmth that sparks inside of you the moment you hear his voice. Hands shaking in an intense subconscious buzz of excitement. Thrilling.

  No other than Dr. Spencer Reid is ten feet away from you, standing lazily against the wall. His hair is messy from all the magic tricks he tore out to Jack and Henry and, funnily enough, Penelope, too.

  Bright gleam shines on your face, flashing a saccharine smile you can only muster when the receiver is him. You shake your head.

  "Are you?"

  One hand in his pocket. Spencer shyly nods, “I ran out of magic tricks, and Jack figured out one of my tricks halfway through my little show.” He explains without persuasion, staring into space with playful horrid written all over his face.

  You steal the half-full glass from his other hand, cringing at the taste of sparkling cider. “One sip won’t kill you, you know…” You say, shoving the glass back into his hand.

  Spencer laughs, “You’d love to see me drunk, don’t you?” He quips, a sheepish smile growing with each syllable.

  “Very much so,” You nod, making a beeline to the kitchen to find some kind of beverage that’ll knock you out ‘til the next day.

  He follows you like a tail. Your senses feel his warmth, his breath fanning against your exposed back. The feeling of his tall presence behind leaves your breath hitching between inhales and exhales, and you’d love more than his figure on your trail. You ache for something more than the image of him in your wake. You need him merged with your soul, his body tightly pressed against yours. You crave something harsh.

  It’s wishful thinking.

  “What took you so long? Did you not notice I was gone?” He wonders.

  Or is it?

  “It’s cold out here, you know,” Spencer pouts in your peripheral. 

  You want your lips to wipe them off, then turn them into an O.

  “Aww, does pretty boy genius feel lonely?” You tease over your shoulder, tapping his chest with the back of your hand. Your brows jump, twisting on your heels to face him. “I’ll be damned,” You exclaim, pushing your palm against his pec with more pressure.

  It's been so long since you touched him with more than an accidental brush of your fingertips. His body stiffens under your light squeeze. And the thirst for more slowly dries the circumference of his throat.

  “Reid, when’d you get this fit? No wonder women are all over you.” Genuine curiosity takes over, looking up at him with fluttering lashes.

  Spencer scoffs, leaning down eye to eye with you, “I’ve always been hot.” He retorts with a straight face. The confidence radiates, and it does something in the pit of your stomach.

  A brief silence whooshes between your bodies, and the next thing you know, both of you are laughing ‘til your cores cramp.

  You gasp for air, head against his sternum, hand still placed over his pec. “Don’t ever say that in front of Morgan. He might get a stroke.” You begin walking once more, turning your back to him. 

  “I am! Don’t you agree?” You do. He banters a few feet away, keeping a safe distance—or so help the impulsive thoughts that are whirling around his mind. A playful grin works his facial muscles out, only hoping that you didn’t notice the way he takes in your scent like a bait set out for him.

  Spencer didn’t even need to run to catch up with you. His strides are five times longer than yours.

  You feel a soft fabric cover your shoulders, accompanied by a heavy arm that burns your skin in pure reflexive need. “I thought you were cold?” You ask, glancing to your left, where Spencer walks beside you.

  Spencer shrugs, “Rather feeling cold than you getting a cold tomorrow morning. The chances of me getting sick from being cold tonight versus you sneezing on me like a troll is 15 to 85 percent.” He replies calmly, earning a light smack from your hand.

  You roll your eyes, but your smile never travels far. It only happened once. And you both swore once was enough.

  The two of you became friends during your time in the Academy. You’ll never forget the first time you met him. The urge to shove a sock inside his yapping mouth over the repercussions of shaking someone’s hand. Most people say the two of you are best friends. Somehow, his intelligence didn’t set you apart. You tolerated his constant rambles, and he tolerated your random bursts of sass. 

  It's more than that though. The entanglement was more than two friends. More than innocent study sessions. More than a trip to the nearest shooting range.

  As two twenty-one-year-olds who's never felt the most sensual touch before, one minute of forced proximity and all hell broke loose. What seemed so platonic was sexually intimate behind closed doors.

  However, in lieu of staying attached to the hip, the two of you went your separate ways after graduation. You went to pursue each respective interest. You both said no hard feelings. And both believed things would never work anyway, because no one was willing to put in the work.

  The two of you reconnected when you joined the BAU team almost a year ago. Meeting him once again was nerve-wracking. With unresolved fallout and nonexistent communication, it scared you a bit. But you should’ve known Spencer Reid has always been different—good, different. The bond you had didn’t seem too damaged. If anything, it was merely locked in a vault and became stronger than ever before. You managed to be civil—become friends.

  And since then, you never ran out of ways to be in each other’s vicinity. Or he just always succeeded in keeping you interested in his antics. Or you’re just addicted to him more than you’d like to admit.

  But friends don't shake from mere self-control. Friends don't choke on breaths when the other touches them. Friends don't—

  “What percentage of alcohol will you get from Rossi’s cellar?” He curiously asks, his warmth keeping you from shivering.

  The damned dress.

  And his damned loose tie.

  You chuckle shakily, “You’d love to see me drunk, don’t you?” You mimic, throwing back the same antic he used not a few minutes ago. He rolls his eyes, and you open the door to the cellar. “I was tasked to choose the best whiskey ever made.” You announce, sinking deeper into confinement.

  “So you lost a bet.” Spencer laughs, following behind. He shakes his head when you nod yours. “You don’t even drink whiskey.” He smirks.

  “Go back out there, then,” You shoo him away, waving your hands. “I didn’t ask you to join me on my quest.” You add in a giggle, tying your hair up in a messy ponytail after setting your shoes on the table in the middle of the room.

  You don’t see the way he swallows at the sight of your nape. The same way you hadn't notice his self-restraint for the past year, for the entire evening, dipping his hands in his pockets to hide his clenched fists. Because if he doesn't, they just might crave the feeling of your skin against the texture of his palm.

  “And what if you can’t reach the best whiskey?”

  “I’m a federal agent, too, Reid. I’m smart enough to figure that out.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re similar to a hobbit.”

  The brows on your face lift over your forehead. "Excuse me?" Your mouth fall agape in disbelief, scoffing.

  Spencer shrugs, "You're excused."

  Amusement twitch the ends of your lips. "You sure you're not drunk?" Your eyes narrow, scanning him from head to toe.

  "I'm not." He defends. Scarlet skin glows underneath the soft light. Spencer averts his eyes, stealing a mouthful of a sigh from the chilly air. Okay, maybe he stole one glass of scotch from the unit chief, took a sip, and felt his body on fire, so now he's settled down for ciders the entire evening.

  You smirk, "Then, why are you being so clingy?" Arms cross over your chest. You raise a brow in question.

  Spencer rolls his eyes, silently clearing his throat. "Why not? There's no harm in hanging out with you." His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek.

  "There is when said friend is acting like a clingy boyfriend." You say, skimming through the shelves of liquor adorning the walls from ceiling to floor.

  “Right,” Spencer states blandly, finding himself a seat. “I’m just a friend. I can’t act any other way. I can’t even give you any affection, huh?” He deadpans, tracing the wood patterns on the table.

  Your eyebrows crease in the middle of reaching for a bottle. You slowly go up behind him and smack the back of his head without warning.

  “Ow!” He hisses. “What was that for?” Spencer complains, face scrunching in temporary pain.

  “For being weirder than usual.” You say, hitting his shoulder. “Stop it.” You scold, finger-pointing over his chest.

  Spencer is not one to be petty. Never petty over the boys you mingle with for a short period. Never be petty over your tendencies to somehow land on the worst species of men. Since the two of you reconnected as colleagues, he's minded his business. Why now? And why the hell is your heart pounding obnoxiously?

  He theatrically rolls his eyes, “Am I wrong? Aren’t I just your friend?” There is something in his tone that you can't distinguish. His face is awkward and reserved, as always, but something is different.

  You know. You just love lying to yourself.

  “What else are you going to be?!” Even you are surprised at the volume of your voice.

  The creak of the small open window fills the room. None of you dares to say a word. No one dares to breathe within each other's personal bubble.

  You break eye contact first, stepping away, but Spencer has other plans. His hands land on your waist, gripping the flesh to keep you between his legs.

  “That’s a question I’ve been asking myself,” The luminescence of his eyes turns a shade darker. Chocolate hazel eyes gradients to deep earthy irises. Or it may have been the dim lighting in the room and the glass of wine in your system.

  You swallow—roughly like a ball of sandpaper rows down your throat. Fingers lace above his textured ones, wrapping over the long digits to get their bruises off your skin.

  “It’s a simple question. There’s no reason to dread it.” You almost stumble on your words, taking well-needed pauses to huff a small breath. You try to break his grip on you, but they don’t budge one bit. 

  The more you attempt to remove his hold, the more they tighten against the little fabric over your skin.

  Your brows knit. A sigh of defeat escapes your lips as your gaze travels back to him. “Spencer, stop—” Your spine shivers when he starts to lazily move his thumbs in slow, firm strokes.

  Spencer stands in silence, staring at you like you are a doe he preyed on. His eyes start to make your legs melt, and your heart races wildly.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  His gaze flickers over your lips, “Why don’t you answer the question for me? Since you’re so smart, it seems.” A tone of clear mockery spills from his lips. Spencer smirks under his signature smile—smug and utterly amused by the sound of your small, hitched breaths.

  “Can you stop kidding around?” You prattle. A peel of awkward laughter shoots straight down your bones. It was all you could do to relieve the growing tension between your thighs. Or else you’d jump on him like a desperate psychopath.

  "Who says I'm kidding around?" Spencer narrows his eyes. "I never kid around." He squeezes your sides once more and grins when a soft gasp rattles out of you. He hasn't done that in so long, and the nostalgia and buzz spark something in his chest.

  Thick, airy gulp forces itself down your throat. You know why he does it. The same pattern of movements you knew so well in your younger days. The days you spent with him.

  "We can't." It is almost inaudible, but he catches it. You lightly shake your head, backing away, "I-it's not— We can't."

  Spencer raises his brows. "What are you so afraid of?" He reads your features for a moment. The gentle touch of his gaze along your searing skin is electrifying.

  You nibble at the corner of your lip, "Let go of me, Reid." And it seems you love lying to him, too. Because you don't want him to let go. Desperate for his touch. The soft trail of his thumb. The primal clutch of his fingers, like they were claws. It was all too intoxicating to ever want him to let go.

  “Answer the question first.” He flashes the smirk he’s been trying to hide like a villain, exposing his true colors. “I dare you.” Spencer challenges.

  “You know the answer.” Your chest feels like exploding.

  “Say it out loud, then.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because we’re not leaving this position until you do.” His voice sparks fire in your core. Spencer doesn’t let his eyes stray from your moving lips. If anything, he makes a point that he is, in fact, staring at them like a starving lion, ready to pounce at any given moment.

  Oh.

  Well, isn't he such a sweetheart to feed you just what you crave? You don't know where it comes from, nor do you care, but there's at least four liquid cubic centimeters of boldness that flows through your veins.

  Your laughter echoes in the cellar. “Please, or what?” You relax in his hold, convinced that he's just the same lanky guy you've always known. “You going to fuck me like a slut? Not exactly your M.O., pretty boy.” You tease, playfully tapping on his shoulders.

  A low, hoarse chuckle vibrates across his chest. With lust-filled gaze and a thin, mischievous smile, Spencer shifts his eyes to look straight into yours. 

  “Exactly.”

  Your eyes grow the widest they have ever been your entire life. “What—” Before you can stop him, his lips are already clashing against yours.

  Spencer holds onto you as if he is falling off a cliff, and you are a branch about to snap any second. He kisses you aggressively, pulling you so tight, like he needs you glued to him.

  You try to push him, but it doesn't take long until you give in. Until you kissed back.

  You kissed him back.

  You fucking kissed Spencer back.

  The hands that recently danced on his shoulders begin to tug on the soft curls over his nape. The weight of his lips is starting to make your legs wobble.

  Every scrape of his teeth against your stinging lips feels new. It isn't what you're familiar with. Your mind recalls his gentle touches and gentle words as if you'd break if he held you too tight. But the one kissing you isn't. The slice of his tongue over your lips is primal. He's not the Spencer you once knew. He's the Spencer you've been craving, so much so that the mere thought of bruises caused by his grip has been contaminating your mind since you started in the BAU.

  His kisses deepened, warmth enveloping the two of you despite the chilly breeze inside the cellar. With breathless and plump lips, a new strike of desire courses throughout your body the longer you kiss.

  Spencer breathes you in like oxygen, starving for more, never satisfied with just one gentle breath. It's new. And you love it.

  Heaving, you and Spencer pull away, lips detaching and reattaching like magnets ’til distance is too far to push back. His lips are a darker shade of pink, swollen, and adorned with smeared lipstick. You don’t doubt the effect of making out with him gives you any more leverage, imagining your lipstick thickly outlines all over the rims of your mouth.

  Judging by how Spencer stares at you like a satisfied drunken man, you presume he's loving every second more than he's prepared to admit. Most will wonder if his eagerness is merely a product of lost inhibitions. But a simple educated guess tells you that none of his actions are driven by alcohol. He's as sober as an ice cold water splashed over one's face.

  Spencer lifts you on the table, standing between your thighs. The fabric of his pants scrapes against your skin, and your aching cunt throbs at the feeling. He cups your face into his large hands, reattaching your lips once more like it’s an unforgivable sin to keep them apart.

  He pulls away after air fails him, resting his forehead over yours. “I want to be the only one who gets to fuck you like a slut, or so God help me—” Spencer closes his eyes agonizingly slow, “—No man near you will ever see daylight again.”

  Your heart pounds against your chest, and you mentally beg Spencer to do so too—pound against your hips like you’re banned from ever walking again. The pressure of his voice and hot breath fanning against the land of your skin is ecstatically satisfying. 

  Spencer's hand drives up the slit of your dress, and at that moment, you know exactly why you chose to wear such an article of unfriendly clothing amidst your intolerance to the cold wind.

  You wanted him to take it off of you.

  You needed Spencer to take the dress off of you and fuck you hard.

  The tickle of his lips trailing from your jaw to the spot underneath your earlobe has your back arching almost a hundred and eighty degrees. Ever the opportunist, Spencer takes it as his chance to pull you closer, squeezing your thigh with his palm.

  You throw your head back, giving him access to more eager-to-be-touched skin. Legs wrap around his middle in utter pleasure, “Spencer…” You whine breathily, eyes fluttering close at the way he holds your flesh with both hunger and caress.

  His mouth falls agape. Your voice. His name. It’s addicting. His world stops in a millisecond, reveling in the joy of your mouth, uttering his name with the intense pleasure he provides.

  “We’re barely starting,” Spencer whispers against your clavicle, snaking his hand under your dress to the lining of your underwear. He swipes over your clothed clit.

  You twitch under his touch. A total puppet wrapped around his finger while his literal thumb begins to toy with your clit. The pace makes you painfully and deliciously squirm.

  Spencer loves the image before him, especially the rise of your chest as he plunges a finger, then two, inside your needy cunt. It’s the first time he’s ever heard your moans so... needy and begging and desperate and sweet and hot and something he knows you’ve never reached the volume before with other men, and he’s hooked—addicted.

  “You have no idea what your dress did to me the whole night.” He muffles on your neck. Wet kisses echo at the touch of his lips. Spencer buries himself in your scent, one hand unzipping your dress. “No idea how much I wanted to take it off of you.” He whispers next to your ear.

  A hum spills at the ring of his words. His kisses start to sting, and burning hues form on your skin. Spencer marks you with his tongue and teeth.

  It's euphoric. His hunger. His need. And you want nothing else but to give him whatever he wants, the same way he gives you everything you need.

  The sound of his fly distorting in the air makes your skin tingle, nipples perk, and cunt quiver. You whine when he pulls away, already missing his heat. 

  Spencer’s eyes soften, “Are you sure you want this to continue? When we were friends with benefits things didn't work—”

  “Shut up, take my dress off, and fuck me, Spencer.” You heave, or beg, or whichever fits the way you eagerly undo his tie and unbutton his shirt while kissing the soft spot on his neck, marking him yours.

  The vibration of his chuckles sent delicious throbs down to your cunt, drooling to be filled by him.

  “Aren't you needy—” Spencer lifts his arms in defense, “—alright, shutting up now.”

  The cold is nowhere else but the back of your mind. You feel wetness on the peak of his boxers. Spencer's hard erection suffocates him, and you're eager to relieve him in every possible way.

  He immediately sighs when your dress droops down your waist. Spencer takes you in as if you're the most prized art in a museum. He takes every line, scars, birthmarks, or as simple as the crease of your breast into memory. 

  “So, so beautiful…” Spencer murmurs in sheer adoration and awe. He looks up as if God has listened to his prayers as if he’s a passionate believer. Thankful to have you within his reach.

  Warmth coats you with every sweep of his hand on every curve and slope of your body. He’s memorizing each soft plush and perfect flaw. The sentiment alone heightens your arousal like you’ve been touch-starved for years.

  A yelp comes out of you when he unexpectedly spreads the wetness on your folds, touching where you need him most. “Spencer, please…” It’s a plea. A begging need.

  He circles on your clit with more pressure than the first. “You ready for me?” A vigorous nod responds to him while you bite your moans to keep them at bay.

  Spencer pulls you closer by the small of your back. Your ass is almost falling off the edge of the table. The lacey cloth stretched on the side of your entrance. He aligns his slobbering tip with your equally desperate cunt.

  Unsatisfied by your response, Spencer grabs your chin with so much force your bitten lips set free. “I need a verbal answer, sweetheart. I need to hear your voice say the words.” He’s begging, too, aching to slam just about all of him in one push.

  The anticipation is frustrating. "I wa—" With a mere echo jumping out of your throat, Spencer takes it enough confirmation and thrusts his hips to meet yours.

  Temporary pain and electrifying pleasure cause your body to shake, followed by a pornographic moan that Spencer muffles with his hand over half of your face.

  Your mind spins around in endless bliss as his cock throbs at the pressure of your hold. Spencer doesn't move an inch, waiting for your signal.

  “Please… move. Now.” Your voice is caught in the middle of your throat, dragging into a lovely gasp when he pulls back slowly.

  With the tip of his cock the sole filler inside your cunt, Spencer thrusts back so fast, so good. He keeps a steady pace that leaves both of you a moaning mess. 

  Spencer pins your hips on the table, making sure he satisfies you with every force. He sucks a breath in, dizzy at the sight of your breast bouncing on his beat.

  Can he surpass the knowledge that other guys have seen you undone like this? Never. Will he clash heaven and hell for the sake of pleasing you? The almighty and the merciless needn’t make yet another bet because they know Spencer will drag anything, anyone, to kneel before you.

  Because Spencer needs you undone like you have never been before. He craves to be the first to fuck you like it's the last thing you’ll ever do.

  You're addicting. An influence he freely lets himself get sucked in. Spencer wishes he could brand himself with your name, eager to be yours. He's desperate to be called yours.

  Spencer adorns your skin with red and purple hues, beaming at the sight of his marks with every echo of his lips popping yet another possessive tattoo.

  The pleasure he gives sends you beyond time and space. Euphoric daze fogs up your brain. Vision locked inside your skull, eyes permanently rolled into sensual darkness.

  “Spence…”

  Fuck. The nickname drips perfectly off your lips. You and only you can make his cock even harder just by saying his name. He doesn’t try to keep his head from spiraling into desires, desperately imagining all the ways he can own you.

  You gasp shakily, feeling the knot in your abdomen begin to tighten. One, two—five more strokes and you enter a void filled with sparkling stars and mind-numbing pleasure.

  Spencer doesn't stop, just as you wish, through broken moans and nails digging into the thin layer of his skin. Not a single pace slower or faster. And it is fucking blissful.

  Your moans drool off your lips, clenching around his cock. He rides your high like a limited experience that he will never get to try again. Though, you're sure there’ll be more clandestine rendezvous than you both are willing to admit. You both know this isn't the last you’ll ever get a taste of him. And it is not the last time he’ll crave you like oxygen.

  A hand reaches out for his nape, carding your nails at the tangles of his hair. You begin to comb between his curly strands, massaging the scalp beneath. Spencer spits out a tasteful curse dedicated to the pleasure the sensation of your touch has given him.

  “I keep up with my pill. I’m on a good window.” You assure him, breath hitching. “Fill me up, Spence.” You implore greedily, wanting nothing but all traces of him engraved inside and outside of you.

  His mouth slacks open, burying his cock in the deepest part of you. “Fuck, you’re too good to me,” He hisses in utter bliss. Spencer jolts at the ecstasy that vibrates out of him, emptying himself through the depths of your walls.

  Spencer rests his forehead against yours, whispering praises like you suddenly became his goddess. His senses tingle. And he doesn’t want time to continue.

  Your ragged breaths sync with his and soon turn even. Years of yearning are fulfilled in one evening. The prick of his bites floods your senses. 

  “What was the question again?” You giggle out, still, a bit out of breath, breaking the silence.

  Spencer playfully rolls his eyes, zipping up the back of your dress with a kiss on your shoulder. “I basically asked, ‘What are we’ like a typical chick in a movie.”

  “I can’t believe you just said that.” Your sweet laughter follows while Spencer covers you once more with his jacket despite the clear indication of sweat glistening over your forehead that you’re not nearly as cold anymore. "That many?"

  Pride surges across his chest, beaming. "Like a canvas drenched with paint." He softly bites his lower lip, satisfied by the work he has done.

  You glance down, gasping at the sheath of love bites. "More like a slab of beaten up flesh." Your head lifts up to look at him in disbelief. Spencer painted every inch of your skin, no space left untouched. You don't even recognize your skin anymore.

  "Maybe this will help," He reaches on the back of your head, tugging on the band. Your hair drapes over your neck.

  "No, Reid. It does not help at all." Blinking, you slap his arm lightly, earning a shrug and a peck on your lips. He simply fastens the buttons of his jacket on you, covering everything the fabric can.

  He hunches down to pick up the tie you discarded on the floor. When he stands back up, he says, “We can keep this between us for now while we figure things out if you’d like. But we have to agree on one thing.” He tucks in a wild strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m yours, and you don’t have a choice. Sounds good?”

  You giddily smile, nodding as you dangle your weak legs over the table. “What about me? Can’t I be yours?” You coax, fixing his tie.

  "Do you want to be? Because I'm content with just pleasing you every chance I get. I'm not in a rush."

  "Spencer," You take his face in your hands. "Do you really want to just be friends with benefits?"

  He swipes his tongue over his lower lip. "No..." Spencer squeaks under his breath.

  You nod, humming. "Good, because I don't want you like a best friend either." You flatten the crease on his shoulders.

  "So?" Spencer chases your eyes, hoping he can read your mind.

  "So, you're mine, and I'm yours. Sounds better, don't you think?"

  "Sounds great." He simpers, helping you get back on your feet.

  The two of you come back to the others with the worst whiskey in the cellar. Your hair is neat, and your lipstick is replenished. His tie sits presentably on his chest and hides the smallest purple mark on the base of his neck. Intricate measures for intricate people.

  Derek complains. Penelope agrees. Rossi objects. Hotch sips his drink with no care. Emily laughs hysterically. JJ shrugs. 

  No one knows. Or no one cares. But the secret remain as is.

  Perks of being seen as the most platonic friends. More so than the great Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia. What they know nothing about won’t hurt them, right? And it’s not like it’ll be any worse if they did.

 Yet the absence of suspicion brews boredom and discontent. How come the others are suspicious enough, but not you and him? What's so dull in the air between you and Spencer that no one dares to wonder if romance ever crossed your minds?

  Spencer drags his fingers on your thigh under the table. And no one suspects why you never take off his jacket despite dancing the night away. 

  And as the night deepens, like any other gathering, the group disperses into different areas and smaller groups.

  “So?” JJ starts, wiggling her eyebrows. 

  “What?” You chuckle into the wine in your glass.

  JJ rolls her eyes, “Did you give the photographer your number?”

  Oh, yeah. You’d forgotten about the entire thing, glancing at the photographer who happens to have his lens on you. He smiles shyly, but you swear in your life that your shy boy is a lot more charming.

  “Because if not, I think Will’s cousin has his eye on you, too,” JJ adds with a mischievous smile. The most supportive friend you’ll have. How will she react when she finds out?

  You smile, looking far ahead at the pair of brown eyes.

  Spencer returns the smile, Hotch’s voice muffling in the background.

  “Like I said, it’s quite a little paperwork, but if you want to try things out and date, I have no problem with helping you out,” Hotch advises between sips of warm whiskey, talking about that one agent who approached Spencer at the bullpen thrice. What will he think when he finds out two of his agents are participating in fraternization?

  They have no idea. Not an inkling of doubt whatsoever.

  The naivete. It bores you and Spencer. It’s prosaic. It’s unglamorous.

  From one end to another, the same words echo.

  “I’ll have another drink.”

  The two of you stand from each end, meeting over the table with vast choices of alcohol. You pick up a glass as Spencer stands next to you.

  “Take it off?”

  “Take it off.”

  And you went separate ways.

  JJ’s eyes widen at the small hint of marks on your chest, jacket slightly drooping over your shoulder.

  Hotch doesn’t say a word when he notices the hickey on Spencer’s neck when the younger agent loosens his tie and undoes one button—and Hotch quotes—because of the heat. His peripheral catches JJ, Emily, and Penelope hovering around you like a group of crows scavenging for some sort of fleshy information he thinks he knows what’s about.

  “A simple no would’ve suffice,” Hotch says evenly. “But you’re still filling out paperwork. Am I clear?”

  Spencer stifles a smug smirk, looking down on his drink. “Clear.”

reid masterlist | masterlist

[mitchellnman]

THE SIMPLEST SOLUTION. PT 1.

MDNI.

Martin x reader x Michael Gavey

Word count: about 3.7k

Warnings: porn with very little plot, afab reader, she/her pronouns, cunnilingus, messy feelings, Martin's chill, Michael's not.

A/n: hi hello welcome to my random unbeta'd fic please enjoy

"I don't fucking get it." You groaned, your fingertips coming up to rub at your temples - though what you really wanted to do, was rip your hair out, and smash the mathematics textbook over —

"I didn't expect much from you, but really."

His head. Michael Gavey. Your math tutor. You had made a deal with him a few weeks ago, and who knew that the unassuming genius would turn out to be the devil incarnate? Certainly not you. It had been simple; his brain, your fingers.

Not like that. He wanted to learn how to play guitar, and you, with your band that played on the weekends at the local pub, considered yourself to be damn good at it. It had seemed fair, at the time. But now, tears pricked at your eyes, and you felt like a child again, sitting across the table from your father as he explained long division to you again, and your brain refused to comprehend it.

"Asshole." You muttered.

He smirked, and set his pencil down. "Perhaps if you spent more time studying, and less time with your greasy boyfriend, you'd understand."

"And maybe if you got laid once in a while, you wouldn't be such a cunt!" You spat back at him. You stared at each other, glaring fiercely, anger bubbling beneath the surface. He exhaled slowly, through his nose.

"One more try. Then we'll call it a night. Deal?" He asked, trying to reason with you.

He liked seeing you angry. It excited him, thrilled him - but he didn't want to make you too angry, and have you leave him. He knew you had a boyfriend, that imposing cryptid that you kissed on the cheek, and the lips, and—

He coughed, mentally wiping his mind of that image. He knew he was jealous, he had come to terms with it weeks ago, after a quick and hot rub of his crotch made him cum so hard he saw stars, face buried in the pillow you had plopped on your lap. It wasn't fair that Mark, Matthew, whatever his name was, got to hold you, got to touch you, taste you, and Michael only ever got to frustrate you.

He knew he was jealous. But you couldn't know that. It would ruin everything.

"Michael, no matter how many times you explain this thing, it doesn't make sense." You said, utterly frustrated with yourself. Your hands did go up to your hair then, tugging.

Michael pressed his lips together, and patted your shoulder. It was the only part of you that he permitted himself to touch, beside your hands when they brushed, knees when they knocked. "Let me try to show you a different method. A new perspective, if you will." He offered, his voice softer, and a touch sweeter.

You agreed - without much of a choice. Despite your reservations - by the end of the night you understood the problem, and Michael even had you explain how to solve it to him. He'd never say it, but he was proud of you, it was written all over his face.

You gathered your things and tucked them in your old black backpack, the one with the straps that you had to resew every six months. Michael watched you for a moment, then turned and started to rifle through a drawer. As you turned to say your goodbyes, he was there, holding a crunchy bar.

"For you." He said.

You smiled, brighter than the moon on a clear night. "You're sure?"

"Of course."

You took it from his hand, your fingers brushing against each other. Michael opened his mouth to say something, but your phone pinged before he could make a sound.

It was a text from Martin, your boyfriend.

[ just got dinner. Omw. ]

You smiled, and shot a quick text back. "I gotta go, Michael. Thank you so much, for the candy, for everything."

You bade a quick goodbye, and jogged down to the parking lot, where Martin was pulling up.

In his room, Michael seethed with jealousy, now that he was free to show his true face. He paced the room back and forth, so hard that he might wear a hole in the carpet - that's when he noticed you'd left your jacket behind. Black, oversized, with some band logo on the sleeve. Martin's, probably. With a twist of his stomach, he thought, you'd look better in one of his sweaters.

Michael plucked the hoodie up by the collar, holding it away from him like it might bite him. He licked his lips. Slowly, he brought it closer and closer, until his lips brushed over the ratty fabric. He inhaled, deeply.

It smelled like you. Not entirely like you, there were still hints of him. Of Martin. Sweat and oil and other godawful chemicals he liked to play with. Him and his models. Michael sneered, but only for a second. He pressed his face fully into the hoodie, smashing his glasses against the bridge of his nose.

He moaned.

Martin greeted you with a smile as he pushed the passenger door open from his side, the hinges squeaking in protest. You climbed in, and he tapped his cheek. With a laugh you obliged him, and planted a warm kiss to his jaw. The car smelled like dinner, ramen from a local place that held many of your memories together, laughter, fretting over bloodied knuckles, all of it.

"How was it?" He asked. He watched you buckle in, and took off once you were secure.

"Well," you said, pulling out Michael's crunchy bar. "I did so well, he gave me a reward."

Martin chuckled dryly. "Wait 'til we get home, I'll give you an even better one." His hand fell from the steering wheel, and onto your knee. His fingers found the holes in your jeans, and he started tracing the skin of your knees with light, teasing strokes.

You shivered. "Don't start, or I'm going to have to start, too."

In response, Martin squeezed your thigh. "I'm a good driver, but I don't know if I'm that good." He mused. "Besides, I couldn't look at you. That's the best part."

After dinner, while you were brushing your teeth in the bathroom, Michael texted you.

[ you left your jacket here. I only just noticed. ]

You swore quietly, and smacked your forehead. "Stupid." You muttered.

[ will you be there tomorrow? I can pick it up in the afternoon. I'm swamped in the morning. ]

You waited for a long moment. Then finally,

[ I'll be here. ]

[ thank you, Michael ❤️ ]

"Everythin' alright?" Martin asked, leaning against the doorframe. "I heard you swearin'."

You nodded. "I left my hoodie at Michael's. He was just letting me know."

"Awful nice of him." Martin mused. "Better than what I'd have done."

"Oh?" You asked, setting your phone down. "What would you have done?"

Martin grinned that evil smile of his, and sauntered closer to you. He was shirtless, post-shower, and just in a pair of gym shorts. You, meanwhile, wore one of his shirts, and a pair of boxers. He leaned down, and flicked the tip of his finger over your chin. "I would have fucked it until it smelled like me." He whispered, so close you could feel his warmth radiating off of his skin. He licked the tip of your nose with his ever-blue tongue. "Every time you wore it, you'd think of me."

His arms snakes around your waist, and brought you flush against his chest. His wet hair tickled your cheeks, like his lizard's tongue did when he had her 'kiss' you goodbye. Martin kissed you then, his fingers pressing into your flesh. You hooked your arms around his neck, and he pushed you against the counter, his desire evident against your stomach.

An hour later, you were both fast asleep, the scent of sex lingering in the air. You were curled against his chest, and his arms were around you, just like they always were - protective and possessive.

The next morning, he drove you to college as usual. You shared a long kiss goodbye, and went about your day. You took notes, studied, did everything a good student should do. Then at about 2, you made your way up to Michael's dorm room. You lifted your hand to knock, but Michael opened it before you could.

"Oh, hello-"

"What are you . . Oh, yes. Hoodie." Michael shook his head, as if to say 'duh'. "Come in."

"I can just grab it and go if you're busy—" you offered. Michael was unusually out of sorts, his hair unkempt, wearing the same clothes from yesterday, his eyes staring only at your neck.

"No, no. That's alright." He said. "I was just going to go to a vending machine for a snack." He met your eyes finally, something simmering beneath the surface. "I see Martin's made a snack out of you."

You frowned. "What do you-? Oh, shit—" You pushed past him and took a look at yourself in the mirror; Martin had left his mark on you indeed, four hickeys in the vague shape of an 'M'. "He knows better, damnit." You sighed, rubbing your forehead.

Michael watched you, and tilted his head to the side. "You don't like it?"

"I go to an ivy league college with a blue collar background, I just —"

"You want to make a good impression on people you'll never see again." Michael deadpanned. "You don't want them to think you're a slut."

You rolled your eyes. "I hate when you do that."

"What?"

"Make a good point but deliver it like an asshole."

He grinned, cheekier than you'd ever seen him. "Your hoodies on the edge of the bed - I had to move it to sit." Michael explained.

You nodded gratefully. "Thank you." You said, immediately tugging it on. You sniffed it as you did - and it smelled like Michael. That made sense, it had been in his room all night. He smelled different than Martin, very clean, with hints of cologne and sweetness. It made you smile, a soft fondness crawling into your heart.

Michael let out a quiet sigh of relief. He hadn't, as Martin said, fucked the hoodie. He'd slept with it, his face buried in the fabric, inhaling your scent as much as he could - and he humped the mattress. For a very long time, longer than he'd realized. He only woke up a half hour ago, and tidied everything in a mad dash, and hoped you wouldn't notice anything amiss.

The little 'M' on your neck made his mouth go dry. For a moment, he pretended that you were his, and that 'M' stood for Michael, not Martin. He swallowed.

"Are you alright?" You asked. You stepped closer to him, brow furrowed in concern. Michael looked like he might be sick. You pressed the back of your hand to his forehead. "Michael, you're burning up." You whispered.

He let out a strangled noise. "I'm fine." He insisted. He took your hand in his, then looked at it like he didn't quite know what to do with it. "I..." He took a breath, and shook his head. "I think I just need to eat. I was up late, erm, reading."

You frowned, not believing him for a second. "Michael, I—"

The world stopped. He pulled you flush against his chest, and he smashed his lips against yours.

You never saw it coming.

Well - maybe a little. The two of you had some sort of tension, but - you had Martin, and Michael didn't seem the type.

You pushed him away as suddenly as he had tugged you in. "What the fuck, Michael?!" He tasted sweet. Like a crunchy bar.

He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes wide. "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry - I don't know what came over me—" As you watched, tears welled up in his eyes. "I'm so sorry." He whispered, his voice cracking.

"Why did you do that?" You asked, hugging yourself tightly. "You know I'm dating Martin..."

"I know." He said weakly. "I know you are, and, and it kills me."

You stared at each other, tears streaming down each other's faces. You didn't know what to say. You liked Michael, you did - he was kind when he wanted to be, smart, sometimes even funny - and sure, he was cute, but —

"I have to go." You whispered.

"Don't tell him." Michael pleaded. "I'm begging you."

You shook your head. "I have to, Michael."

"He'll kill me." Michael said, his hands starting to shake.

"No, he won't, I promise." You wiped your face with the sleeves of your hoodie. "He's not like that."

"He does that ... car-jitsu!"

"He's got daddy issues, not anger issues." You laughed weakly, and Michael's heart broke a little. "I'll talk to you... sometime. I'm sorry." You said, unsure why you were apologizing.

Michael nodded, and hung his head. "I'm sorry." He whispered again, and you knew he meant it.

You took the bus home, and waited on the couch for Martin to get home from work. You tried to stop the flood of tears, but it was all for nothing. When he came home, you were sobbing softly into a pillow, and he curled around you, immediately comforting you.

When you told him what happened - he didn't have much of a reaction. In fact, he chuckled.

"Martin, it's not funny!" You said, smacking at his chest. "How am I supposed to go back there and face him?"

"Seems pretty simple to me." Martin mused, a shit-eating grin on his face. "An easy solution, if you will."

You frowned, and smacked his chest again. "You're not Gandalf, stop speaking in riddles!"

Martin laughed again, rubbing his chest. "What I'm sayin' is, I don't mind sharin'."

You squinted at him. "But I don't—"

"You do. I've seen the way you talk about him. Even if you don't know it, you're sweet on him, just a little." Martin shrugged, totally nonchalant.

"I am not, he's an asshole, and a know-it-all—"

"First, isn't he quite literally a genius? Sort of his job, innit? Second, you're blushing."

You clapped your hands to your cheeks, and were utterly dismayed to find that he was correct. Your face was flushed, and your skin practically burned underneath your fingertips. "I hate this." You whispered, utterly mortified.

Martin grunted. "Eat dinner with me. Sleep it off. We'll go see him tomorrow. What's his schedule?"

You pressed your fingers into your forehead, gently massaging yourself. "It's Saturday, so - nothing. And knowing him, he'd be holed up in his room anyways. He thought you were going to kill him."

Martin laughed. "Poor guy. I bet I could make him cry."

"Martin!"

"I'm kidding!"

You woke up the next morning groggy and sleepy, but feeling a little better than you had last night. Martin kissed your nose, and you smiled, curling into him, burying your face in his chest. He held you there, running his fingers through your hair. You stayed like that for an hour, just enjoying each other's presence.

"Get dressed." He whispered, patting your hip. You looked up at him with a soft smile, and he squeezed your ass in return.

So you got dressed, in jeans, a t-shirt, and the hoodie from yesterday. You ate breakfast with Martin, pancakes and bacon. Then, you got in the car, and drove to college.

"He lives on the third floor." You said, taking Martin's hand to lead him to Michael's room. Your stomach flip-flopped every step of the way, and once you reached Michael's door, you hesitated. "Martin-"

"Go on." He said. "I'll behave."

"Bullshit." You snorted. But, you knocked.

Michael opened the door - he'd showered and changed clothes, you noted. He looked awfully sorry for himself as he looked at you - then he glanced at Martin, and he gulped. "Hullo." He whispered.

"Hi..." You said. "Can we come in?"

"I thought you said he wasn't going to kill me."

"He won't." You promised.

Martin rested his chin on the top of your head, and he winked at Michael. Michael shivered, but he let you in.

"What's going on?" He asked, closing the door behind you two. "I'm sorry about yesterday, I don't know what came over me."

"I know. I get it." Martin said. To prove his point, he kissed you, lifting your chin up with two fingers. Michael watched, his lips parted. "Believe me, Michael, I understand..." Martin purred, his arm snaking around your waist. "It'd be awful rude of me not to share."

Michael coughed, choking on his own spit. "If you're fucking with me, this isn't funny."

"We're not." You said. "I promise we're not. Michael... you don't have to. But you can if you want." You held your hand out to him, the black nail polish on your fingernails chipped.

He pressed his lips together, fidgeting in place. "I've never - I don't know what to do." He admitted, guilt flashing across his face.

Martin grinned. "Take her hand. We'll show you."

Michael stared at the pair of you, and after a long moment, he did take your hand, his palm sweaty. You smiled, and pulled him closer, just as close as he had you yesterday. You kissed him, slowly and softly at first. Michael was slow to reciprocate, but soon enough he was whining against your lips.

"Easy, poindexter." Martin chuckled. He slid his hands up your waist and under your shirt, his hands cool against your skin. "How badly do you want to taste her?"

Michael gasped, his pretty cheeks flushing a bright red. "I - that's -"

"It's a simple question." Martin said, his hands sliding up your chest, to cup your tits. You hadn't worn a bra, and your breath hitched in delight.

"I mean - I suppose I would - I don't know what to do." He stammered.

Martin grinned. "I'll teach you. Hey, get on the bed."

You obeyed, laying down on your back. Martin took your hoodie off, and looked over his shoulder at Michael. "Get in between her legs. Have you ever seen a pair of tits in real life?"

Michael shook his head as he climbed onto the bed with you two, his hands shaking. You smiled, propping yourself up on your elbows.

"Tell you what, if you can make her come, you can touch them. How's that sound?" Martin asked.

You nodded. "I like the sound of that."

Martin licked his lips, equally eager and nervous. "A-agreed."

"Arms up, babe." Martin said. You obeyed, and your shirt was removed. Michael's eyes went wide when he saw your tits, his mouth gaping wide.

"Watch." Martin instructed. He bent down, and kissed your chest, dragging his tongue over your skin. His lips wrapped around your nipple and you moaned, wrapping your hand in his hair. He suckled there for a moment, his hand teasing your other nipple. He lifted his mouth to speak.

"Take her pants off." He instructed.

Michael obeyed. His fingers fumbled with the snap, but soon enough he was tugging them down your thighs, and pushing them to the floor. He eyed your panties, nearly drooling with want.

"Take those off, too." Martin said.

Michael touched you reverently - he was living a waking wet dream, he wanted to savor this. He slid your panties down your legs, and you bit your lip.

"Put them in your pocket." Martin said, sucking a mark into your chest.

Michael nodded, and stuffed them away with a cheeky grin. "Now what?"

Martin chuckled. "Take your best shot."

Michael bit his lip, and slowly lowered his face to your core. He gave you an experimental lick, humming at your taste. He spread your lips, and licked you again - and he clearly knew his anatomy. He rubbed your clit with his tongue, and you moaned softly, your free hand tangling in his hair, too.

"That's it..." Martin purred. "Good boy. Use your fingers, too."

You were already wet for Michael, he was delighted to find. Slowly, he pressed a finger inside of you, his breath hot on your skin.

"Do this." Martin said, demonstrating a 'come hither' motion with his fingers. Michael watched, and committed it to memory. "You'll know if you're doing a good job."

Michael mimicked the motion, and he found your sweet spot with utter ease. Your hand tightened in his hair, and he groaned against you, his hips rocking against the mattress.

It was all so much, being worshiped so feverishly by the pair of them, Martin practically drooling on your tits, and Michael sucking on your clit like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

Which, it was.

It didn't take much to coax you over the edge, and you cried out, squeezing Michael's head between your thighs, the cold wire of his glasses pressing into your skin.

Michael made a sudden choked noise, and by the stuttering of his hips - he had come too, whining pathetically against you. You moaned, and forced your thighs to relax.

Michael sat up from your aching core, his mouth and chin covered in your slick. His glasses were fogged up, and he gave you a cheeky smile. Martin lifted his head from your tits, and kissed him. Michael choked, and shoved him away. Then their lips came smashing back together, Martin hungry for your taste on Michael's lips. You gasped softly, watching Martin's blue tongue disappear into Michael's mouth. Martin took Michael's hand and guided it inside of you. They each had two fingers in your wetness, and they found your sweet spot together.

You squirmed and moaned as Martin uses his free hand to tug on Michael's sandy locks, wrenching his head back. Michael groaned, and as Martin gave him a 'M' mark, his teeth sinking into the genius' skin, you came hard, squirting on their fingers. Your hands twisted in the sheets, so hard they might rip. Your back arched as you cried out their names, your vision going white.

As you came to, panting softly, the boys settled in by your sides. Michael's hand squeezed your tit, and he smiled, nosing into your neck.

"Do you think you're up to fuck her? Martin asked, his voice taunting.

Michael gulped.

To be continued...

[syneilesis]

[fic] After Dark

After Dark

Love and Deepspace | Sylus (Qin Che) x Main-Character!Reader | Explicit | 675 words | ao3 link

Sylus eats you out.

A/N: This fic is just Sylus performing cunnilingus on you (f!MC). That's it. That's the fic.

“Still there?”

His dusk voice cleaves through the thick, musky air, and your mind rings a warning. You try to jerk away, but a hand slides down your thigh, grips your hip. In the dimly lit room, Sylus's touch burns like phoenix fire, a rebirth of your senses, hot with relish.

Your stomach tightens, a gasp escapes.

“Surely that's not all you can take.” Bracketed by your trembling thighs, his head lowers. Murmurs against your mound, “The night is still young, I haven't even started.”

“Sylus—”

A light kiss, and your eyes shut. All you can do right now is lie there naked, Sylus between your legs, and sob from sheer pleasure. He parts your folds with his tongue and licks up a stripe, kisses your clit. Sucks. He hums like he enjoys your reactions, like he's planned this for a while now. The hand on your hip moves towards your middle, and his thumb gives a light press, slides downward.

“Sylus—”

“Didn't I say that I can do this all night?” When he lifts his head to look at you, his mouth and chin shine with your slick and his saliva. And there must be something in your expression, because he smirks wickedly and makes a slow, savoring show of licking his lips—and something inside you sparks into life, one of your thighs twitching against his cheek.

Urgent: “Sylus, I—”

His other hand on your thigh: fingertips ghostly dancing down, down, down, goosebumps in their wake. Sylus maneuvers so his thumbs open you, and under his heavy, molten gaze you feel vulnerable, shy. It makes you want to clam shut.

Sylus notices. “None of that,” he says. Commands. A kiss on your inner thigh, followed by a nip, before he fully feasts on you.

Sylus eats you out like you're a challenge he has to conquer—it's all about the victory and the reward. All your moans, your whimpers, your sighs—his name on your lips—they fill the silence of the room along with the wet sounds his mouth makes as he brings you to an unceasing wave of pleasure.

His tongue enters you and mimes the act of intercourse, a sound forming in his throat, low and carnal that you can't help but clamp your thighs together, trapping his head.

His laughter, rich and dark, reverberating inside you.

He's relentless, merciless, even as you cry his name and your hips roll, erratic, your back arching off the bed, your hands desperately clawing the sheets. Pleasure like electricity, pleasure like heat, cresting and cresting under his mouth, his clever and wicked tongue.

“Sylus, Sylus, Sylus—”

All he responds with is a groan, but the roughness of it—discomfort and desire wrapped in a layer of crumbling control—is what undoes you. Aching tightness, and then release, the pleasure like a landslide overwhelming you and burying you under it. You don't realize that you're screaming his name, tears streaking down your face, senses blind to everything except the pleasure, and his mouth.

When you come to, you see Sylus leaning back, panting, wiping his mouth with his knuckles, harsh satisfaction in his grin. His eyes find yours, and that smile widens, sharpens.

“Phenomenal?” He's goading you, you know, teases a reaction out of you, but you're too wiped out to even summon a word. He chuckles at that and, in a fit of roguish inspiration, drags his tongue across the length of each of his fingers, tasting your slick.

That yanks a whimper out of you.

“I'll be nice to you,” he goes on, moves to align his body with yours, and you can feel his cock, hot and hard and straining. “I'll let you catch your breath first. But after that …”

He pauses, appears to think for a moment, but then he kisses you, open and wet and thrilling.

“After that,” he says once you both part for air, “you better get ready.”

Then he moves to your ear. His breaths warm, tickling; you shudder.

Sylus whispers: “Because I'm just getting started.”

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Bonus Chapter

I am a simple woman. The people ask for a smut bonus chapter and who am I to deny them. So here, I come to you, bringing nothing but my smutty wares. 5,000 words of pure Azriel smut for your enjoyment.

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 5K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

SMUT BELOW MINORS DNI

As you let your hand slide back down Azriel's back, feeling the contours of his muscles through his shirt, his head fell back to rest on your shoulder. You bit your lower lip, letting your eyes take in every feature of his face—his strong jawline, the way his dark lashes framed those intense eyes. Eyes that were now locked on you with an unmistakable desire. His lips slightly parted, breath heavy as he moved one scarred hand to your cheek, brushing away stray hairs that had fallen across your face. His touch was warm, and you couldn't help but lean into it; the rough texture of his calloused fingertips grazing against your soft skin sent shivers down your spine.

You let your eyes close as he pushed the hair behind your ear, your fingers wandering beneath the hem of his shirt to explore the taut muscles of his back. Feeling emboldened, you wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him closer. As if to reward you for your boldness, he chuckled softly under his breath before leaning in to capture your lips with his own. The sensation of his warm lips against yours was intoxicating—his other hand joined its counterpart on the other side of your face, drawing you in deeper and tighter.

When you finally broke the kiss, both of you gasping for breath, his hands stayed firmly around your face as he whispered fervently, "I love you with everything I have." You leaned in for another kiss—softer this time, a mere peck to satisfy the growing hunger within both of you. As you pulled back, Azriel's eyes lingered closed as if savoring the lingering taste of your lips.

With a gentle smile, you slid your hands from beneath his shirt to tangle them in those silky black curls. You pulled him forward until your lips barely grazed his ear and whispered provocatively, "I want you to earn my trust." The guttural growl that erupted from the back of his throat sent a thrill of anticipation through your body. His hands, once tender, now gripped the edges of the countertop on either side of you, knuckles white with exertion as he pulled back to look at you, eyes darkened by lust.

Azriel gazed up at you from beneath heavy lashes, his head tilting to the side inquisitively. "And what can I do to get you to trust me?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.

Your lips trembled with anticipation as you bit down on them, your eyes glinting naughtily. Azriel's gaze was unrelenting, his desire for you evident in the way the countertop strained under his grip. "Seems like a tough decision to make," you purred back at him.

Azriel's hips swayed back and forth as he leaned into the counter, shaking his head and chuckling. He looked up at you through dark lashes as you raised a seductive brow. "Well?" You asked, your voice dripping with allure.

The tip of Azriel's tongue traced the edge of his teeth, causing his lips to part slightly as he studied you, taking in every inch of your body. Rising to his full height, he released his hold on the counter and loomed over you, filling your vision with his powerful frame. A sly smirk tugged at his lips as he spoke. "You are quite complex, my lovely girl."

"And you enjoy unraveling secrets," you countered, a mischievous glint in your eye. "It seems we are evenly matched."

Azriel's smile widened, looking almost sinful as he gazed up at the ceiling before meeting your eyes again. "Are you sure you're ready for what's about to happen?"

In response, he cupped your jaw with one hand and tilted your head up to meet his gaze. His thumb grazed across your lower lip and you couldn't resist kissing it, pulling it between your own lips hungrily. You nodded eagerly, wordlessly conveying your trust in him.

With that confirmation, Azriel pressed soft kisses along your shoulder, eager to explore more exposed skin. As he did so, he effortlessly lifted you from the counter, wrapping his arms securely around your thighs and rear. Your legs instinctively wrapped around him, feeling the growing excitement pulsating within his pants. He let out a low, guttural moan as if in response to your touch alone.

As Azriel carried you up the stairs, his lips peppered your skin with soft kisses, igniting a fire within you. You couldn't help but tangle your fingers in his dark hair, eliciting low groans from him as he pressed his face against your chest. With each step, the anticipation grew, until finally you were in the bedroom, where Azriel laid you down gently on the plush comforter and pillows. As you released your legs from around him, one leg slid up to curve against his body while the other extended out. His fingertips traced intricate patterns on your thigh as he claimed your lips with force. You eagerly gripped onto his hair, pulling and tugging for control, both of you lost in each other's embrace.

Releasing your legs from around his waist, one leg slid up to rest against his body while the other extended out.

Azriel's skilled fingers traced patterns on your thigh as he pressed his lips forcefully against yours, igniting a fire within you. You pulled at his hair for control, but it was clear that both of you were lost in each other's embrace.

With a subtle grind of your hips against his, you could feel his hardening desire for you pressing against your core. Azriel let out a low growl of pleasure as he tangled his fingers in your hair, increasing the pace of his movements.

Your own moans echoed through the room as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, giving him more space to join you. As you did so, Azriel moved onto his knees and settled himself between your legs. His weight pressed down onto your chest and stomach but he balanced himself carefully so as not to crush you completely. With your head resting on soft pillows behind you, your legs once again found their place around Azriel's hips. His hand ran down the length of your thigh, still clothed, to knead at your ass.

One hand left his dark curls and began to explore the hard planes of his chiseled jaw, tracing along the veins in his muscled neck before moving down to his broad shoulders and strong arms. You tugged at the base of his shirt, silently urging him to remove it, greedily eager.

Azriel leaned back on his heels, giving you an unobstructed view of his torso. Your fingers itched to trace every line and curve, but instead they focused on the ties and buttons that kept his bare skin from your gaze.

His scarred fingers replaced your own and deftly worked at the ties and buttons. As Azriel's breath hitched, you allowed your hands to wander lower, skimming over his hardened length. His hips rose to meet your touch, urging you on. You obliged, wrapping your palm around him and massaging up and down as he moaned softly, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, his breaths to come out in labored pants as he struggled to focus on removing his clothing.

Finally, with a frustrated growl, Azriel discarded his garments behind him without a second thought. His wings extended to their full length before crashing back down upon you.

With one arm wrapped around your back, he pulled you into a passionate arch that left your chest rising and falling rapidly. Your hand was trapped between your bodies, but you didn't mind as Azriel's lips left yours and trailed hot kisses down your neck and behind your ear. You couldn't help but pull at his hair, matching the rhythm of your moans. You trailed the other down the center of his back, tracing each muscle with care. His kisses stuttered slightly when you reached the first membrane of his wings, teasingly running a nail along it before following one of the many veins that lay just below the surface.

He shuddered and let out a low growl as you felt his cock twitch again in response to your touch. It was as though you were squeezing him with every stroke of your fingers. His breaths came out labored and tinged with small moans as he gripped at your back for support, unable to resist the overwhelming sensations coursing through his body.

As you opened your eyes, Azriel's breath hitched at the sight of you. His own eyes closed as he fought to control his desire. Your fingers glided over each delicate membrane of his wings, sending shivers down his spine. When your touch trailed down to the base of his wings, he couldn't resist opening his eyes and locking his gaze with yours. "You're such a tease," he growled, unable to tear his eyes away from your seductive smile.

"You look so irresistible when you're like this," he whispered, sitting up and pinning your body underneath his.

With one swift movement, he slipped his fingers under the hem of your shirt and traced a path along the top of your pants, causing you to shudder in pleasure. He watched as you squirmed under his touch, your eyes rolling back and mouth falling open. "Do you trust me?" he asked in a hushed voice.

You nodded eagerly, whispering "yes" as your body burned with anticipation.

"Good." He leaned in close, pressing his torso against yours and barely whispering, "Sit up." You obeyed, leaning against the headboard as you reached for your shirt, but he stopped you with a firm hand. "Not yet."

Before you could protest, he silenced you with a finger against your lips, tracing a line down the center as he watched your reaction with hungry eyes. "Trust me," he pleaded.

"I trust you, Azriel," you responded breathlessly.

A shiver ran through your body as you felt something cold and delicate slithering up your arm, causing goosebumps to erupt on your skin. Your breath caught in your throat as one of his shadows traced over the new ink that had darkened into your skin, igniting a tingling sensation. It moved up to your neck, leaving a trail of fire behind it, before caressing gently over your face, obscuring your vision. You could feel Azriel's hand in yours, guiding you and calming you with his touch. "Just relax, my love," he murmured in your ear before placing a soft kiss on your hand.

You moaned softly as Azriel's hands returned to the hem of your shirt, his fingertips tracing teasing lines over your skin that made you quiver with anticipation. His voice was low and husky as he whispered, "I want you to trust me me enough to pleasure you in darkness." He shifted slightly, pushing up your shirt to expose more of your body to the cool night air. But before you could protest, his warm lips were pressing into your stomach, sending a jolt of desire through you.

He continued to worship your body with kisses and touches that left you gasping for more. His words were like sweet torture as he reminded you, "If you ever feel uncomfortable or nervous, just say 'blackberry' or tap me twice and I'll stop." But all coherent thoughts flew out of your mind as he pressed another searing kiss onto your skin, slowly making his way up to the base of your ribcage.

As his hands followed the path of his lips, igniting sparks of pleasure within you, he asked again, "Tell me, what are you supposed to do if you feel uncomfortable?" Your response came out as a breathless whimper, "Blackberry...or tap you twice..."

His lips curled up in a devilish smile as he whispered, "Good girl." His words were like a warm caress against your skin, causing goosebumps to rise.

His lips ghosted over your ribs, barely touching your skin but igniting a fire within you. His hand trailed up to your breasts, teasing your sensitive nipples with his fingertips. As you arched into him, he continued to draw circles over them, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. He kissed his way up the center of your chest, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin between your breasts.

Suddenly, two more sets of shadows pinned your wrists to the bed. Unable to resist the intense desire coursing through you, you didn't even attempt to fight against them. Azriel's tongue traced every inch of one breast while his fingers expertly pleasured the other. Your nipple hardened under his skilled touch as he rolled it lightly between his fingers. Then, he pressed his mouth against your breast and began sucking gently, pulling it between his teeth and tugging back slightly. The sensation made your legs tremble with pleasure.

Releasing your breast, Azriel moved to give equal attention to the other one. While still kneading and caressing the first breast, he used his tongue and teeth to drive you wild on the other side. Your body writhed beneath him as moans escaped from your parted lips. Between his hands and mouth, you were completely consumed in ecstasy.

Azriel's fingers traced a path down your bare chest, sending shivers through your body. With a firm grip on your wrists, the shadows holding them down dissipated, he raised them above your head, pulling your shirt off in one swift motion. The cool air brushed against your skin, eliciting soft gasps from you. His hands explored every inch of your exposed torso, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. As he leaned back, his palms glided down your front before his fingers splayed and continued their tantalizing journey. "You are absolutely stunning, my love," he whispered huskily as he drove you wild with desire.

The shadows danced back over your wrists, still pinned above your head as you sunk deeper into the plush pillows, now lying on your back. Azriel’s hands trailed down your body, igniting a delicious shiver as they worked to untie you from your pants. With a soft growl, he tossed your discarded garments aside and repeated the same motion with your underwear.

Azriel's fingers traced up your inner thighs, parting them gently as he whispered in your ear, "You're already so wet for me." His voice sent shivers down your spine as you arched into his touch, craving more. He took in the sight of you spread out before him, admiring every detail as he let out a low growl of desire. His fingers flexed on your knees, holding them apart as he took in every detail of your exposed and eager form. One hand left its place on your knee and you could feel the bed shift slightly as he pleasured himself to the sight of your arousal for him.

"Just a little bit for me," he moaned, his voice deep and husky as the bed rocked to a halt.

His strong hands traced down your inner thighs, causing your muscles to clench in anticipation. But he pushed them back open with ease, his hot breath raking across your dripping wet core. The sensation of his tantalizing fingers dragged up the center between your folds sent shivers down your spine, causing your toes to curl into the sheets.

And when his skilled hand grazed over your swollen clit, you could hardly contain yourself. His other hand slid underneath you, kneading and massaging your rear.

With a low growl, he spread you open even wider, revealing every inch of your glistening core. His index and middle finger teasingly parted you as his thumb circled around your throbbing nub. Your body quivered at his touch, arching towards him in desperation.

"So pretty," he murmured against your skin as you whimpered and tried to get closer to him.

Then, without warning, his mouth was on you, his nose pressing into your sensitive clit, his tongue delving inside and sending sparks flying behind your eyelids. You couldn't hold back the moans that escaped as he licked and sucked at you. Finally, he pulled away and positioned himself between your legs, bringing them up over his shoulders as he settled in to devour you completely.

Your arms strained against the shadows that held them in place as your thighs wrapped around his head without thought. He took his hands from your ass, snaking them up your trembling thighs and stomach to your breasts that he once again worked in tandem with your pulsating pussy.

His tongue traced around your clit as though he was a man starved and your core was the most delicious meal he had ever eaten. His tongue flicked over your folds as he took your pulsing nub in his mouth and sucked, causing you to buck against him. He brought a scarred hand back down as he focused his mouth solely on your clit, circling, flicking, sucking and biting as he pushed at your entrance with his fingers, more than he had used before.

You stretched beneath his touch as he pressed into your walls, slowly at first, testing your resistance as you moaned slightly in discomfort but settled into his touch. He then picked up his pace, his fingers moving to their hilt as he bottomed out in you, and then, in the motion he knew would drive you wild, he began curling his fingertips inside of you, seemingly aching and searching for the spot that he knew would have you turning to jelly on his tongue. The mixture of his mouth, his hands kneading your breast, and his fingers dancing inside of you was all too much as you felt your orgasm rising in your stomach, tingling in your toes as your body went numb and exploded with pleasure.

Your mouth fell open, neck craning back as you allowed yourself to finish, almost violently. Azriel continued to work you through it, moaning into your clit, the vibrations sending a second wave of throbbing through your pussy that clenched around the fingers that coaxed moan after moan from you.

His motions slowed slightly as you came down from that high, your breath raspy and catching in your throat while you hissed through your teeth. He slowly dragged his fingers from your core that throbbed against him still, his mouth loosening on you as he leaned his head back, your legs falling open on either side as you struggled to catch your breath.

“My beautiful, pleasure ridden girl.” He murmured to you.

As he straightened, your back arched in response. You could hear the rustling of fabric and the creaking bed as Azriel rose from it. Your body tingled with anticipation as you tested the confines of the shadows that held you down, your skin humming with desire.

“You know,” Azriel's voice dripped with confidence and sensuality, seemingly coming from all corners of the room. “When you first came back to Velaris,” he continued, his voice echoed around you, “I would lie awake at night, thinking about your lips. How delectable they were. How full and warm they looked. And how much I wanted nothing more than to sink my teeth into your bottom lip and feel you writhe underneath me.” He seemed then to be right next to you now, his voice low and seductive in your ear, “I tried to resist. Tried to ignore how hard my cock would get when I thought about you, about how you would look naked, trembling underneath of me.” He took a step back, his footsteps echoing around the room as he circled you. “And then, that night at the party, and I saw you wearing the necklace, saw you in that dress… I couldn’t control myself anymore. I started imagining how good it would feel to pull that dress up around your hips and fuck you against the wall.” His voice was breathy now, coming from right in front of you, “Hearing you scream my name as I pounded into you, until I filled you with myself.” And then he backed away. “And later, in the shower, while you were getting ready for bed, I pumped my cock to that image. Of your breathless moans as I pushed you towards ecstasy. My nose pressed into your skin, breathing you in as your fingers dug into my back, holding on for dear life as I thrust into you, over and over.” He paused for a moment, "but then, I heard your joyful laughter from the other room, and the sound of it made me lose control completely.” He chuckled slightly, “And it made me come harder than I ever had before".

You whimpered, aching for more of him. "Please."

"Mm," his deep voice rumbled in response, the chair beneath him creaking as he shifted his weight as he sat. You could picture him, naked, casually splayed out across the room. "Say my name, my love."

You moaned out, your core throbbing. “Please, Azriel.”

Breathless and desperate, you repeated his name back to him as he groaned in response. "Yes...just like that."

Your lips formed a silent mantra of his name as you heard the the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room. He was stroking himself from across the room, teasing you both with his throbbing cock.

"Spread your legs for me, baby...let me see you," he whispered huskily.

Without hesitation, you parted your thighs, knowing the fae lights would be glistening on your arousal.

"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, the sound of his strokes becoming more intense, harder.

"Azriel, please," you whined, craving his touch.

The chair creaked again as he stood and moved towards the bed. And then his body was pressing into yours, his heat enveloping you as he lowered himself onto your body. You felt his cock sliding against your stomach, wet with pre-come.

"What is it, baby girl?" he asked huskily, brushing strands of hair from your flushed face as you arched into him.

"Please...fuck me," you pleaded.

He chuckled darkly. "I used to think about that too," he confessed, his voice thick with desire. "Used to imagine you begging me to pin you down and fuck you."

"Please," you begged again.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against you ear. "Oh, I will, my love," he promised in a husky growl. “But first,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then nibbling on your earlobe, before trailing hot kisses down your neck. “I need to hear you say it.”

You whimpered softly, feeling his hot breath against your skin.

He nipped at the sensitive skin near your collarbone. “Say you love me.” He growled, sending shivers down your spine.

Your breath hitched as you eagerly replied, “I love you!”

He chuckled darkly, “Again.”

“I love you,” you gasped more urgently this time as Azriel ran his finger tips teasingly over your nipples.

“Say my name, Y/N.”

“I love you, Azriel.” You moaned out, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You could almost hear his smirk as he gripped your chin firmly and pulled you towards him. “Do you trust me, Y/N?”

“With everything.” You breathed back.

“What do you do if we need to stop?” His tone suddenly shifted to one of seriousness mixed with sensual desire.

“Tap twice or say blackberry.” You gasped out.

He pressed a soft kiss on your lips, tender and full of adoration. “Good girl.” And then he pulled back, causing the bed to shift slightly. “Hands and knees.” He commanded.

The shadows around your wrists dissipated but the darkness swirling around your eyes remained. Blindly, you did as he said and got on all fours, swaying seductively towards him with each movement of your hips.

He let out a throaty chuckle as he rested his hands on your lower back, thumbs running from your spine outwards as he watched you intently. “That ass of yours should be illegal.” He noted, his fingers digging into your flesh.

You let out a giggle and dropped your chest down on the bed, arching your back to present yourself even more provocatively to him.

“Someone's eager.” He teased lightly, swiping a finger through your wetness, eliciting a moan from you.

“Please, Azriel.” You begged. “Anything. I'll do anything. Please, just fuck me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned in response. “You don't know what that does to me.” He shifted slightly, pressing his already slick tip against your entrance. With a gasp, you pushed back against him, begging for more. “Slow down, my love,” he warned. “I need to stretch you first.”

You whined in frustration but couldn't deny the delicious feeling of being filled inch by inch as he slid deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him eagerly. “Please,” you whispered desperately.

Azriel chuckled darkly as he continued his slow and torturous pace, savoring every inch of your tightness as he buried himself deeper inside of you. “Someone is very eager indeed,” he commented with a smirk, his grip on your hips tightening with each thrust.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Azriel bottomed out in you, his pelvis connecting with your ass as he leaned over your body and moaned softly into your ear. “Fuck…” he whispered hoarsely. “It's like you were made for me.”

Azriel's deliberate, slow thrusts sent waves of pleasure through your body. He always did this, took his time to stretch you, to pleasure you. But with your eyes blindfolded, your other senses heightened and you could feel every inch of him inside you. His hand wrapped around your front to tease your clit while his fingers expertly circled it, causing you to arch your back in pleasure. "Azriel," you moaned, desperate for more.

In response, he slowed down even further, drawing out each thrust until you could feel every ridge and curve of him.

"Everything okay, my beautiful girl?" he taunted, knowing full well what you needed.

"I need you to fuck me harder," you begged, gripping onto the sheets as your body craved release. Azriel's pace increased slightly but still not enough for you.

"Harder." You begged, wanting him to take you roughly like never before. And finally, he gave in and pounded into you with such force that your whole body felt consumed by him. His hands gripped onto your hips for support as he continued to slam into you from behind, both of your moans filling the room.

"Say it," Azriel growled in between thrusts, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

"I love you, Azriel!" you cried out as his pace became almost unbearable, taking you to the brink of climax.

As the words "I love you" dripped off of Azriel's lips, you could feel your body reacting to his touch. Every caress sent shivers down your spine and you were consumed by the intensity of the moment. It was as if time stood still and there was only him, chanting your name like a prayer and responding with incoherent declarations of love. Just when you thought the pleasure couldn't get any better, he abruptly withdrew leaving the bed shaking beneath you. Your moans turned into cries as you felt him leave the bed. But it was only a moment before he returned, standing in front of you. In that moment, the shadow that had been obstructing your view fled. He leaned down and his hands found their way to your face, gently wiping away tears of ecstasy that overflowed. "My beautiful, wonderful, lovely girl," he whispered, his hazel eyes tracing every inch of your face before slowly kissing you.

The taste of him mixed with your own arousal was intoxicating. His eyes locked onto yours as he spoke again, "I want you to watch me come inside of you." Your heart raced at his words and you eagerly nodded in agreement. "Lay back," he commanded and you complied without hesitation. His hips were level with the side of the bed as he positioned himself between your legs, gripping onto your hips tightly. "Keep your eyes on me," he urged and as soon as your eyes met his, he pushed himself back inside you. Your legs wrapped around his shoulders as he filled you completely once again. With each thrust, you felt yourself losing control, your screams echoing through the room as his pace quickened. He pressed kisses into your calves before locking eyes with you once more, a devilish grin spreading across his face. His grip tightened on your thighs as he leaned forward and began pounding mercilessly into you once more. You could feel yourself getting closer to climax, a familiar numbness creeping up from your toes.

"Look at me, baby," Azriel reminded you as you locked eyes with him. Your walls tightened around him as you moaned his name, feeling your pleasure continue to build. "Good girl," he whispered, his pace becoming more frenzied. Your screams filled the room as he hit that special spot within you that sent tingles through your entire body, slowly numbing your feet and causing your head to swim. "Y/N, keep your eyes on me" he urged, and as you did - as you locked eyes with that gorgeous male who was all yours - you felt yourself falling over the edge. Your inner walls clenched tightly around his throbbing cock as you came, his thrusts becoming more erratic and rushed. "Good girl, baby," he murmured in your ear. "Keep taking it...cum for me."

You watched Azriel’s eyes roll back as he struggled to maintain his focus. “Fuck…” he hissed out, and then you felt him groan and shudder as he released deep inside of you, his hot seed spilling into you as he continued to fuck you through his own orgasm. His moans and growls were like music to your ears. His final thrusts were sloppy, but satisfying as he whispered praises into your ear before finally collapsing onto you.

He leaned his head up, your fingers lazily running through his hair, slick with sweat. He smiled, panting, a satisfied smirk on his face. “I love you,” he whispered.

Readers, love y'all, consider it a gift:

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardust @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @loglady00 @caninnes @weepingwerewolf @that-one-bibliophole

[tinypandacakes]

Trapper, Keeper Ch. 11: Surrender

Chapter WC: 12.7k (total fic: 101.3k holy cow)

Tags: Dubious consent, dark romance, smut, kidnapping, possessive and creepy König, power imbalance, size difference, obsessive behavior, injury recovery, manipulation, könig x f!reader, gratuitous size kink

“What’s wrong, little one?” König finally asked, only sounding mildly annoyed. 

“I can’t sleep,” you muttered, adjusting your hips and receiving a sinful moment of gratification when you felt König’s cock begin to plump up against you. 

König’s arm snaked over your hip, sliding under your sweatshirt to splay against your bare abdomen to keep your body still. “It doesn’t feel like you’re trying very hard to sleep right now.”

“I’m not comfortable.”

König huffed a choppy laugh through his nose. “Look—” His chin bumped the top of your head, beard tangling in your hair as he lifted it toward the empty expanse of bed you’d commandeered. “So small, and all that space, just for you — yet here you are.”

“I’m cold,” you said, a little breathless when his fingers dug more deeply into your soft belly.

He pulled you flush to his body with the palm pressed to your middle when you nodded. His bottom arm slid beneath your pillow. “Better?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, trying to squash the wicked thrill that twisted in your belly. 

“Good.” His voice dropped to a low whisper above you. “But…you know, you should really be more careful.”

“What do you mean?” you asked,  even though, fuck, you knew. You knew you were tempting fate, dangling fresh honeycomb before the hungry grizzly bear, waiting with a big dumb smile and hoping you didn’t get mauled.

König’s fingertips danced in lazy circles over the soft expanse of your stomach, tracing the waistband of your shorts before dipping just under the elastic to stroke the vulnerable, silken skin there. “Someone might think you were after something other than sleep, moving the way you were.”

Read the entire fic on AO3 :3

if you liked it, please consider leaving a comment there!

Ko-fi ☺️

[writingjourney]

Benedict x fem!reader fic preview anyone?

It will be a cute 4+1 times situation with some wholesome (and spicy!!!) moments during their engagement period.

EDIT: FIND THE FULL FIC HERE!! OR ON AO3 ✌🏼

─── ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ ───

He stops, leans against the frame of the open door to the drawing room and drinks you in. The pianoforte is angled away from the open windows, your back turned to him. Bare skin shimmers in the sunlight, diffused by sheer white curtains that stream dreamily in the mild breeze. He follows the line of your shoulders where they rise and fall as your hands dance across the keys, then up the curve of your spine where your neck is exposed under pinned-up hair. The music seems to carry the easy with which you hold yourself.

He notes that your maid is not with you, a sign that the staff is kept busy with the wedding preparations. Or perhaps you sent her away as you are prone to do, craving solitude – and opportunities to meet him. Benedict finds himself chasing these moments in which he gets to have you to himself like they’re his sanctuary, so precious that he has to pile them up with care like gemstones in the shrine of his love for you. One day soon he will be able to display them more openly. For now he has to grasp them as they appear.

You only hear him when his steps have reached so close that not even the rugs can muffle them anymore. A few weeks ago you might have been startled by him appearing out of nowhere but by now it is rather natural that he should find you when you are alone. It seems he has a sense for it.

When you look up he is already urging to you scoot over. The double piano bench is rather narrow but you think he might be closing in more than necessary. You’re acutely aware of the press of his thigh against yours.

“Do not let me disturb you, dearest,” he says in the dulcet tone you know means mischief.

“Is your goal not to disturb me, Mr Bridgerton?”

“My goal,” he whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, “is to be closer to the music.”

His breath on your neck does nothing to enhance your ability to focus. The first few notes are not quite rhythmic as a shiver runs through your limbs and down your fingertips. You soon find your footing, however, and the song comes to life in the form of a moderately slow but all the more magical sonata of your own composition. Sheet music is quite expensive and your collection rather limited. To add some variety you recently began to write your own, significantly inspired by Benedict and his artworks.

“Beautiful,” he whispers to himself and you smile as you transition into a faster section of the song that reminds you of fairies frolicking in a meadow, drunk on honeydew and starlight.

However, you soon realise that he did not talk about the music. His hand dances along your back, fingertips drumming over your spine until they come to rest on the swell of your hip on the other side. It is the closest thing to an embrace, his arm a comforting support behind your back. His proximity, if thrilling, does not deter you. Your hands remember exactly what they must do – over a decade of tutoring has left its marks.

Your confidence is short-lived. His hair tickles your ear as he leans in, a soft press of his lips to your shoulder, devoted, sensuous and… lingering. Your fingers slip but for a moment. It is enough to draw the wrong tunes from the instrument, a cacophonous quake that has you wincing in surprise.

“You must stay focused,” Benedict warns, lips still warm on your skin, “or everyone shall hear that you are… rather distracted.”

“How fortunate that I am known for my stable countenance.”

“Hm, yes, that is what they say about you, my darling, “ he whispers. “If only they saw you as I do, falling apart at the mere idea of a kiss.”

You close your eyes and recollect yourself, trying desperately to ignore how he feels against you. Despite his warning he shows no signs of stopping, not even as you resume your play. The next kiss hits the crook of your neck. You feel his nose against your jaw as he inhales your scent, rose oil and soap. For a moment his warm exhale against your throat overshadows the fact that is fingers curl at your hip, a not so innocent squeeze that you feel somewhere between your legs.

You’re aware that both of your families are just outside in the gardens, that the open windows and the steady breeze carry your tunes far out on the premises. Muscle memory serves you and you finish the hardest part of the song without more than one or two off-key notes. Benedict has been silent, lips lingering just below your ear. Just as you move on to the conclusion his mouth gets more insistent, sucking gently at your delicate skin as he gets carried away.

”Benedict,“ you warn. Crooked tunes are one thing, a vivid red kiss mark another.

“Forgive me,” he whispers, pressing tiny kisses along your neck now. “I cannot help it.”

You finish the song with a relieved exhale, wondering if a musical number has ever felt so painfully long before. Benedict has lost his patience, it seems. His free hand comes to rest on your sternum as though he needs to feel the agitated rise and fall of your chest. You only have a moment to relish in the soft feel of his palm on your bosom before he curls his fingers over your jaw and forces your head to turn to him. His kiss is dizzying, starved. He tastes of the strawberries he must have had outside just earlier.

You allow him to kiss you breathless before you remove yourself. He tries to chase after you, as he is won’t to do, but a finger on his swollen lips has him halting. His expression rivals that of Newton when he is in want of a treat.

“We must go back outside before they find us,” you say. “It is already suspicious enough that I played off-key the moment you stepped inside.”

“I blame you for being such a flawless musician.”

“I blame you for being such an irresistible distraction. Now come on, my darling, I am suddenly in want of some sweet strawberries.”

He sighs woefully and you cannot help but kiss the pout from his face.

─── ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ ───

This fic is coming within the next week I would say, it will be 18+ so MDNI. Let me know if you want to be tagged in the full thing!! (just in case this lands in the hashtag and someone actually sees it haha) ♡

[caramelapplesauce]

chapter 6 is posted babes!!

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Adoration

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 9503 Tags: dream sex, public sex, fantasy fulfillment, claiming, exhibitionism, possessive Dream, costume from Baldur's Gate 3, Wavemother's Robe (Baldur's Gate), blowjob, Dream with multiple arms, eldritch deep throat, gentle facefucking, facial, glass sex toy, butt plug, rimming, eldritch tongue, anal sex, top Dream, bottom Hob, size kink, eldritch size kink, Hob loves it when Dream gets big, human cocksleeve, the Dreaming is full of possibilities, finger sucking, manhandling, shapeshifting, unreal anatomy, belly bulge, tentacles, consentacles, more hentai than octopi, no suckers involved, sounding, anal gape, Dream has a vulva, cunnilingus, Hob Gadling 600 year reigning king of eating pussy, squirting, squirting facial, vaginal sex, top Hob, bottom Dream, more tentacles, wet messy sex, there are puddles, multiple orgasms, no refractory periods in the Dreaming, unintended uses of the New Inn's bar, cuddling

Notes: Third in the Appropriate Applications for Aesthetic Armors series (prior bits are Anticipation and Appreciation on Tumblr if AO3 is down). Took a year to finish but prompts lined up like dominos for this October and 9500 words later here we are. This is for the @dreamlingbingo adoptable prompt Monsterfucking, replacing square A3 Crossover on my card. Unless the BG3 costume Hob's still wearing counts as a crossover, lol. Also covers @monsterfucktoberbingo squares Eldritch and Tentacles, and then there's @gabessquishytum's Unofficial Sandman Kinktober prompts Dream Sex, Shape-Shifting, Monsterfucking and Size Kink (technically also Costumes and Body Hair but in an incidental-not-focused inclusion, and Toys and Hands feature briefly also). Lastly, if you're unfamiliar with the costume Hob's wearing, please see my RobeRef tag for proper imagery 🩶

Summary: Dream's fantasy of publicly claiming Hob in the middle of the New Inn is played out with a very enthusiastic Hob in his dream, as offered.

On AO3

"You should be flattered, Hob," Dream purrs, hand stealing beneath Hob's costume, caressing his leg, fingering the texture of his hair. "Their thoughts are fitting, when such exquisite and untouchable beauty moves among them." His hand travels firmly around the shape of Hob's thigh, curves possessively up the back of it beneath the armored skirt, fingertips stroking soft skin high up and in, grazing his nutsack. "And I am immeasurably pleased that I am the one who gets to take you home tonight."

"Aren't you sweet." Hob flutters his lashes coyly to cover the surge of arousal, the way he kind of wants to swoon at Dream just saying that sort of thing so easily while touching him so brazenly. "Promise, I'm all yours tonight. As long as you don't mind I'm getting a bit sweaty down below." His grin is a little breathless; Dream is fully fondling his balls now, rolling them between delicate fingertips, the knuckle of his thumb pressing lightly against Hob's perineum, and it is absolutely thrilling to be touched this way in secret when they're still in the middle of the crowded pub.

"You know quite well that I find it appealing," Dream says, with a sweet little glitter in his eye that makes Hob's pulse jump, and then Dream's hand drags warmly out from between his legs and up to grope his arse as Dream turns and leans in to kiss him. Dream's other hand sinks into his hair, gently grips around his nape and tilts his head back as Dream's tongue slips authoritatively into his mouth.

It is wet and filthy, insistent, devouring; Hob makes a sound into the kiss, opens wider to it, shivers as Dream squeezes his arsecheek firmly. This is not exactly publicly-acceptable behavior but that was kind of the point, wasn't it, even if it hadn't quite gone this way before—

Wait—

There are cheers and whistles around them, catcalls, someone yelling 'Get it Professor G!', and Hob is surfacing through his own awareness even as he buries both hands up into Dream's hair and sucks on Dream's invading tongue.

This is not how it happened—

Dream ends the kiss, draws back to a rippling murmur of approval from the crowd, and full clarity settles over Hob like sunshine burning away morning mist.

"I'm dreaming."

"Yes." Dream's tongue runs hot and heavy up his throat above the choker.

"And you're you-you."

"Yes." Dream straightens up enough to look him in the eye, caresses his face with reverent adoration. "Do you recall what I wished for, what you offered me, dear Hob, before you entered my realm?" His other hand moves out from beneath Hob's costume, settles warm on his bare hip between chains.

"I do." The words feel oddly, or perhaps appropriately, like a wedding vow.

"Then." Dream's fingertips trace down the scruffy line of Hob's jaw, curl under the end of his chin, tip his face the tiniest bit upward. "May I take command of your dream, and shape it for my pleasure?"

"Our pleasure. Please." He's always been pretty middle-of-the-road about public sex and exhibitionism, all things considered, but the notion that he can make something happen for Dream, can fulfill the fantasy of an unfathomably ancient and inhuman being, that definitely gets him going and he cannot wait to see what Dream will do with him here where anything is possible, how far he'll go.

The way that Dream's smile curls is both predatory and beautiful, and Hob's heartrate kicks up as Dream kisses him again, still holding beneath his chin. "Our pleasure, then," he breathes against Hob's lips, and the next kiss leaves Hob's head spinning. Slim fingertips move softly to the back of Hob's neck, undo the jewelled choker and tear the decorative chains free from Hob's torso, and then Dream's spread fingers are running up the center of Hob's chest, carding through his hair unobstructed as Dream ends the kiss.

Dream unfastens the cape from the pauldrons next, swirls it from around Hob's shoulders and lets it settle on the floor, where it spreads and shimmers and changes until the two of them are standing on a comfortably plush red carpet, warm and soft between Hob's toes, a clearly defined circle separating them from their audience.

Dream is currently taller than Hob by a handsbreadth and when he kisses him again, pulls Hob's head back with a gentle fist in his hair and plunges his tongue into Hob's mouth, filthy and possessive, Hob moans aloud. His hands scrabble for a hold along Dream's front and find that the black fantasy armor is gone, that Dream's instead clad in floaty layers of gauzy silky something that are warm and liquid beneath Hob's touch.

He grips two handfuls and hangs on while Dream devours him.

Dream's hands move next to Hob's hips, glide around beneath the skirt to grasp Hob's arse and squeeze. One hand stays; the other—something hard and warm and slick presses insistently against Hob's hole and his body yields readily, takes it in easily. He recognizes the shape of one of their favorite toys as it fills him, a slender glass plug with a mild flare, perfect for opening him up and smooth as silk when Dream slides it out and fucks it back in.

Hob moans into the kiss, lets go of Dream's gauzy robes and wraps both arms around Dream's neck. He rises up on the balls of his feet, arches his back to take the glass deeper as Dream pushes it in again. It's good, the angle and the pressure just right to really get him going; Dream fucks him smooth and unhurried, kissing him much the same way, and when Dream pulls away from his mouth Hob draws a shuddering breath.

"Dream—love—" He whines as the toy bottoms out in him again, a beautiful pressure in exactly the right spot.

There's a murmur in the crowd, a ripple of disappointment, and Dream purrs, the sound full of satisfaction.

"They know what I do to you, Hob, but they cannot see, not while you still wear this garb that so excites them." His mouth claim's Hob's again.

He recognizes what Dream is doing, can see where he's leaving Hob buffers, exercising restraint where he thinks Hob might appreciate it, and Hob loves him so so much for it. But he's not here for consideration; he's all-in, whatever Dream wants, however Dream wants this fantasy to play out.

He wrenches free of the kiss, both hands framing Dream's face. "Let them see, love." He kisses Dream again, short and fierce. "Let them envy. Show them everything we have together, everything you do to me, rub their noses in the fact that they will never have what is yours—"

Dream makes a sound that would be a whine if it were not so deep and rumbling, kisses Hob with abandon and seizes both halves of the armored skirt. He rips them away as easily as Velcro, leaving behind only what was connected to the chains across his hips—the slant of them means the full curve of both cheeks is now exposed and there's barely a miniskirt's length in front, easily pushed out of the way. The boots never made it into the dream so he's barefoot and now all but bare-arsed.

It's perfect.

And then Dream dips to kiss his throat and moves lower, lips dragging down through Hob's chest hair, down his stomach as Dream folds to his knees. He looks up at Hob and presses a warm kiss just below his navel, in the trail of hair that disappears into the silver filigree lace where the costume comes together; then, still holding Hob's gaze, he sits back just enough to flip what's left of the costume skirt out of his way, exposing Hob's prick to the crowd.

Dream lowers his gaze, then glances back up with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile.

Hob flushes, just a little. "Dreamed myself a little bigger, didn't I?" he says, awkwardly. "If they're going to be envious, let's make it really worthwhile?"

"Indeed," Dream purrs, smile turning positively wicked. "I tasted so many daydreams of kneeling for your cock, Hob. Of. Crawling up beneath your costume, there in the pub." He licks wetly all about the head, the pushed-back foreskin, peppering more words in between. "Imagining the girth of you. The weight. The scent, the flavor, as they. Worship with their mouths." He swirls his tongue deliciously all around again, eyes finding Hob's and holding them, making a show of the way he slowly sucks Hob into his mouth.

His eyes roll as he takes Hob in, lashes fluttering, and he moans obscenely—which Hob gets is for the crowd, flaunting how good it is to have what they had fantasized, but it stokes his own ego and arousal all the same. To have someone as beautiful and unfathomable as Dream on his knees, hungry for Hob's cock—it is heady indeed, and he will never be immune.

Dream works his cock with flair and showmanship, which is of course incredibly sexy to watch from up here and also feels amazing, and it's only made more so by the one hand still snaking around his hip to work the glass toy inside him. Between that sweet pressure and the wriggling warmth of Dream's tongue, it takes him entirely too long to register that Dream has more hands on him than the usual two; there is a hand splayed on either thigh scratching through his hair in addition to the one working the plug in his arse, and another fondling his balls besides.

Hob can't say that he minds, honestly; Dream surpassing human limits has never been anything but a turn on.

And then Dream, who has precisely whatever internal anatomy he wishes, takes Hob's full up-sized length smoothly to the hilt, swallows tightly around him, lips pressed flush to the hair at Hob's groin. He draws all the way off, sinks all the way back down, slow and smooth, and Hob makes a trembling sound of approval. Dream does it a third time and stays, swallows Hob down and then sucks. He sets up a gently nursing rhythm, suck-swallow-suck with his gaze locked on Hob's all the while, as if he could truly draw sustenance from Hob's cock like this. One hand is caressing his hip and one is still twisting the slim plug in his arse; the other two move from the fronts of his legs to the back, further, wrapping tight around his thighs to keep him close. Dream is making hungry satisfied little sounds, muffled by the cock in his throat but carrying clearly to Hob's ears and the crowd all the same.

And Hob is dizzy, unsteady with how good it is, grateful for the firm grip around his legs that keeps them from giving out beneath him. His hands are light on Dream's shoulders and he's trying so hard to keep his hips relatively still under the onslaught of Dream's attentions. He bites his lip, stifling a moan on a trembling breath, and then Dream pulls back, lets Hob's cock slide wetly out of his mouth, wipes at the sloppy mess of his lips with the back of one hand and smirks.

"You are. Delicious," he murmurs, voice warm and dark; he presses the glass toy in a sudden sharp thrust where it's already buried deep and Hob jolts, gasps out a whine. His dick jumps as Dream does it again, bumping obscenely against Dream's plush parted lips.

There's a rippling murmur from the watching crowd; Hob had nearly forgotten about them. "Are they wishing they were you, love?" he asks, breathless; it's not much in the way of sexy talk but it's the best he can manage currently and Dream's smile curls up in satisfaction all the same. "They suitably jealous of you sucking my cock?"

"Indeed," Dream purrs, eyes half-lidded as he gazes up at Hob. "How they long to taste your spend, Hob. They are. Hungry, so hungry for it." He darts his tongue out, laps up the bead of precome leaking from Hob's tip. "But I would have them know—" Two of his arms guide Hob's hands to his head, then return to his thighs. "Show them, Hob. That this delicacy is for my tongue alone—"

He opens his mouth and grows still, waiting, placing the moment in Hob's hands.

And so Hob takes control, combs his fingers gently through Dream's hair and guides his beautiful face forward, onto his cock and all the way down, Dream's eyes never leaving his. The slide down Dream's inhumanly-open throat is so perfect, gliding and smooth, snug and so hot; he draws Dream off his full length and then slowly back on again, careful, savoring every inch.

Dream still has a hand on the toy in his arse and when Hob draws him back off his cock next, Dream mirrors the motion with the plug. Hob whines at the double slide, the glass out of his body and his cock out of Dream's mouth; then, as he reverently pushes himself back in, Dream matches the slide with the glass and Hob's head falls back, panting. It's so good, hot and wet around him, hard and full inside him, tandem strokes of mounting pleasure pulling breathless moans and little whines from him on every pass. He looks back down, down the length of his own furry chest in the deep plunging V of his costume and finds Dream gazing up at him still, docile and dangerous, mouth shaped beautifully around the lazy gliding rhythm of his cock. And it's. Hob's hands are buried in his hair, in Dream of the Endless' hair, and he's—face-fucking is entirely too aggressive a term for what he's doing, but he's gently fucking into Dream's beautiful face, he's allowed this privilege and he's swiftly unraveling as he takes it. His hips rock in a smooth steady cadence, in and out of Dream's mouth and throat, deep onto the toy inside him and he is soaring dizzily up to the precipice, ready to fall.

He's moaning helplessly as he nestles himself snug into Dream's throat, throbbing as he holds off his oncoming orgasm and Dream swallows him down, greedy, voracious, nose buried in Hob's pubic hair and eyes unblinking, locked with Hob's. Hob keeps one hand curled around the back of Dream's head, gentle, inexorable; the other he moves to Dream's face. He strokes his cheek with a trembling touch, drags his thumb down the stretched-open corner of Dream's mouth pulled taut around the base of his cock; he cups Dream's chin, feels how Dream swallows around him, brushes the backs of his fingers down Dream's throat and presses where he can feel the head of his prick lodged. Dream moans, which feels amazing, and presses the toy all the way in against Hob's prostate, twisting it as he goes. Hob's hips twitch helplessly at that surging jolt of pleasure, pushing him impossibly further into Dream's throat; he feels the crown of his dick bump past his pressing fingers and that's just—that's it.

"Fuck me, sweetheart," Hob gasps, voice shaking, hand trembling where he cups Dream's chin, "fuck me with that toy until I come down your throat—" He's so close, can feel it swelling thick and hot in his gut and then Dream slides off him.

"No, I think not," he purrs, over the desperate sound of loss Hob makes, and laps at the swollen head of Hob's prick with his tongue. "There is something else your admirers dream, and I would have it for myself—"

Hob is teetering on the edge, tense and ready to burst as Dream wraps a hand around him and strokes. Two of his other hands are still on Hob's thighs and the fourth wriggles the toy in Hob's arse, the tip of it stroking firmly across his swollen prostate and that's all it takes.

He comes with a bitten-off whine, great pulsing threads of spend that land all over Dream's face, thick and sticky in his eyelashes, vividly white in the red of his open waiting mouth.

The murmur of the crowd swells briefly, equal parts envious and approving.

Dream moans, deliberate and decadent, stroking Hob through the end of his orgasm, tongue out and poised under the tip of Hob's dick to catch the last weaker spurts. He curls it around the head lovingly, draws Hob back into his mouth just far enough to close his lips around the tip and suck, to tease the last drops from the slit with his tongue, making a show of savoring it. Hob's pulse is pounding in his ears as Dream pushes him right to the glorious edge of overstimulation but still he can hear the mutters of longing skittering through their audience.

Good.

When Dream has finished milking Hob's cock dry, he pulls the toy from his arse as well and drops it somewhere aside. He rises swiftly and yanks Hob into his arms, steadying him and descending eagerly on his mouth. He's vanished most of the mess on his face but his lips are still a bit sticky; he kisses Hob fiercely, possessive and thorough, and abruptly spins him around. Hob finds himself up against the bar, Dream stroking down his thighs with a small tap to either knee. "Up," he murmurs, lips against the dip of Hob's spine in the diamond left bare by his costume, and a quick glance down shows a pair of comfortably-spaced barstools right in front of him. He climbs up gamely, one knee on either stool, and then Dream is pressing him forward, down, until he is bent over the bar with his legs spread wide and his arse in the air, left completely bare at this angle by the remnants of the skirt.

"Delectable," Dream murmurs, hands roaming over the hairy curves of either cheek, thumbs stroking into the dimples there. His other two hands curve around the front of Hob's legs to stroke up the insides of his thighs. "Beautiful, magnificent, mine—" His mouth presses firm and wet to the open rim of Hob's body, where the toy has left him empty and wanting, and then Dream's tongue slithers into him, slick and hot and long and thick. It fills him, delicious and deep and Hob groans, breathless, delighted. He rubs his cheek against the bar top, splays his knees a bit wider on their barstools and arches his back, shamelessly begging for more. Dream's hands shift, pressing his thighs and cheeks wide, spreading him all the way open, and Hob cries out as Dream's tongue twists inside him, licking over his prostate with precision strokes. Dream is also running one slender fingertip around Hob's hole where it's stretched wide on his tongue, layers of sensation that are driving Hob mad with pleasure.

"Dream, sweetheart, oh shit it's so good," he babbles, heart pounding, hips flexing. He loves this about sex in the Dreaming, that he can come long and hard and be seamlessly ready for more, can take as much as he wants, as much as Dream will give him. He bears down on Dream's tongue, wriggles back onto it with delight; Dream's nails prick sharp at the insides of his thighs and the hair of his arsecheeks and Hob whines, breathless. "More. Please—"

There is a growling rumble from Dream behind him and the hands on his thighs yank, spreading him wider; the barstools clatter away so that Dream is supporting him fully. Hob yelps in surprise and then Dream's tongue is burrowing further into him in a rush, thick and wet and so fucking good and Hob cries out, panting, his body stretching eagerly to accommodate. Dream's mouth presses flush up against his hole and Dream growls again, the vibrations carrying through his tongue and into Hob, who moans helplessly. His dick is rock hard, the tip bumping up against the edge of the bar and smearing wet against the polished wood as Dream eats him out.

Dream lifts his hips a little higher, tongue wriggling inside him, expanding and contracting and twisting about; Hob keeps his knees drawn up, toes flexing and curling as his pleasure spikes and ebbs with the writhing fullness inside him. He's insanely turned on by the way Dream is just. Holding him up, like he's small and insignificant, like Dream will move and arrange him and fuck him however he likes—

Dream growls again, Hob whimpering at the sensation, and then he speaks. Which is clearly not happening with his mouth, occupied as it is; his voice rings in Hob's mind, in the fabric of the Dreaming around them, presumably audible to their audience as well.

Yes, Hob Gadling, I will move you as I please, fuck you as I like. You are mine—mine to taste, to have, mine to please in every way I choose. The rumble shifts, broadens; it's clear that he is addressing the audience now. Watch. Watch, and want, and envy, as I give my Hob everything he wants of me in ways you can only imagine—

Hob whimpers, dick twitching, grateful all over again for his immortality; he's not sure he would survive this otherwise.

Dream's tongue unwinds from within him abruptly, retreating swiftly in a way that makes Hob cry out as the shivery-hot sensation of it races down every limb; his cock spurts a little, not so much an orgasm as simply a sudden excess of pleasure and then he is empty again.

For only a second, though; instantly Dream's prick is there, pushing into him, and he can feel that Dream has Changed. He's tall enough to get his cock up Hob's arse while he's over the bar, for one, but also. The four hands that have been on him have multiplied, are six at least, eight, maybe more and he can feel Dream's presence swelling behind him, a magnitude and intensity that are spilling past any possible containment by a human-sized form.

But the fullness and the weight of Dream inside him occupy his attention with far more immediacy and he can hear himself moaning, gasping as Dream moves smoothly out and back in, picking up speed.

"Dream—Dream—aaaahh, Dream—" He can't get out much more than that, it's just so incredibly good. Dream has several hands on his legs holding him up wheelbarrow-style, is fucking into him fast and furious and the indignity of the position would make him laugh except it's not an indignity, it's fucking hot to be manhandled like this and he can't believe how much it's turning him on.

Dream nudges him forward, extra hands bending his knees up onto the bar proper, spreading them so wide that his leaking cock is rutting slickly against the polished wood every time Dream's dick sinks deep into him. His head and shoulders are beyond the far side of the bar top and he's gripping the edge tightly, hanging on for dear life while Dream pounds him senseless and he's never going to be able to tend bar at the New Inn again without thinking of this, ever—

Dream shoves deep and stops, suddenly; a pair of arms wind about Hob's chest to pull him upright, back against Dream's nebulous form and the way that changes the angle of Dream inside him has Hob crying out, tears pricking at his eyes. He's so full, it's such a sweet sweet pressure in all the right places and if Dream moves even just a little he's going to come—

Dream rumbles a pleased note; two hands slide through Hob's chest hair crosswise and beneath either edge of his costume, spindly fingertips brushing unerringly over both nipples in tandem. At the same time, the hands gripping around Hob's inner thighs tighten and Dream thrusts gently up into him.

The sound Hob makes as he spills would be embarrassing if he could bring himself to care, high and thin and gasping, again and again as he shoots all over the bar top, chest heaving under Dream's hands. And then there's another hand gently gripping Hob's hair, arching his head back while he's still panting out the last moans of his orgasm. Dream tilts in from above him, kisses those sounds right out of his mouth, another hand gently cradling his throat. It's light, possessive, sensual, and Hob loves it.

Dream kisses him down from the high until he has sense enough about him to reach, to cradle Dream's otherworldly face, to kiss him back, and to wriggle his hips demandingly because he wants more and he doesn't have to give his body time to recover.

Insatiable, Dream purrs, unmistakably pleased, and then. Then. There are just two arms around his chest and only two hands on his legs, hands that are spindly black claws, fingers like knives that are so very careful as they grasp under his thighs from the back and lift. Hob leans into Dream behind him, feeling the vast unknowable reaches of the cosmos condensed into whatever nebulous form Dream currently holds; he arches his head back and scrabbles for any kind of grip as Dream pulls his legs where he wants them, knees drawn up and spread wide, displaying him to the gathered crowd unmistakably speared on Dream's cock.

BEHOLD, Dream thunders, and turns a slow flowing circle, letting absolutely everyone see Hob open and impaled and wonderfully hard about it and Hob is whining at how utterly feral it makes him, being shown off like this. He meets a few eyes in the crowd; these are all nebulous theoretical people, no one he'll ever face in real life, and it drives him absolutely wild to see the hunger and the envy in these strangers' faces, for him, for Dream having him. His upsized dick is rock-hard, standing tall, straining untouched, beads of precome welling steadily from the tip and rolling down his shaft.

The hands splayed over Hob's chest are still relatively human shaped, fingers just a bit more spindly than normal, black nails a bit more claw-like. One of them strokes possessively through his body hair in the opening left by his ridiculous costume; the other wanders lightly up his throat and down again, back up to touch his face and Hob turns his head, sucks two fingers into his mouth, heedless of the claws. He laves them with his tongue, wet and thorough and unhurried, and Dream makes an encouraging sound that rattles Hob's bones, dick flexing inside him.

He's bigger, filling Hob more tightly than when they had started, but this is the Dreaming and Hob's body will take whatever he wants it to. Dream rumbles a growl and lifts where he grips Hob's thighs, drawing Hob up the length of him, then lets him slide down again, and Hob moans shamelessly around Dream's fingers, pleasure pouring through him. Gravity seats him all the way to the root of Dream's cock and it's exquisite, his own weight pressing Dream deeper inside him.

"Dream, love—" He breaks on a moan as he's lifted and let down again, the fingers in his mouth disappearing. "Deeper, sweetheart, fuck me senseless—"

The hands on him lose form, all of them, dissolving into shimmering tendrils of darkness wrapped secure about his thighs, keeping his legs up and open effortlessly. More tendrils edge beneath his costume to tease over his nipples and through his chest hair. Dream's face is all but gone, an impression of eyes and attention in the dark mass roiling above and behind and around Hob; it's like being cradled by a sensual black cloud with talented 'fingers' and an amazing dick and Hob is delighted to cling back against the nebulous surface of him and let Dream move him up and down as he pleases.

He's loud about his pleasure, moaning and cursing effusively while Dream wields him like a cocksleeve, sliding him up and down his eldritch length, spread open and on display to the riveted crowd. Hob's barely paying them any mind, his body alight with Dream's attentions, eyes heavy-lidded as they flicker over the audience. There are multiple people among the onlookers who are clearly touching themselves, faces full of envy and excitement, getting off while watching him get fucked by Dream, and that just pushes Hob higher. He squirms, wriggling all the way to the bottom of Dream's massive prick, clenching tight as Dream draws him up again, over and over.

His own cock is straining neglected with every pass and he whines, not touching it himself, that's not how this goes when his hands are busy clinging to Dream, but aching for the extra stimulus to drive his pleasure higher. Especially when Dream's just formlessness and tentacles (and that glorious dick) now, he'd desperately love some of that wriggly stroking attention paid to his boner.

"Dream, love, I need—"

Shall I allow your cock to your admirers, then, let the eager offer their skills that you might choose one fortunate soul for your pleasure?

There is a palpable stirring of interest in the crowd at that, more than one hand shooting up, but Hob shakes his head. This is about Dream flaunting his privileges, not sharing them, and besides. He doesn't want a stranger.

"No," he moans, arching his back and writhing against the eldritch bulk of Dream behind him as he's moved on that cock. "You, I only want you, just touch me please I am begging—"

Patience, dearheart, Dream rumbles, and Hob whines with frustrated anticipation. One of the tendrils at his chest draws out from beneath the open edge of his costume, lingers in the texture of his hair before sliding gently up his throat and around the back of his neck to carefully grasp his jaw from underneath, tilting his head back. Dream roils and a thick new tendril of shimmering black covers Hob's mouth; it is relatively enough like lips and tongue that he opens for it easily and loses himself in the filthy approximation of kissing, lets Dream devour his moans with relish. Other tentacles wind about his arms, down to his hands, split to intertwine with his fingers and Hob clings, delighted with the sweetness of this eldritch hand-holding.

And all the while Dream is still lifting him up the length of his cock and letting him slide back down, and Hob is very sure that every time he's let down Dream's cock is a little thicker, touches that much further inside him. Which is heady, and hot, and Hob hopes it's making the audience jealous as fuck to see him filled with so much; he can dream his body any way he likes here and if Dream wanted he would gladly dream himself unencumbered by any internal organs, a warm fleshy vessel meant exclusively for Dream's cock, no matter its size. He thinks maybe that's worth exploring later, a Dream so big Hob could sit on his cock and let it peek out his mouth, a fuck and a backwards blowjob at once, all of Hob perfectly formed for Dream's pleasure—

A low rumble of mirth tells him Dream caught that vision. Another time, beloved, comes Dream's voice, reverberating through and all around him. For now…perhaps this? The slender tentacle of Dream around one arm lifts and moves it, splays his own hand over his own belly right where the costume comes together as he slides to the base of Dream's cock again—and yes, there it is, the thick head of Dream inside him, deep up inside him where it shouldn't fit but here in the Dreaming it does and Hob can feel it, can trace the bulbous shape of it with his fingers, oh god—

He moans into the bit of Dream that's kissing him, caresses Dream's dick in his belly reverently, fervently, and then Dream is lifting him again, all the way up, dropping him again, all the way down, and it's so fucking good he thinks he might burst. He keeps his hand splayed over his stomach, the better to feel Dream pushing inside him on every pass, and the tentacle that had moved his arm unwinds, flows down past the crumpled remnants of his skirt to his groin and splits into tendrils. They snake lovingly through the thickness of his pubic hair, caressing the creases of his legs, curling around his balls, winding up around his rigid cock at last. His sound of desperate relief is swallowed by Dream and he quickly loses track of how many tendrils are in play down there, touching him everywhere, squeezing his cock and teasing around the head, the slit, with little touches that leave him panting. His balls are snugly wrapped and separated and receiving the same sort of soft teasing touches and there are at least three of these eldritch tendrils stroking around his hole, stretched wide on Dream's girth as it is.

When they slither inside the next time Dream lifts him, Hob shivers. And when Dream lets him slide down again, those tendrils are all curled directly against his prostate, pressed deliciously into it as the massive girth of Dream stretches and fills him. The tendrils wriggle where they're trapped, a beautiful stroking layered into the sweet pressure of maximum fullness and Hob cries out, muffled by Dream's pseudo-mouth on his, chest heaving.

And then, as if that were not the most exquisite pleasure he's yet been subjected to, the tendrils on his cock slither up and around the head, tiny threadlike delicate things lapping at his leaking slit before delving down into it, wriggling gently one after the other until they're intertwined down his dick shaft, stroking his cock from the inside. It's certainly not the first time in his very long life he's tried sounding but he's definitely never had anything so wonderfully squirmy down his slit before and sweet mother of god, but it's good.

It's even better when Dream lifts him and slides him down again, the wriggling in his arse around the mass that fills him, the bulbous rub of that mass deep in his belly beneath his hand, the soft writhing twist of the tendrils in his dick—and the ones under his costume up top, stroking his nipples, the pseudo tongue in his mouth that may as well be a cock the way he's sucking on it, the bit of Dream still wrapped behind his neck and cradling his chin, stroking his arched throat, he is being bombarded with pleasure in so many ways at once and his body is careening happily toward overload.

He's not even trying to temper it, clinging to Dream's tentacle-hand in the mass of Dream behind him and caressing Dream's dick in his belly and moaning with abandon as Dream moves him faster and faster. He can feel orgasm approaching, a great tidal swell bearing down on him and he is helpless to do anything but let it sweep him under.

It hits like a tsunami, crashing over him, wrenching a sound from him that is nearly a scream and leaving him breathless and gasping. His cock pulses, come oozing out of him around the tendrils that Dream has in his shaft and running down the length of it, messy and glorious. His arse clenches weakly, stretched too wide around Dream's massive girth to really bear down and that's a new delight to enjoy, definitely one for the record books. His chest heaves, he's moaning into the bit of Dream in his mouth, and Dream is absolutely roiling with pleasure in turn. His tentacles wrap tighter around Hob's thighs, lift him nearly free of his gigantic eldritch cock, and a thought flashes through Hob's mind, high on the tail end of his orgasm as Dream brings him back down. The tendrils down his shaft, the finger-tentacle-bit Dream had used on him in the waking world earlier—how amazing would it feel to be stuffed full of thick writhing tentacles like the ones currently holding him aloft—?

The thought must be vivid enough here in Dream's realm for him to 'see'; in an instant his enormous dick and the little tendrils that had been playing with Hob's prostate are gone and there are three tentacles rearing into Hob's view, each not quite as thick as his arm, their tapered tips shaped exactly like the head of Dream's prick.

WATCH, Dream thunders, to the crowd that Hob has all but forgotten about. Behold, as I give my Hob everything he should want, in ways only I can provide—

Hob whimpers into the bit of Dream in his mouth, pulse pounding, dick leaking around the tendrils still within it.

Dream lifts him high, tilts him back a tiny bit, and then the three tentacles dip out of his view, nudging wetly through the hair on the exposed bits of his thighs, his arse, zeroing in on his surely gaping hole. He has no real idea how much he's been stretched open but when the first tentacle pushes into him he barely feels it, despite its size. Then the second is there, wriggling alongside the first, squirming into him and that he can feel, gasping, moaning as the two together fill him. The bit of Dream in his mouth disappears and he lets his voice rise on a long, overwhelmed note as two arm-sized tentacles twist about in his arse, stroking everything, not at all in concert.

And then the third, it presses in between the other two and Hob cries out, wails long and loud as it wriggles in. He's stretched well beyond any realistic limits of his actual body, he knows, and yet here it just happens, because he wants it, wants Dream to work that third tentacle up into him, squeezed tight against the other two, burrowing deep. The way they squirm and slip past one another feels incredible, and the feeling just becomes more and more intense as they go. He's so full, deliciously gloriously unbearably full and his cock his full too, leaking continuously around the tendrils within it; his hand is still on his belly and he can feel the cock-head tips of each tentacle curling around each other as they push their way deeper and deeper. He's stretched taut on the girth of all three, spread open on display still by the tentacles around his thighs, and the view must be incredible for the watching crowd; he hopes they're absolutely ill with envy, witnessing Dream fuck him in so many ways not humanly possible.

Dream rumbles, a great bone-rattling sound that Hob feels in his teeth. I will have you now, my Hob, his voice sounds, and Hob wonders for half a second what he means, has he not been having him this entire time—

The tentacles within him writhe, separate, one sliding out while the others push deep, and then the one plunges back in while another draws out and then another and Hob throws his head back against the roiling there-but-not mass of Dream's shapeless form behind him, wailing to the heavens. It's incredible, so far beyond good, beyond whatever he might have imagined, the wriggling and the pistoning and the trading off, the slick twisting of each tentacle going out and back in, plunging so deep he can feel the sweet flares of pleasure all up his spine, the way each writhes against his pressing hand like Dream is getting off on that particular touch as well—

The tentacle of Dream that's supporting Hob's head caresses his arched throat lightly, and there are still tendrils toying with both nipples beneath his costume, another slim tendril curled in his navel and stroking the back of his hand on his belly; the tendrils in his cock are thoroughly drenched in his spend and squirming happily down inside him, almost a scaled-down mirror of what's going on in his arse and Hob can feel himself peaking again, helplessly, inexorably. His voice is one long continuous cry, broken by gasps for air, and then he is spilling again, shaking and shuddering through it, Dream barely pausing to let him ride it out before his pace resumes.

Dream's tentacles continue pistoning into him, frenzied and driven; Hob whimpers, overstimulated and strung out on pleasure, absolutely loving it. He clutches at his belly where Dream keeps filling him deep; it's good, it's too much but it's so damn good and he wants more, wants everything Dream can give him spilled thick and hot inside him and Dream is almost there, he can feel it—

Dream comes with a rolling groan like thunder, a tentacle pulsing deep inside Hob, and he can feel the heat and strength of its ejaculation against the hand on his stomach, which is so bizarre but still terribly hot. And then that groan sounds again and the second tentacle stabs up into his belly, bursting mightily, and Hob's breath catches in realization while his insides tingle with pleasure. Three of them. He sucks in a breath and then there's the third, burrowing frantically past the other two and spilling forcefully up inside him, Dream shuddering, that eldritch groan rolling all around them. It's so bloody weird to feel the familiar blooming of warmth so far inside him and there's so much of it, his belly sloshing just a little as the tentacles thrash weakly inside him, quivering, spent and shrinking. They make the most obscene squelching noises as they draw out of him one by one, and Hob has a brief second to imagine keeping all that come inside him, full up with all Dream could give him, before he feels the wet rush of it out of his gaping hole behind the tentacles, hears the way it splats on the floor below. Dream has stretched him marvelously open and trying to hold anything in is entirely fruitless, no matter the fantasy. It runs deliciously down the backs and insides of his thighs, his calves, as Dream lowers him and sets him on his feet, holds him until his trembling legs steady.

God, he is such a glorious mess.

Dream has shrunk back into a more person-shaped form, draped in one of his usual robes, by the time Hob trusts himself to stand on his own. He's inhumanly slender and willowy in a very fae sort of way, a handsbreadth shorter than Hob now and his still-otherworldly face is expectant, eager, just waiting for Hob to recover before he speaks; clearly they are not done yet.

"There is one final set of dreams, Hob, that I would claim from your admirers, if you are willing?" Black-clawed fingers reach to toy with the sweat-soaked hair on Hob's chest and his starry eyes blink sweetly.

"Anything you want, love." There's no exhaustion in the Dreaming, either, not if he doesn't want it.

"Thank you, my Hob," Dream purrs, drawing his hands back and rolling his slender shoulders so that his robe ripples off of him like water. Hob follows the movement with his eyes and finds that Dream's traded his cock for a sweet little mound, already dripping, trickling down his silky thighs.

Of course, naturally; they've covered Dream's claim on sucking and fucking Hob; it's only natural—apparently—that there would be people fantasizing about getting serviced by Hob, in turn.

He leans in to kiss Dream, brushes a knuckle over the silky hair above his slit. "And what is it we're doing here, love, mouth or cock?"

"Both, if you please. Leave no doubt. That all of your talents are mine to enjoy."

"Absolutely." He kisses Dream, picks him up with a firm grip behind his thighs, walks him over to the bar. Dream wraps pale legs around him, holds himself exactly right so that his cunt is teasing at the head of Hob's dream-enlarged prick with every step, warm and slick and wet, trickling down the underside of Hob's dick to collect on his balls. Hob is ready to shift him down onto it, put his back against the bar and fuck him senseless, but Dream had asked for his mouth too and Hob is so eager for a taste.

He considers putting Dream on the bar and seating himself on the barstool to eat, but he's still a bit open back there, Dream's eldritch fluids still a slick-sticky mess inside him and all over his thighs, which might leave him sliding around a bit. Plan B, then.

"Up you go, love, lay out for me," he says, sitting Dream on the bar and swinging him sideways so his legs are up on the bar as well. He hoists himself up after, Dream crabbing backwards on his elbows to get Hob in between his legs as they fall open and Hob dives in.

He's up on splayed knees, his well-fucked arse in the air and on display to any who'd like to see while he buries his face in Dream's juicy wet cunt. He groans his appreciation, licking and slurping with noisy enthusiasm; Dream tastes divine, as always, and Hob is suddenly ravenous. Nor does he care if he's blocking the audience's view; even if all they can see are his own hairy cheeks and open dripping hole, they can still hear precisely what he's doing to Dream.

And Dream makes no secret of it either, loud moans and sharp gasping cries that tell everyone gathered exactly how good Hob is at this particular art. Dream's hands—there are four of them again, and god but that's still so hot—Dream's hands are all buried in Hob's hair, stroking, tugging lightly, holding his head while he works.

Once he has lapped up most of the silky fluids spilling out of Dream's cunt, he slides three fingers deep into his pretty pink hole, crooks them so that Dream cries out, pulls sharply on his hair. Grinning, he sets his fingers to work, thrusting and stroking in merciless rhythm while his tongue flickers delicately all over Dream's straining clit. Dream gasps and cries out and clenches tight to his hair, hips tilting up into his attentions; Dream moves one set of hands, strokes them over the bare skin between Hob's shoulder blades and down, stretching and shifting form as they go until there are two tentacles at Hob's open arsehole, burrowing inside him and wriggling eagerly.

The sudden stroking fullness has Hob groaning, mashing his open mouth ardently to Dream's cunt, fingering him desperately all the while. His knees slip a little wider, encouraging the tentacles to delve deeper, his upsized dick just bumping the surface of the bar; he flicks and laves his tongue all over Dream's clit, drooling on it helplessly as he gasps and moans, flexing and squeezing around the flesh within him, just barely rutting the tip of his prick against the bar top and working his fingers deep inside Dream.

Dream is wailing, legs trembling, spindly clawed hands buried tight in Hob's hair and then with a shriek he is clamping down hard and rhythmically on Hob's fingers, thighs squeezing tight about his head. A jet of fluid hits Hob's chin and he shifts, mouth open, so that it hits his tongue instead. He groans, salty-sweet liquid fountaining into his mouth and running out again, collecting on the bar top beneath them. Hob crooks his fingers sharply, earns a jolt and a cry and another jet of fluid to his waiting tongue. He swallows a bit, savoring it as Dream finally goes limp, his narrow arse splatting prettily in the puddle that's formed beneath him.

His tentacles are still moving inside Hob, deliciously insistent; Hob is sure he's dribbling precome on the bar top and then there's a ripple of motion and Dream has hands on his shoulders again, the tentacles disconnected just like he'd done in the middle of the actual New Inn earlier and still wriggling away inside him, a good bit on the outside as well. Surely it looks ridiculous, like he's got two stub tails wagging to the gathered crowd but he doesn't care, it feels amazing and his focus is on Dream, just Dream.

Dream is panting, desperate and insistent as he hauls Hob's fluid-glazed face out of his cunt, hands tight in his hair. "Your cock, Hob Gadling, give it to me—"

Hob doesn't need telling twice. He scrambles upright on his knees, spreads them as wide as he can in the puddle of Dream's fluids, wraps his arms around Dream's thighs and hauls him up into his lap. His upsized prick finds its target unerringly and he thrusts in eagerly, earning a cry from Dream and a delirious plea for more, harder. The thick tendrils in his stretched-out arse writhe deliciously in exactly the right spot and it's so fucking good, sitting speared on that squirming mass with Dream sopping wet and steaming hot around his dick, with the heady scent of Dream all over his face and Dream laid out wailing in pleasure before him. One of Dream's arms is curled above his head, grasping at his hair; another is flung over his eyes and the other two hands flutter black claws delicately over his nipples and scrabble at the bar top, helpless and overwhelmed as Hob drives into him again and again.

Hob looks down his own body, past the damp curls of his chest hair and the ragged remnants of the costume skirt to where his dick disappears into Dream's slick pink cunt, pistoning in and out; he sees the swollen bud of Dream's clit straining and neglected between those shining wet folds and that just won't do. He briefly considers dreaming himself a third hand to take care of it, but between the fucking he's giving and the fucking he's getting he doesn't think he's got the focus. Besides, Dream's got extra hands right there—

"Touch yourself for me, love, let me see your fingers on your beautiful clit while I fuck you, Dream—"

Dream moans, moves a hand instantly to obey, slender fingers with their elegant black claws sliding close on either side of the little bud, stroking circles against the side of it with careful fingertips, another hand pinching a nipple at the same time. His head arches back and he cries out, gasping, so much wetter in an instant that Hob's barely got any friction inside him. It's glorious, but also frustrating and he speeds up, fucks harder, clenching tight on the wriggly bits in his arse at the same time, chasing orgasm with abandon.

Dream arches against the bar, legs trembling in Hob's hold, wailing a long note of ecstasy that climbs higher as Hob leans forward. He plants his hands on the bar top next to Dream's ribs, Dream's knees hooked in his elbows, and pummels into him until Dream is screaming, spraying liquid between them again in a glorious mess that Hob fucks right back into him, that runs down Hob's thighs to expand the puddle beneath them. Dream is panting these short sobbing moans with every deep thrust and one of his hands clings behind Hob's neck; the one that was just on his clit touches Hob's cheek, slick and wetness fragrant upon it as he combs it back into Hob's hair and clenches tight, tugging beautifully. His other two hands skitter down the bare diamond of Hob's back and scrabble wildly at his arse beneath the remains of his skirt, clutching, pressing, as if he could pull Hob any deeper inside himself. And then they change, shift, returning to the thick tendrils of before and slithering to reconnect with the bits detached earlier. Proper tentacles again, they quickly establish a rhythm, fucking into Hob in perfect counterpoint to his own pounding thrusts into Dream, who is coming again, warm liquid flooding between and beneath them. He's clinging and trembling around Hob's neck and gasping in his ear, and thank fuck this is a dream because they would never get the bar food-service suitable again—

The combination of Dream's dual-wielded tentacles and Dream's soaking wet cunt mean he stands no chance of lasting more than another minute and indeed he doesn't, pumping furiously into Dream's jackknifed body until it overwhelms him and he spills with a grunting cry, gasping, groaning, Dream squeezing tight on his cock again and again and wriggling ferociously inside his arse to milk him absolutely dry.

He collapses at last, panting heavily, disentangling his arms from Dream's legs and propping himself on his elbows. Dream's extra limbs slither out of Hob's arse and become arms again and the crowd, whom Hob had all but forgotten at this point, begins drifting out the doors of the Inn before they just dissipate, the building with them. Dream's hands are still around the back of Hob's neck and Hob dips to kiss him, sated and spiraling high and so very much in love.

When he draws back, they are no longer atop the New Inn's bar but in his bed in the flat above it. Or rather, in an upgraded hi-def version of his bed since this is still the Dreaming, plenty of room to roll about, the sheets just that extra bit softer. Dream is still beneath him and the stupid costume is finally gone so they're pressed naked together under the blankets, no trace of messes or fluids on either of them any longer.

Dreaming cleanup is a blessing, truly, though his brain still insists there ought to be a shower, at some point, just on principle.

He shushes it, kisses Dream again gently, savors this softness and come-down a long moment more. When he lifts away at last, it's with a besotted smile down at his beautiful Dream, and he reaches to brush a stray lock of ebony hair out of his pale perfect face.

"Well worth it, love?"

"Utterly," Dream purrs, with that smile that makes Hob want to offer himself up again. And he could, sure, but they have fucked quite a lot already, and it's really lovely just to lie here cuddling at this point, actually. Hob shifts so that he's beside Dream instead of atop him, pulls him close and nuzzles lips against his forehead.

"The tentacles in my arse while I was eating you out—that was absolutely inspired, love, holy shit." He plants a soft kiss at Dream's hairline.

"You were wet and open and presenting for it; I could hardly leave you unfilled." Dream snuggles contendedly up under his chin, against his throat.

"Hardly," Hob agrees, grinning. "I do hope you got everything you were looking for?"

"Without question," Dream sighs, happy, content, which Hob loves to see more than anything else. "I am satisfied beyond measure, in this regard, to have lain claim to you before all and sundry." He plants the softest little kiss against Hob's adam's apple, worms his arms—he's still got four of them—beneath and around Hob to hold him close.

"I'm glad," Hob says, grin softening to a smile, and he is. He's delighted to have done this for Dream, to have made him happy, to have given him something he wanted. "If you ever want to do it again, or—or anything else of the sort, just say the word. I like playing to your fantasies, that you'll trust me with what you want, that simple ordinary human me can give you something that's maybe just a little bit like what you give all of creation every time they sleep." God, but he gets sappy in the aftermath, doesn't he.

Dream burrows down against him, rubs his cheek against Hob's chest hair. "You spoil me, Hob Gadling," he says, warmth and fondness in his voice. "You know me to be greedy and intemperate, yet you offer so willingly anything I might wish. I should like to do the same for you."

"Oh love, honestly, I'm spoiled enough that I get to have you at all—"

"You had. Many interesting thoughts, during our lovemaking," Dream interrupts, two sets of fingertips tracing up and down the dip of Hob's spine, and abruptly Hob recalls his 'backwards blowjob' idea, the whole thrill of Dream filling him up with come, the potential of those tentacles. "If you wish to explore them, I am at your disposal."

And Hob, well. That's not something he's going to say no to, but.

"I will take you up on that," he says, with a yawn, "but another night. Right now, I'm in a fantastically comfortable bed with my dear, precious love who has just fucked my brains out in so many ways; I should like to hold him awhile longer, sleep with him close and safe in my arms until I wake back in my actual bed."

"This, too, I can provide," Dream says, a soft smile in his voice.

And he does.

= Started: 9/23/23 Drafted: 10/7/24 Posted: 10/9/24

[preeningpisces]

Unwind Me - Nanami x Chubby!Reader

Notes: In honor of my Nanami headcanons being the most popular, I wanted to dedicate my first fic to him!

Highly recommend listening to Anxious by Ginuwine to set the mood

Content: Fluff, smut, pwp, established relationship, f!reader, ya'll are sappy & in loooove

Crossposted on AO3

18+ content below, mdni, & enjoy 🧡

Freshly bathed, you fold and organize your clothes, humming a tune to distract yourself. The week was chaotic and today was exhausting, but you made it through and now have the weekend ahead of you. Your fiance, who is typically more dutiful than you, takes the basket off the bed and sets it aside. Ignoring the pile of clothes, he embraces you with arms wrapped around your waist.

“Yes?” You drawl, leaning your head back against his shoulder; he smells as clean as you feel. Kento hums and walks you back towards the bed, where he guides you to sit and lie back with a playful push. Your smile morphs into a grin, then giggling as your lover crawls over you, expression mirroring your own. His head tilts as if aiming for your lips, but lands on your neck, making you sigh. The kiss is soft, only brushing your skin, more akin to a breath than a touch. The tip of his nose trails a short line stopping just under your ear, where he captures the lobe with soft lips. 

The slow, thoughtful traces torment you with arousal, but you know rushing him is foolish. Forcing yourself to be patient, your fingers dance along the planes of his body—not as gracefully as he touches you, but still appreciative in your own way. Yearning blooms in your core when his muscles flex and contract beneath your fingertips, as strong and reliable as he is. To your surprise, he tugs at your bathrobe. Seducing you for sex is standard for Kento, but trying to undress you so soon is unusual enough to rouse your curiosity.

“Eager?” The robe peels apart, and you lift yourself to aid him. 

“Always,” he says as tosses the robe away, then nestles into your shoulder. He spends all-too long brushing and tracing, his touch ghostlike. “The laundry can wait.” Ah, he’s very eager tonight. It doesn’t come as a surprise. Work stressed you so much this week you’d pass out after dinner almost nightly. Kento was understanding, as he always is, but it’s been over a week since you’ve had sex. You’re feeling needy, too.

“But your shirts will get wrinkly,” you tease, knowing how fussy he is about his clothes.

“I’ll iron them.” The tepid response and the ticklish brush of your breasts make you laugh. He’s still clothed, while you’re naked, and it makes you feel vulnerable in all the best ways.

An impatient huff demands he kiss you, but he continues mapping out your body. Miffed by his stubbornness, you grab his hair to steal the kiss yourself, but he leans out of reach. With squeeze to your wrist he coaxes you to release him, allowing him to leave the bed and pull up the nearby chair. You give him a lecherous grin as he rolls his shirt sleeves to his elbows to reveal his sculpted forearms; the grin deepens when he loosens his tie and unfastens the top two buttons of his shirt. Hot thrill dances through you when he sits in front of you, his legs spread slightly. You expect him to grab you by your hips and partake in you like a man starved, but he does not. Instead, he leads you by your ankle, propping your foot on his lap where you feel his rising excitement. 

Your brows shoot to your hairline, not sure why he has you naked on the bed with your foot resting on his boner. Honestly, you never pegged him as a foot guy. Before you can decide how you feel about your fiance having a foot fetish, he’s pouring the contents of a vial into his palm. He spreads substance over each hand, then coats your foot. Recognizing the consistency as oil, you’re relieved he wasn’t asking for a footjob. 

The press of his thumb makes you moan so deeply it’s borderline pornographic; the reaction makes him smile. Deliberate pulses roll into your arches, reaching for every ache in your flesh. You melt into the mattress from the sensation and the adoration you feel towards him: the thoughtfulness, the care, the consideration. It doesn’t help the way he looks at you as he works, his gaze nothing short of enamored. 

“You’re an absolute angel and a dream,” you say as you sink into the plush mattress, a rather pricey one Kento insisted was worth the investment. “What did I do to deserve such a good man?” Opting to focus on the massage, and never one to accept compliments, he remains silent. His fingers lace with your toes, and gently rotate your foot, easing tension you didn’t even realize you had. Then he stretches your ankles, pressing them at varying angles, your nerves lighting with a pleasant burn. “Why are you so good at this?” 

“Googled it,” he says casually, as if this isn’t the sweetest thing a man could do. “You’ve been stressed lately, I thought you needed to unwind.” Mindful, Kento treats your other foot with the same care. You flinch when he thumbs just above your ankles, which are surprisingly tight. Before moving up your calves, he places a few kisses on your toes, making you squeak and almost kick him. 

“Kento!” He only laughs.

Now you understand why massages are a seduction technique: he hasn’t kissed you, let alone touch anywhere erotic, and you’re already aching for him. Normally you’d desire nothing more than to pull him on the bed and sit yourself right on his cock, but you’re so relaxed you’d rather allow him to do as he pleases. 

Once he’s satisfied with his work, he slips one calf on his shoulder and leans forward until he’s on top of you; breast squished by your thigh almost uncomfortably. The fabric of his trousers irritates your pussy, but you pay it no mind when you feel his bulge. Hair tickles your neck when he lavishes it with kisses, and you buck against him and wrap your arms around his broad back. Tensions rise when he grunts in your ear, reciprocating with a roll of his own. This only lasts a few moments before he frees himself and abandons you to sit against the headrest. Resisting your lazy haze, you peel yourself from the mattress and crawl to join him, his warmth calling to you. You attempt to straddle him, but he stops you. 

“Turn around for me,” he says with a twirl of his finger, and a look of promise. You comply, but before you can lean back, he places a throw pillow between your bodies. Aware of your confusion, he says, “so you’re comfortable.” Kento wraps his arms around your shoulders, cupping your jaw to angle you and give you what you’ve been craving. The kisses are slow and deep, the delay making them all the sweeter. Tongues touch sparingly, only dipping briefly or skirting along the seam.

“I want you to touch yourself,” he murmurs as he adjusts behind you, hooking his foot around your ankle to spread your leg, your second pushed open with a press to your soft inner thigh. 

“Kento,” you say in mock offense, “so dirty tonight.” Your fingers trail down to your center where you’re so wet you both hear the sticky sound of contact. Lips spread, you idly trail along the folds, making him suck in a breath. Surprise tingles in your spine when he presses his palms into your shoulders.

“Don’t stop.” It’s difficult to focus on your movements while he massages your muscles, but the gentle command compels you to obey and give your best effort. Your sounds increase tenfold, unused to the mixture of these sensations. “You can do it, don’t lose focus now.” His encouragement awakens a need for his approval. The pillow, while doing a lovely job of supporting your lower back, denies you the pleasure of feeling his erection. It takes several moments for you to stroke your clit properly, but eventually you glide in tandem with Kento’s touch. A well-placed press into a knot makes your stomach lurch and tighten. It almost feels too good.

Upping the intensity, you rub circles around your bud, gathering and sweeping your essence to hasten the movement. Your pussy clenches around nothing, empty, longing to be stretched. The mere thought of Kento’s thick cock splitting you open makes you whimper. Frustrated, you bite your lip.

“You haven’t put them inside you at all, have you?” he asks, as if sensing your problem. You nod, and he doesn’t hesitate to snake his arm around to meet you. “Were you waiting for me? Do my fingers feel better than yours?” 

“Fuck, yes. They feel so much better.” His fingers trace the rim of muscles, appreciating your slipperiness and teasing the hole, now trembling in anticipation.

“Keep doing what you’re doing for me, okay?” With no further warning, his fingers sink into you sharply, making you throw your head back with a keen. A squeeze to your hip reminds you to continue when your touch fumbles. “God, you’re soaked,” he groans into your neck, relishing how wet his fingers become.

“It’s all for you—please don’t stop.”

“Eager?” He mimics you coyly. Seated behind you, his fingers barely reach past your g-spot, so he relentlessly strokes the spongy tissue.

“You touched my feet, of course I am. And you’re knuckle-deep in my pussy.”

“Crude as always,” fondness warms the disapproving words. You don’t respond, because he’s caressing your insides, pulling sounds from you. The attention makes you fuzzy, and your head lulls on his shoulder. Wet sounds and soft moans fill the silence. Kento’s hot breath on your ear makes reality even more distant. 

Before you can enjoy what your fiancé offers, he’s sliding out of you and reaching for the nightstand. You whine his name, but he is quick to ease your suffering. A smooth, rubbery texture that is all too familiar bumps your fingers, and wordlessly asks to take over. As soon as you comply, it whirs to life and sends a jolt of pleasure through you. Loosening his grip, he prompts you to hold the device and resumes the massage, now fixating on your knots. 

“Ah!” You arch your back, but his firm hold on your shoulders prevents you from straying. The reaction doesn’t deter him, as his thumbs roll into your rhomboids, which would have made you crumble if he wasn’t supporting you. “Ooooh, Kento, that feels amazing.” To appreciate his efforts and remain coherent, you keep the vibrator on a low setting. The pitch in his breathing tells you how the words affected him, his ardency even more obvious when he sucks your neck with surprising force. A kiss tends to the wound before he repeats on the other side, lips worshipping your skin. Next, he eases the aches in your traps, transforming you into putty.

“Turn it up, sweetheart,” the request makes you clench, and you do as asked. The thrum makes you whimper and squirm while he grunts, the pillow grazing his cock. “You’re so tense here. Is the pressure alright?” The question makes you flutter; while dirty talk excites you like anyone else, nothing turns you on more than Kento’s attentiveness. You nod vigorously.

“It’s perfect-ah-I think my boobs pull on them,” he maintains his pace and pressure, mouthing at your jaw.

“Makes sense.” He cups your heavy breasts, supporting them before rolling your nipples. “I can’t say I don’t appreciate them, as selfish as that is.” He squeezes them cheekily, and you murmur his name in appreciation. One hand rests on your neck, pulling your head back and urging you to present your lips. This kiss is the messiest of the night as you spill all your noises into his mouth, tongues and teeth flirting; right breast teased as he rolls and pinches your nipples at random intervals.

“Fuck, baby,” you whine after he sucks your lip into his mouth and twists your nipple, now shamelessly bucking against your toy and subsequently rubbing his cock through the pillow. Buzzing circles around your clit, you smear your wetness loudly enough for Kento to hear. Your breathing picks up, becoming choppier and pitching higher; your eyes squeeze shut as you chase the high. Kento reaches down and ups the setting two notches, making your head roll to the side with a shout.

“Going to cum?” He asks, even though he knows the answer—he just wants to hear you say it. When you don’t respond, he tugs your hair, forcing your head back up. “Look at me,” his voice is low and breathless with exhilaration. You force your eyes wide open, graced with his intense stare. Brows furrowed, eyes dark and blown with desire. You’re about to answer, but the grip on your hair and the look on your lover’s face make you fall apart. Despite your best efforts, your eyes fly closed as you shudder through your orgasm with a silent, but open mouth.

“Good girl,” he coos, kneading your breast and nipple as you come. Excited, he grinds his throbbing cock against the pillow, searching for relief. Delight floods your heart when you he praises you. After several moments of panting as you come down, he says hotly into your ear: “can you do it again?” You tug him down for a sloppy kiss.

“Mm hmm,” already rolling against the vibrator again. Occasionally, you jerk and remove it from sensitivity, but you can’t resist the temptation to come again. “You’re making me greedy,” your voice lilts with humor.

“It’s not greedy—it’s what you deserve,” he says, and urges you forward onto your stomach, one of your arms trapped beneath you to keep hold of the toy. Lying on your vibrator is odd, but it doesn’t dull the pleasure, and the position makes grinding easier. Kento attends to the muscles in your back he couldn’t reach before, your moans stifled by the comforter. Seeing your hips move, chasing your pleasure makes him harden more than he thought himself capable. The sight of your ass and thighs is almost too much for him to handle.

His fingers don’t shy away from the soft rolls of your back, neither lingering nor avoiding. Kento has always treated your body with respect, never fetishizing, while simultaneously making you feel like the sexiest woman alive. Thoughts of his reverence only make you more desperate to come, eagerly humping your toy, unknowingly tormenting Kento with the display. He had been working on your lats, but as if compelled, he lands an appreciative smack on your ass just to watch the flesh jiggle.

The impact makes you whimper and push back against his hand, wanting more. Your reaction makes him smile—how can he deny you when you ask so sweetly? He traces the spot, drawing more tingles to the surface. The muscles of your back and shoulders tense—waiting. It’s only when they relax he rewards you with a second, hitting the same spot as before. You purr, one of your legs curling behind him. Large hands squeeze both cheeks, enjoying the thick flesh between his fingers. Your heartbeat jumps when you hear the clink of his belt unbuckling and the undoing of his zipper. He slides his fingers into you, which you rock back against, not immediately realizing it wasn’t his cock.

“I want your cock,” you say almost petulantly, the blanket stifling your dissent as you meet his thrusts with fervor. “I’m ready for you. Please, just fuck me.”

“Not yet,” he places apologetic kisses on your back and shoulders. “I want you to cum again.” His fingers pulse against your g-spot, keeping a targeted, unrelenting pressure.

“Well, I’d cum faster if you put your dick in me,” you quip with a look over your shoulder, as awkward as it is from your position. This earns you another swat to your ass, which makes you grin. Knowing he won’t budge, you steel yourself and turn the setting up a notch. You mewl, and would have jerked away, but he presses your lower back down, trapping the vibrator between you and the bed. His fingers speed up, matching the intensity of the new setting. “Shit, shit, shit-” you cry, both chasing and running away from the sensations.

The bed dips as Kento hovers over you, and whispers in your ear, “you’re alright; relax, sweetheart.” Despite his soothing words, his fingers don’t relent. “Breathe,” his voice is even lower, and his fingers stroke with more precision. His cock rests between your ass cheeks, which you wiggle to egg him on. Every muscle in your body is straining, on the brink of snapping, but you have complete trust in him—you always trust Kento.

Just when you’re ready to let loose, he pulls his fingers from you, and the spear of his cock silences the complaint that bubbles on your lips. The sudden stretch elicits the perfect sting, causing you to yelp. So wound up, it only takes three shallow thrusts to make you come with a full body shudder. The squeezing of his cock makes Kento growl, and waste no time rolling his hips against your ass, his elbows resting on either side of you.

“Fuck, oh, fuck—Kento!” You grip the sheets with your free hand, as overstimulation sets in, the other becoming cramped from the odd position and your weight. His hand pins yours to the bed, intertwining your fingers as he pants in your ear. The room fills with a cacophony of noises: grunts, moans, sticky wetness, and the slap of his pelvis against your soft body. Still wet with your excitement, he taps at your lips in question. You open your mouth, happily receive the gift—licking and sucking his fingers lewdly, the way you treat his cock.

“Haa,” he breathes shakily as he removes his fingers. “You squeeze me so tight—shit,” he groans and rests his head rests next to yours, and wraps you in a hug as he grinds deeply, barely pulling out. “I won’t last if you keep doing that.”

“Good,” you clench around him, “I want you to cum; I want you to cum inside me.” The response makes him groan, and fuck you harder. The vigor of his thrusts causes you to release the vibrator, now left to vibrate against the sheets and your thigh, which Kento hasn’t seemed to notice. His thrusts become sloppier, his deep sounds slip into a breathy tenor, signaling his approaching release. You aid him by bearing down when he enters, and squeezing as he retreats, earning you a softly whined swear. He pushes himself up and away from you, pulling out once more, squeezing the base of his cock to control himself.

Quickly, he rolls you over onto your back and re-enters you, setting a rapid pace. He snatches the vibrator, clicks it two settings higher—almost at its max—before pressing it against your overused clit, and you arch off the bed with a shout. Deciding that wasn’t enough, Kento pushes your chubby mound upward, exposing even more of your pussy to the sensations. This makes you thrash, the feeling so intense you don’t know what to do with your limbs.

“You’re so beautiful—I love you so much,” admiration grits through clenched teeth. His thrusts become more passionate, and his voice more wanton. You raise yourself to your elbows, giving yourself the leverage to meet his thrusts.

“I love you too!” you squeal when he rubs the vibrator in circles, feeling overwhelmed with emotions. “I need you-” you gasp, losing track of your thoughts. “Fuck, I need you t-to cum in me,” a shiver wracks his body, and he nods drunkenly. “Need you to fill my pussy up.” These are the magic words, because Kento surges forward to kiss you almost aggressively. The two of you rock and pant into each other, and suddenly you’re both exclaiming your release, unsure who came first. Warmth floods inside as he pumps his cum into your depths, filling you entirely. There’s more than usual from the brief respite in your sex-life, you note with perverse glee.

Kento turns the vibrator off and tosses it aside, before laying beside you and trapping you in his sturdy arms. You take his hand in your own, and press your thumb into the meat of his palm, rolling out the tension. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. The two of you remain connected, needing to be close, and enjoy the comfort of each other’s bodies in peace.

“I want to give you a back rub during sex, too,” you eventually disrupt the tranquil mood. “The only solution is to peg you, I’m afraid.” Kento smothers your face in his chest to silence you and your cackle.

“No.”

“Say what you want, but your dick twitched just now.” Kento shakes his head and pulls out, his cum following and seeping into the comforter. “I’m running a bath,” he announces and leaves the bedroom. You call out to him with an outstretched hand, but it flops, too boneless to argue.

“Will you at least carry me?”

Though you can’t see it, Kento smiles. “I said you needed to unwind, didn’t I?”

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs appreciated! Let me know if there's anything you want to see from me. 🔸🧡🔸

[hughiecampbelle]

Unornamented (Hughie Campbell Oneshot)

Character/s: Hughie

Word Count: 1,691

Requested: Not requested, but here are the prompts I used :) 13.) Hum, 36.) Scraped Knees 34.) “Still awake?”

Inspired By: Foxglove by Haley Heynderickx

A/N: I love him, I love him, I love him!!!! Anyways, just an appreciation fic for your patience!!! Thank you my loves!! I actually kinda love how this turned out. I think it's very soft and sweet, even a little sad. Heavily inspired by the song/album. Slowly working through my writers block so that once I start posting again, my work will be what you deserve!!! Feedback is always appreciated!! 💜💜💜

The cicada's sharp pitch moves with the wind, seeping through the open window screens. You never knew what that peculiar sound was, the screaming, bleating, wailing, only that it swept through you each night on your long, humid walks home. A kind of begging. A performance. A tongue you have not yet mastered. Shakespearean tragedies, you imagine, wars between families, between forbidden lovers and bitter marriages. Feuds. They step out into costumes covered in ruffles, pearls, thick collars and high stockings. The children dress as fauna and flora, roaring like cubs, nipping at one another playfully. On stage, they are someone else. Largely unseen as the sun sets, they intend to make their presence known. The rest of them, the crowds for miles and miles, sing their songs in appreciation. A hum that vibrates through the leaves, the open air, their roaring praise and applause settles goosebumps across your flesh. They’ve grown accustomed to sweet summer shows and they will be forever grateful. Harmless, they went about their time as you wished to do. No biting, nor stinging. Without violence. They draw out these shows, afraid they will be left alone to bear their lives, their thoughts, mundane and overpowering respectively. 

Beneath you, the springs of the mattress puncture the thin fabric, poking at the spokes of your spine the way a mother would her child. It tickles, her bony knuckles, the sharpness of the spring. Interchangeable. A comfort you have forgotten of, one that fills the cavity of your chest with dread. What else have you forgotten? What else have you given up for a life like this? The sheer curtains blow with the breeze. Thoughtlessly, they move and dance and grab at one another, like sisters. They must be laughing, you think, for they are warm underneath the butter yellow street lights and safe and together. They must be laughing, because they are together and that is who they’ll only ever need: their twin. Leaves rustle underneath the insect melodies. A bass, low and of the earth, the tone of an old man telling stories of his youth. You can hear him smiling. 

The sheets are soft, newly washed, and sticking to you. Wrapped around your torso, your legs free to breathe, kissed by the thick air. Lying like this, with your knees tented, you can see the scrapes across them. Earth scorched. What was once torn open, alive and mouthy, had healed only slightly. The skin is pale and thick and chewy. Shiny. They don’t hurt as much as they did. You’re not sure how it happened, only that it must’ve been recent. There are other aches and pains. Healed and unhealed, bruised and not. Old wounds stitched together. Deep purples, cobalt blues, sickly greens. They’ll yellow soon enough. You were always getting hurt. You were always in some sort of danger. Unwise, you knew, and yet there was something about the thrill. The taste of blood in your mouth. Last time – the last time – you’d almost been sliced in half. Not yet a scar, the settled skin inching its way across your belly remained snakelike. Sensitive, you were careful to wash and dry, to dress and dress again. Your fingertips brush where it rests beneath your shirt. You don’t like looking at it. It remains too much of a reminder. On that day. Of what you were attempting to leave behind. Too soon to joke, to laugh, the both of you still a little rattled. 

It’s how you ended up here. 

There is a body beside you. Not unfamiliar. His skin is warm, and though forgiveness was never one of summer's virtues, you find yourself curling into him, all his nooks and crannies, despite the humidity in the air. His chest rises and falls evenly. His lip is split and there is a scab at his temple. How many times have you kissed that very spot? How many times had you checked on it, to make sure it was healing properly. Free of infection. His shirt is worn and thin and it smells of him: soap and sky and the dinner he burned earlier. One arm rests beneath you, your head, the other thrown behind the pillow, perching it up further. His rest is not easy, not without effort, but there is a certain softness to his features. Maybe it’s the light, the setting sun, the deep, bright blue of the night sky. Maybe not. Either way your eyes follow the slope of his nose, the curve of his cheek, the furrow of his brow. His hair is wild, some of it slicked back. It is his best effort not to overheat. His dreams are still water, not yet broken by growing, gruesome waves. Not yet entering the heart of the storm. It will, of course. And when it does, he will startle awake. Panting. Gasping for air. Clinging to you. 

For now, though, he is quiet. 

The bedroom is cozy. Cozy, you think, is a nice way of saying it’s small. No matter. You had little with you anyways. A lamp. A mattress. You have yet to get a frame, a bedside table. Frivolities. A single dresser you split down the middle, neck to groin. Autopsy-esque. Photos of friends. Notes and doodles. Passports, fake IDs. Enough clothes to get you through the season. You know, when the snow threatens to fall and the cicadas are long gone, you will need more than what you’ve got. The drawers stick and, embarrassed, as quiet as he can, he’ll shake it open. He has done this since you got here. Untethered himself from you, from the bed, gentle enough not to startle you. He’ll dress, and kiss your head, and leave a note: Be back soon. XO Hughie. He’ll disappear in the early morning. Wandering, you suppose. It is the only way he can breathe easily, if he knows where you are. If he understands the layout of the land. You weren’t in the city anymore. The crowds you’d slipped into, becoming just another strange face, were no longer an option here. The hiding places were minimal. Open roads, nothing for miles. The underbelly you could run to for safety, the trains you could crouch into, your hoods up, your faces low, were unavailable. Nonexistent. You’d traded one anonymity for another. You’d pretend to be asleep, watching him, wide eyed, as the morning sun enveloped him. The rays are subtle, not yet full, and they stretch out towards him. Sometimes you’ll fall back to sleep. Sometimes you’ll lie there, soaking in every inch of the room, wondering what became of everyone you’d ever cared about. Wondering if you could make a life like this. When he comes back, he will make you coffee. The only two mugs you brought with you. Chipped and worn. He’ll place his on the dresser, careful with yours, as if it were something precious. He doesn’t voice what he’s seen, what he’s taken into account, but his features are quick to give him away. You will reassure him: he could never find you here. You are both safe. Everyone is safe. The words are hollow, You know this. As long as Homelander is alive, you are in danger. There is only so much of you you can give to him anymore. There is only so much of your mind, your body, your fears, that you can dole out to him. Hughie nods, the steam from his cup bringing color to his face. You will find something else to talk about. The strangers you met on your long walks. The pets you wave to through fences, through windows. The long summer you’ve been granted. How lucky you’ll be when the weather chills and the leaves begin to turn. Anything but Vought. Anything but him. 

That isn’t for many hours, of course.

Your thoughts spread like fog through the apartment. The kitchen (tiny) and the bathroom (even littler). Enough utensils for two. A spongy bath mat. Anything that would fit in the backseat, really. Silly things you grabbed without thinking. The kitschy salt and pepper shakers. A dozen mismatched socks. Only the case of Hughie’s mouth guard. Half a set of slippers. A handful of books. The rest? You would never be sure what happened to them, to anything. You had what the old tenants left behind. The dresser, the lamp, a table for four with three chairs, a shower curtain. There are other things here as well. Spiders in the corners, weaving their webs. Occasionally, you might find one on the bar of soap by the sink, crawling across the counter tops, making its way through the length of the apartment. A mouse or two. If you’re quiet enough, you might hear them scurrying in the walls. Worse, you suspect, though that’s as far as you can name definitively. The first thing he did was get you a mattress. Paid in cash under another name, beaming with pride, he pushed it up the stairs and through each doorway. It was perfect.  The cicadas sing their songs, harmonizing with one another. The sky has darkened. There are so many stars here. That was the first thing you noticed. Driving for days on end, you watched the inky black glitter, thousands and thousands of holes opening up, letting the twinkling light through. It wasn’t like this in the city. It had never been this clear. Perhaps it was the running, the escaping, the tiresome ways you’d been living since you left. Perhaps it was the first beautiful thing you’d been allowed to take in in a long time. There were wildflowers and small towns and houses built long before you, but the time to look in awe, to appreciate, had been so fleeting. Mere moments, that’s all you were allowed. This would go on forever. The scars embedded in your skin ache just a little. You readjust, placing your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Hughie, coming to, wraps his arm around you, pulling you even closer. “Still awake?” He asks in his sleepy voice, and you know he is smiling.

[darthannie]

day twenty-three: knife play with thomas shelby 

pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader word count: 608 warnings: knife, little blood, fingering a/n: First fic back, yay! Would Tommy probably have a gun instead? Probably but just go with me on this one. kinktober masterlist

Breaking into Thomas Shelby’s house was easier than you thought. Though, it was more like an estate than a house. Well aren’t I lucky, you thought. You got inside and snuck through the house, struggling to find his office in the dark. You were to get in, get out, and get far away from there. 

You scoured the halls, not making a single sound. Intuition told you to check the door to your left. You turned the nob and it opened quietly. You stood in the door frame, triumphant. Right as you moved, an arm snaked around your waist and you felt something cold on your neck. 

“It’s not polite to show up to someone’s house unannounced,” whispered Tommy. 

“Thomas Shelby, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you.” He pressed the metal on your skin, not enough to cause an abrasion, but enough for you to feel the threat of cool metal on your warm skin. Your breath hitched as his body pressed against yours, making you shiver. 

He kept his voice low, “Now you’re going to tell me who sent you. And I will let you go.”

“I cannot give you that information, Mr. Shelby,” you whispered.

“I’m not going to take it by force, but I supposed I’ll just have to fuck it out of you instead.” Before you could question him he forced you over to his desk, removing the knife from your neck to clear off part of the desk. You hinged at the waist as he bent you over the desk. You looked back at him.

“Say the word, and I’ll stop. Otherwise, this might not be enjoyable. What’ll it be?”

“Fuck me, Mr. Shelby,” you said biting your lip. He lifted your dress and slipped the blade underneath your various undergarments and cut through them with ease. Once bare, he dragged the knife along your ass, teasing you with the blade. 

You could have sworn he cut you. You reached back and felt around. When you checked your hand there was a smudged bit of blood on your fingertips.

“Mr. Shelby, I believe you drew blood.”

“I believe I did.” His fingers found their way to your entrance. He felt as your wet hole took him in. He moved slowly as he prepped you. Satified with how wet you were, he laid the flat against your pussy. 

“Are you ready to tell me who sent you?” His fingers curled inside you and your back arched. 

“No, Mr. Shelby. I think you’re going to have to try harder.” 

He removed the knife and you felt him line himself up and thrust in you, hard. He started thrusting and pulling you up by the neck, your body now right up against his. He moved his hand to your waist. The previously forgotten knife found its way back to your neck. Tommy turned the edge away from you, careful not to accidentally slit your throat. Even still, the fact that there was even a chance he could cut you was thrilling. Your moans filled the room as his pace evened out. The items on the desk trembled. 

“By the end of the night, you will give me the information I need or I will put this blade to good use.” He tried to sound threatening, but a bit of play came out in his voice. The blade found its way to the side of your right thigh, moving up slowly. You grabbed onto the edge of the desk, needing to hold onto something as a chill ran down your spine. 

Breathlessly, you quipped back, “I’d quite like to see you try, Mr. Shelby.”

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