#i keep trying to numb myself with drugs

[lili-elbe]

g-d i wish i had just one real friend

[northwest-cryptid]

Don't even get me started on Hod, I'm not immune to Hod.

[sensitivegoblin]

Vent

Tw SH, sucide

[vatelixx]

You are the knife (I turn inside myself),

S2!Post-addiction!Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and copious amounts of angst, and like a small amount of fluff to just… balance it out), Workplace rivals, aka, enemies to lovers (who are still enemies and would rather die than tell each other they’re in love).

──── autistic spencer (as per usual), evil evil reader (im being dramatic, kinda), they hate each other so much that they have to find a new way to crawl into each others skin.

Warnings: sub spencer, brat!spencer (a man gets glasses and suddenly thinks he can be defiant) brat!tamer!reader, HUGE corruption kink (someone keeps putting that in there???? it’s not me, i swear), first time for Spencer (i love a virginal nerd), restraints (someone has to pin him down), crying— like lots of crying, degradation (and a little praise because they work hand in hand), Spencer eats reader out like rent is due, reader says thankyou by destroying him, they argue mid-sex. They actually just argue constantly.

— warning: mentions of past drug addiction.

w.c: 9k (mostly smut, holy shit how is it 9k??? their arguments hiked up my word count im positive)

a/n: i know tumblr hates to see me coming with my Spencer Reid one shots. I wrote this at 3am when I was supposed to be studying for my latin exam, it’s okay. Uni will understand I had greater things to do. I promise i’ll get around to my requests this week, i just got possessed by the holy ghost and wrote this.

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Something, something, mindless torture. Spencer holds his brain, his intellect, in high regard. Proverbial accomplishments, Stanford Binet approved genius, he’s an outlier to most. And yet, the moment you start speaking, he has no thoughts beyond the domineering urge to throw himself off a cliff.

You’re late today. Chicago, you’ve both been sentenced, discarded to create a profile from the minimal information present. Forced proximity, the team have been trying to stifle this animosity shared between you for over a year now. It doesn’t work.

Here’s the thing, each member of the BAU has their own specialised feat: Penelope could be a cybercriminal, if she so wished, a tech-genius that has no qualms in tearing down firewalls. Morgan, adroit, an expert on the field, stereotypically strong, all running lines of muscle. Who wouldn’t want to be princess-carried away from danger by him? He’s also remarkably good at kicking down doors. Gideon has incalculable years of experience, a mentor.

The list stretches on.

But you and Spencer can’t both be the brains of the team. It’s unbalanced, skewed. A clash of intellect. Scales tipped in one direction, why does he always come up short? Why can’t he just—

Why, repeats as you push through the bureau, blanking the predictable, formulaic stares of various officers, trained officials, the usual mess. Why— why profiling? Why did you voluntarily choose to suffer your way through ceaseless cases of sanguinary?There has to be an element of masochism to your career; no one with a sane mind voluntarily decides to walk into an onslaught of serial killers and death.

The early mornings are always the worst; stumbling out of bed, deriving no sleep from the night, tangled sheets and restless limbs. “Don’t,” you push, padding into the office, met with Spencer’s hardened gaze. “Late night.”

“We haven’t been here for 48 hours yet, 36 and 22 minutes to be precise, and you’ve already—“

“Get your mind out of the gutter, boy genius. Late night as in I stared at the casefiles until my mind went numb.”

“Did you take a break?” he asks, and you both know it’s not born from care. “Maybe a self-reflection period to realise that torturing yourself isn’t the most effective form of work. Your reactive skills will be delayed now, let’s hope we don’t find the unsub today. In fact, maybe I should warn Hotch—“

“Have I ever warned Hotch about your breakdowns?” that shuts him up. It also makes him spiral, because you can’t know, it’s not statistically possible that you’d be aware of Hankel’s lasting impact on his body, dilaudid, hydromorphine, and not tell someone. He assumes you’d be desperate to eliminate him from the team, to claim your win.

“Right, um— the case,” he shifts in his seat. Professionalism, tolerance, it’s all a little too much work when it comes to the subject of you.

“The case.” you agree.

You’re attuned to each other, a psychological curse he’s forced to stomach. Offices and crime scenes, analysing, competing, hellbent on one upping the other. “Look at these markings—“ his hands rifle through the files that adorn the table, searching searching until they produce an autopsy report.

The markings on the body are intricate, latin symbols prominent against the victims pale skin. You lean further forward, following the path of his index finger as it traces the outline. Perhaps there’s an element of telepathy to your dynamic; you don’t need to state the obvious, too aware that his brain has already processed the information, that he’s moved onto the nuances now.

Human sacrifice, it’s not the first time you’ve caught yourselves in the midst of cult worship and indoctrination. But it’s certainly the first time of its kind.

“Traces of wine in her bloodstream. Found in a forest. Sounds like a bacchanal.” you state, shifting to pull yourself up on the desk.

Spencer looks. At your long, slender legs extending out from a pencil skirt. Effortless, natural, situating yourself on the oakwood, hair half covering your face, with loose strands pooling over your eyes to obstruct your sight.

It’s a strange analogy, the two of you; Spencer with his tired eyes, haphazard clothes and messy desk, and you, just as dishevelled in the morning light.

Metaphorically and literally you’re higher than him right now. He fixes his askew glasses. Clears his throat. “Regina Horthorne,” the victim, “Straight A student. Honour role. What are the chances she willing went to said… bacchanal?”

“Hm. I don’t know, maybe she’s like Laura Palmer. Double life. 4.0 cheerleader by day, crazed bacchante by night.” you retort.

Shamelessly, you take a moment to observe him, just as he did you. Shirt sleeves bunched up at his elbows, hair tousled, large hazel eyes, interminably darting across your face. You wonder for a moment if he’s analysed you the way you’ve analysed him. It’s a futile question, of course he has.

Anything to gain the upper hand.

You continue, “Maybe they’re sacrificing virgins. You could go undercover as a potential victim. Certainly fit the part.”

“I’m already too old to be counted as an appropriate victim. There’s a high probability ‘they’, the dominant unsub, wouldn’t even look at me, and—“ he pauses, pretty face marred by creased features, brows furrowed, a slight pout to his lips.

“There’s a homicidal cult preforming human sacrifice, and you’re wasting time by insulting me?” Spencer is….. a perpetual scholar, a social disaster, wearing his intellect like an ill-concealed secret, outcasted for the weight of his own brilliance. “The BAU clearly made a well-informed decision when they hired you.”

“Oh, you wound me boy genius.” you respond, pressing your hand against your heart.

Endless cases. The impenetrable presence of fall. It feels like you shift through cycles, bleary-eyed and tainted from the job, damaged goods— do you struggle to sleep like I do?

You lean forward, hands, adorned with cluttered rings, braced against the table, bodies closer now. There’s a burn, something fervent that lingers between you, rivalry, opposition. Some days you feel as hedonistic as the unsubs you track and chase.

Continuing, you let out a sharp laugh. “Are you still bitter because I realised it was a bacchanal before you? Don’t worry, i’ll let you take the credit for it. I’m sure Gideon will be so impressed.”

Gideon sees everything in him, and nothing in you. Predictable.

The distance between you has become almost null. It’s intimate, and he’s not sure how he feels about that. “I’m not bitter. And I don’t care about the credit.” A lie. “Unlike you, I don’t need to prove my worth to him.”

────────────

Spilt blood. Your hands are calloused from holding a gun. From firing a bullet straight through skull. The case closes, locked behind that inviolable wall, the one that’s installed into your mind the moment you’re employed, the moment you sign your fate over to the BAU. You’re not sure why anyone stays, overworked and undervalued, there’s no heroes in real life. Maybe it’s the sense of family, or maybe it’s just what everyone subconsciously fell into.

You can’t understand why you’re so angry at Spencer, why it extends to the next case, South Dakota— deaths of locals, but these days, all of the illogical, petty reasons just blur together. Create this tangled mess of overcompensation. ’I assumed you two would get along,’ Prentiss had stated— but what does she know? She’s been an active member of the BAU for a whole 10 minutes.

The hostility has mounted to new levels now.

It’s hard work, long hours, no gratitude and a pay cheque that can’t even begin to cover the trauma that comes with the job. The BAU is like self-sabotage: a long list of reasons to leave, and no real reasons to stay. But still you’re both stuck in this loop.

South Dakota, of course it’s South Dakota. Cold, desolate South Dakota where the wind and snow will not let up, and the team are forced to remain cooped up in a cheap motel, desperate for any sort of entertainment.

Here he is, coerced into your room to work on the case, overtime, his eyes are rimmed crimson.

You’re sprawled out across the bed while he sits at the other end, slender legs crossed. Spencer is tired with a weariness that seems to go soul-deep, shoulders slumped forward, glasses oblique.

The tension is near-palpable, stifling. “I can do this myself. No offence,” full offence, “but you’re unneeded right now. In general, really.”

You make him cruel. Or no, maybe this job does? He can’t remember himself unscathed now, fresh-faced to the BAU, unaware of what he’d endure. It’s still early days in recovery, two months since he was entirely, indomitably reliant on Dilaudid.

“No you can’t,” you retort. Maybe it’s unprofessional, disreputable to waste so much breath on insults, to dedicate specific moments to hostility— people are dead, people will keep dying. And yet, perhaps there’s justification for this; your mutual animosity is the only semblance of routine to this job, the only way either of you can seek control.

Control. All you do is reach for the blade.

“You’re just bitter that I know what I’m doing. You’re not infallible, Boy Wonder. You need my help, so shut up and read that autopsy report. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can go back to my apartment and forget you exist.”

Well that’s certainly unlikely.

“I think,” he says, and he knows this is going to be bad. He can feel the serrated edge to his forming words, his half-baked analysis too focused, too distracted, by his need to hurt. But he’s exhausted, and these days, he runs on a detrimentally short fuse. Maybe he finds a release in your dynamic, or maybe it makes everything worse. How can something be everything and nothing at the same time?

“I think you’re insecure” he continues, “because you know Gideon values me more. That, to him, you’re replaceable. It’s why you’re so fixated on one upping me. Why you feel the need to prove yourself superior. Textbook insecurity. You can’t stand the fact that he chooses me over you, that he thinks I’m better than you. That my input is more wanted, more necessary.”

This is uncharted territory now. It’s never been pushed to this extent. It’s never gotten so morbidly cruel that his words actually pierce. You’d consider yourself to be thick-skinned, bullet-proof, a mess of hardened edges and calloused flesh. But he regards you with such insignificance, in a way that’s different from your own personal view of him.

Obstinate, petty, a smart kid yet to meet his match. But never insignificant.

There’s silence, and then he’s dragging you down with him, forcing you to dig deeper, to smother wounds with salt. “Did he really choose you, though? No one on the team noticed. Not one person. After the Hankel case? When you came back different?”

Spencer falters.

It’s a vulnerable, raw spot, a laceration that never seems to heal; the worst part is that you’re right. He’d been in a spiralling decline for months, in plain sight, but everyone had been so absorbed in their own issues and god he needed a release. No one noticed. No one ever notices.

That he has no life, no prospects outside of the BAU. That his existence has been one comicotragic mess of inexperience, missing the mark, missing the joke, the punchline, the fact that everyone was always laughing at him, behind his back, to his face, present or gone. It didn’t matter? Why would it ever matter to a bunch of washed-out teenagers?

He was robbed of his adolescence. And these days, he barely gets by.

Spencer’s eyes drift back to the files, avoiding your perusing gaze, if only you had enough decency to soften your eyes. Just once.

“You don’t get to bring that into this.” He murmurs. “Shut up.”

“You started this—“

“Are you 5?” he bites back, “I was making an observation.”

When he abruptly stands up, files clattering to the floor, discarded despite the prevalent case, you’re quick to follow after him, to chase him into the cheap motel corridor. Because no, he doesn’t get to walk away from this. Not when he laid the first blow, when the first cut was drawn from his blade. Perhaps it’s perverse, to chase the hurt that comes from being around him. Maybe it’s all just an elaborate way to self-harm, to find release in the distorted relationship you both share.

“Where are you going? You can’t walk away from this one.” you state, gripping his arm. Nails pressing into skin, crescent marks that’ll stain and remind and then ache— it’s repetitive now.

“I covered for your ass.” you knew about the addiction, you knew, and even though omitting such information to the BAU could’ve lost your license, you still. Didn’t. Say. Anything.

It’s not like it took much effort to discern the truth.

“I also signed your email up to about 100 rehab centres and self-help blogs.” you’re not sure if you did that out of malice, or if it was your own, interpersonal way of minimising the damage, despite the circumstances.

You noticed. The rest of the BAU, who pressed false promises of friendship, loyalty into his shaking palms didn’t notice. Didn’t even think to humour what he became at his worst. But you did.

Furthermore, to add onto that jarring conclusion, you helped him. Admittedly in your own insufferable, (downright mocking) way. But it was help, and that’s more than he’s ever received before.

All he knows right now is that he hates you, hates the person he is, the person this job, and the intransigent presence of you, forced him into becoming.

All he knows is that he’s stumbling forward, cupping your face (taking your grip along with it), and kissing you. Kissing you hard. Like he’s Icarus and you’re the sun, worth the inevitable burn, even if the touch is only momentary, even if it’ll seal his fate as foolish.

It’s a mess of harsh, rough skin, tousled hair and sharp teeth against soft lips. It’s like trying to grasp at stardust, his hands fumbling for purchase along your body, trying to push you closer, as if the chasm of space between you is unbearable, a distance that’s impossible to endure.

He laughs when you respond instinctively, a sharp excuse of a noise, muffled by your swollen lips, and he’s just kissing you through it because he hates you, he hates you— he hates you so much that sometimes he can’t breathe when you’re around.

You crawled under his skin a long time ago, made yourself a home there.

“I think I’d rather be held hostage for a second time than kiss you again.” he says, and he might’ve elaborated further, but his lips abandon such a notion to chase your own.

The kiss becomes more languid, more desperate, like he’s trying to find an answer in response to it. There’s a brief, agonising break, foreheads pressed together, a harsh gasp of air, before the moment restarts.

God you taste good. Feel good, he thinks. He’s never been this intimate, not beyond Lila, that fleeting mess in the pool. The two events incomparable, he felt something then, small and minuscule, not enough to pursue. But right now? Oh, In contrast, he feels everything now.

“I wish you were being held hostage. It’d be quieter,” you retort. It’s muffled, and you’re moving, bodies stumbling into obstacles as you relocate, when did you get to your room? It feels like natural progression, evolution, diminutive changes that you don’t even realise are occurring.

You bite his bottom lip, draw it between your teeth, ruin him for anyone else. Because isn’t that what you’ve been doing for years now? Hurting each other so profoundly that only you can bare the scarred aftermath?

It’s sick. It’s sick, and you wonder how petty comments, trivial work-place rivalry distorted into this? How you’ve just ended up sick because of each other, and admittedly, for each other.

What is sickness without pleasure?

He whimpers. The noise almost imperceptible, but it’s there, and it’s pathetic, an unbecoming thing caught somewhere between a gasp and needy whine. He’s backed against the wall now, and he can’t find it in him to complain.

“Of course it would be you,” he says breathlessly. For all the knowledge he lacks here (physically; he’s well-versed in the hypotheticals of anatomy), he doesn’t feel pure.

People like him don’t get that.

He should feel guilty. He should recoil at the touch, at the knowledge you bear, at the reality of this. Except, for some unknown reason, he relishes in the idea of someone having him, even if the cost is his pride, his dignity, even if the cost is you.

He whimpers again as your teeth rake along the slope of his neck, shuddering at the sharp sensation, and he’s almost begging, words on the verge of being uttered.

But he can’t. Because that isn’t him when he’s with you. “Are you going to punish me? For uh, everything I said tonight? Because ah, god, I’d like to see you try.”

Admittedly, it’s not hard to break his resolve. A few more soul-crushing kisses and your wandering hand, dipping beneath his trousers, hard. Obscenely hard. Yes, he’s muttering as you unclasp buttons, as you loosen his trousers to the extent that you can palm him through his boxers. Half-choked gasps escape his bruised lips with every touch, and he’s crying now. Pretty tears streaming down his face, accentuating those doe-wide eyes of his, now glossy and warped.

“Only person who’s ever touched you, huh?” you state, and maybe you derive pleasure from that concept. That only your hands, drenched thick with staining blood, have ever scrutinised the warmth of his skin. The areas where his form curves, and the areas that make him come apart, undone at the seams. Grasping you, relying entirely on the wall, just to remain upright and somewhat conscious.

He makes another noise, another guttural, pathetic sound. Because, yeah, it’s just you. It’s only you, and the thought should be unbearable, but the pleasure of having, being touched is too much.

He has to grasp the back of your shirt, nails digging into fabric, as a distraction, a way to centre himself, while the rest of the world falls apart. His words are scattered, broken and messy, and he finds himself saying things he’ll inevitably regret. “Please, I can’t-“

He’s supposed to hate this, hate you.

“Cant— can’t take it. Oh,” he wants to bury his face into the crook of your neck, but you’re gripping his jaw, forcing him to look directly at you. Glasses discarded, the view was blurry without the added layers of tears.

“Eyes on me, boy genius.”

He complies. Gaze locked, unable to look away, entranced by the way your pupils dilate, staring at you, like you’re artwork, something to be studied and broken down and torn apart, only to be rebuilt again once he’s had his fill.

“Let’s look at you. Hm?” you state, removing his sweater, then his shirt, and there’s so many layers, and he’s acting coy now, as if he wasn’t whimpering moments prior.

Instinctively, by reflex, he tries to cover himself up. To hide planes of untouched skin from your gluttonous palms. You grip his wrists, pin them above his head, and oh isn’t this a sight: Spencer Reid, entirely bare, bound by you alone, tear track marks and swollen lips.

He always wanted to be seen.

He just didn’t expect, anticipate, being seen to this extent. He can’t fight your trailing gaze, and he doesn’t want to; it might make him flushed, a few irrational movements away from a cardiac arrest, but this it— raw uncut intimacy.

You’re softer now, as you run your hand along his dick, earning a variety of muffled noises, as your thumb brushes over his tip, taking care to touch every part of him. Everywhere he needs it. When you finally wrap your fingers around him, everything burns, fervent and collapsing, and he supposes this is what it felt like the moment Troy collapsed.

“Mhh,” he moans, hips bucking in time with your palm, steady movements.

He’s already so messy, and it should be embarrassing, but all he feels is the blunted edges of pleasure, the jagged cut of humiliation, warring against each other.

“You’re— oh.. you’re enjoying this far too much,” he manages, and it takes so much energy to get it out, his words slurring, interrupted by debauched gasps.

It feels good, so good that he can’t process the shame that’s bound to follow. He hates you, and he might be a little in love with you, and it’s not fair to process feelings, chemicals, he was never supposed to obtain.

“That it’s. There you go. That’s my good boy.”

Spencer sobs.

“Shh, shh, I know, I know, it’s a lot.” there’s always an element of condescension to your words. An undertone that rips through his defences. Destroys him in the process.

His body is receptive, ruined, because of the praise. He’s not sure how you can look at him, clearly, consciously, and dictate that he’s good. Most days he feels impure, debased. Burnt-out and wasted, the great always fall.

The same skin he pierced with needles is now reverently on show, and you should be cruel, it’s what you’re both good at, the only viable way to communicate, an undisclosed secret language. But you’re not. That confuses him to no extent.

“I can’t— cant, ‘m so close.” his arms are still bound above his head, and despite the ache, he keeps them there. It’s not the most conventional ‘first time’, but he takes it regardless.

“Yeah?” you mutter, pace picking up. The sound is obscene, his excessive pre-cum smeared across his length, wet noises with every stroke. “You wanna cum for me, hm?”

“Oh god,” he breaks, “Yes— yes, please—“

You have no interest in denying him, not when he’s this destroyed from a mere hand-job. “Go on then. Just because you asked so nicely.”

He falls apart. Dewy-eyed and blissed out, you force him to look at you as he reaches his orgasm. To keep looking as he squirms and writhes. So he does, because apparently his cognitive function has evaporated now.

Your tongue meets your palm, tasting him, pressing the excess into his mouth with an indecent kiss. Is this what sex entails? Complete submission, vulnerabilities bared wide? Dirty in that primal sense, the same one he always shied away from?

Finally, finally in the aftermath, he breaks his stare. His head falls back against the wall, eyes closed, neck exposed. Stifled gasps, it’s quiet, as if you’re both aware of your actions, the consequences of them.

“This is, uh— yeah.” he mumbles, reaching for his clothes; now the ecstasy has worn off, the shame overpowers. The sin of man, he’s starting to think you’re the personification of the serpent.

Or maybe it’s the other way around. He doesn’t hold his own body to such pure standards. He’s not sure any benevolence would look at him with acceptance. Not after everything he’s done to it.

“Hey wait,” you’re not good at this whole ‘nice’ thing, not when it comes to him. But there have been moments, in the past, small, fleeting seconds of…. you’re not entirely sure what to call them. Late hours spent scrutinising cases, your back-up points to his statements, mindless information dumps that the team can’t quite understand.

“Don’t make me chase you a second time, jesus.” You can’t just leave—“ you exhale, breathe, in and out, “Are you okay?”

He stops. He stops because you’ve never asked that question, never cared to ask that question, and maybe that hurts more than not being asked at all.

A part of him, the small part of him that’s not functional, wants to stay, wants to just stay in this bliss and pretend that it doesn’t matter, that the inevitable fallout won’t occur. But the larger, prominent part, reminds him that this isn’t right, that he needs to leave and collect his wits.

“I don’t know, im confused—“ he sighs, drags a shaky hand through his hair. “Yeah, im uh… i’m fine. “I just need to leave, I have to-“ he swallows. “I can’t. Not right now, I need to do— anything but this.”

He walks out on you and it’s fine.

────────────

Everything is fine, reality can return, and you can forget that you had his arms bound against the wall, that he fell apart from the weight of your dragging palm. You can pretend you never saw him naked, bare in every form of the word. Stripped raw, his lips burning against yours, skin on skin. It’s. Fine.

Life continues. Your dynamic remains the same, unrelenting, your biting words, just short of callous, his scathing remarks. Modus Operandi. You wonder how you’ve turned the most tender person into something sharp, and you wonder if it’s ever going to be reversible.

When the case closes, the BAU, in predictable, systematic fashion, celebrate (ease the weight) over drinks. You’re adorned in lace, a black dress that just catches your thighs. It’s late now, and by the time you arrive at the dive-bar, the majority of the team are intoxicated (you couldn’t go straight from work, there was still blood clinging to your skin).

Everything is fine. To reiterate.

It’s not.. It’s not. Because oh, Spencer finds himself staring. He’s fairly certain he doesn’t have any lingering interest. But then again, why is he fixated on the way fabric clings to your ruinous figure, the way your hair sits, slightly dishevelled, pooled over one shoulder? It’s exasperating and inebriating all at once. You shouldn’t be able to affect him to such an extent, and yet here he is, mindlessly staring at you with starry-eyes. He should look away. Leave even?

Of course, he fails. You end up squeezing in next to him, all leather seats and too little space.

And, okay, he knows he should feel guilty.

In reality, he’s not. Because, sure, he’s sat too close, and sure, he can just make out the scent of your perfume, faintly floral. But he’s intoxicated, just as everybody else is, and it’s making logic and reason seem far off, too distant to process. He looks at you once, then twice, like he can’t quite believe you’re tangible.

“You look nice, I guess,” he murmurs bluntly, looking away, feigning disinterest.

As if the ‘incident’ (as he’s taken to calling it) didn’t tilt his world on its axis.

“You also look nice, I guess.” you retort, and it’s the best you’re going to get out of each other. At least in this state (the surplus of praise that left your bruised, possessed lips cannot be justified, or repeated ever. again.)

You lean forward, watch as his face creases at the proximity. Are you thinking about the kisses? Plural, fuck, plural. Open-mouthed, desperate movements?You’re. not. Instead, you steal his glasses, slip them on. The prescription is strong, thick lenses that distort your perception.

“What do you think?” you ask, “I might go as you for halloween, it’ll definitely scare the kids.”

“They make you look intelligent. Considering you need all the help you can get, I’d take that as a compliment,”

It’s a domestic action, to put on his glasses. And the thoughts that burn through his mind stem from HR prohibited to domestic, which he argues is far worse. You, tangled in sheets, sporting nothing but his glasses. Resting against the tip of your nose, askew, as you ride him. As you tilt your head back, exposing— no.

He wants to say something about how ridiculous you look— but it’s hard to focus, you’re taking up all of his sanity, like a computer running multiple programs at once. You’re malware actually, destined to corrupt him (which you’ve already done to a painful extent).

“You can’t just touch my stuff.” he settles on, sounding more petulant than anticipated.

“Oh chill out, boy wonder. It’s a pair of glasses,” you mutter, removing them to blink blink blink, and there he is, the centre focus of your vision, now fully detailed again. It takes you a moment to render in his appearance: shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, arms exposed, long, deft fingers. There’s heavy bags gathering beneath his eyes, dragging down those big, blown-out irises of his, wide and completely dirty (how is it that his natural resting face is so obscene?).

Focus.

You push the glasses back onto his face. Better, it’s a sight you’ve come to anticipate after he ran out of contact lenses. “There. Oh, were you just upset because you couldn’t see me properly? That’s sweet, Spence. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

He can see everything.

Every small detail of your face; strands of hair falling loose, dilated pupils, accentuated by heavy liner, obsidian that contrasts against your incisive eyes. Your lips, oh your lips, he could write a thesis on them. Stained crimson, if he were to kiss you right now, residue would catch against his own mouth, incriminate him.

He gets up. Excuses himself. Sometimes he wishes he could vanish.

But it’s not good enough.

“You,” he says between messy kisses, “Need to keep your hands to yourself.” — okay, he’s not sure how this happened. He left for the bathroom (to splash water on his face, gather his dignity, perhaps drown himself?) and you to humour the locals outside, gathering around with half-smoked cigarettes and slurring conversations.

But then, on his way back, padding through the long corridor (why is it always a corridor?), you were there, and yeah. He was screwed. Fatefully wrecked.

He had tried, in the moments leading up to his demise, to resist, but he was a man of logic and science and the science, when he was around you, simply did not apply. You’re bad for him, in every sense, he should avoid you, he should stay away.

But now, there’s no space between your bodies, no space for rationality or reasoning (god he’s tired of the thinking part. He just wants to feel).

The kiss is rough, sloppy, a desperate, messy thing. “This can’t keep happening,” he mumbles against your smeared lips.

“Do you remember last time?” you question. It’s taboo, to bring it up, to disclose the buried. But you’re fairly certain this compromising position wouldn’t exist without the lethal effects of that one night. The cheap motel and his body arching into your touch.

Rationality appears to be nonexistent now. A discarded concept.

Like last time, you guide him back against the wall, pin his hands above his head. Mirroring your actions. Well, to some ‘dignified’ extent. “Had you just like this,” you lean forward to press a series of kisses along the curvature of his jaw. “I bet you’d let me take you like this again, hm? Right here? In the middle of this shitty dive bar?”

And if he weren’t so far gone, he’d protest, he’d tell you that no, this is wrong, because you’re so wrong for him. He knows that if one good man has to fall, it shouldn’t be him.

But you don’t let good men rise, and there’s something so enticing about the depths of hell. He’s not sure he’s good anyway. It’s a complex situation. “You’re a sadist,” he murmurs, breathless, “I wouldn’t.”

Your grip instinctively tightens against his wrist, and he squirms. He’s nervous, “Could we, like… at least find a bathroom? I’d take a bathroom, even though there’s endless strains of bacteria there. Or, or split a cab. No, i’ll just pay— Anything. I’ll do anything. Just not here. This is a public space, and technically, public indecency, and—“

“Fuck,” he’s never been the type to swear, “I’ll do anything.” this time, he says it in self-defeat. Acknowledgment.

────────────

French exit. His wandering hands in the cab, and the electric pulse that burnt through his body as he kept a low profile, stumbling out of the bar, muttering thinly-veiled excuses for his abrupt departure.

The second you’re both inside your apartment, you’re clattering into things. “I love your eyes,” you state bluntly, forthcoming in every sense of the word, “Love it when you cry for me.”

You think of every harsh word that has ever escaped your lips, You think of the consequences they might’ve had. Did he ever cry over them? You know, in contrast, you never did over his. Though there was that sharp, sinking pain that felt like the embodiment of slow death. Something terminal, fated to linger, to eat and eat until nothing remained.

No big deal!

“It’s an involuntary bodily response. You’re a dacryphiliac.” he responds.

There’s not a lot he can compute right now, his brain too preoccupied with processing your touch alone. Which is so prominent, so harrowingly good that not even his genius mind can comprehend it.

He’s reasonable to believe he would kill whoever had the pleasure of experiencing you like this.

“It’s not a fetish if I only feel it for you—“

Spencer breaks.

“No-no-no,” he says, too loudly, “You can’t just- say those things. You can’t tell me you love when I cry, just because- I should be scared, of you. You’re volatile. Destructive,” he murmurs, head leaning against the crook of your shoulder. Against better judgement. But all reason has left him now. You’ve stolen it, taken it as a personal trophy to parade and boast about.

“Why am… Why am I not scared?” he asks, “It’s not like I make you cry…”

“Because there’s no reason to be scared.” you answer simply. And at surface level, it’s true. In spite of the hostility, the years of white-knuckled rivalry, you’ve always trusted him. It’s a coveted admission, considering you’re circumspect by nature.

You unbutton his shirt, let it fall to the floor, exposing his skin in the middle of your apartment. He’s standing there, and you’re not sure what to do with all of this want that perhaps you’ve misplaced as enmity for so long.

“You could make me cry,” you state, because if there’s one person out there capable of cracking you open, leaning behind fragmented pieces, it’s him. It’s always going to be him.

It’s a startling realisation. That he, Spencer Reid, of all people, can reach the centre of you in ways nobody has ever done before.

“Why would I want you to cry? That’s— i’m not even sure how I would go about it.”

You grip his hips, walk yourself backwards until you’re hitting a wall, there your body instinctively curves forward to meet his. “It doesn’t always have to be bad.” you explain, because he’s looking at it from a simplistic, textbook perspective. “Last time,” those words still feel like poison, “When I made you cry, there was no pain, right? You cried because it felt good.”

He’s staring at you clueless. Though, he might just be distracted. Either works.

Your hand catches his wrist, and then you’re hiking up your dress, guiding his touch beneath fabric. The lace panties that cover skin. He’s tentative, experimental, dragging his thumb over your clit, causing your hips to cant towards him. “Make me cry, boy genius.”

You act like this is the most indecent thing he’s capable of doing. From an unbiased standpoint, it’s up there on his list, but admittedly he hasn’t really done enough to constitute a list in the first place.

Spencer, in response, simply drops to his knees. Your panties are pulled down your legs in a disconcerting haze, and then he’s just groaning, cursing Gods he doesn’t believe in, spiting them with blasphemy, whilst also simultaneously thanking them, humouring false promises he won’t commit to.

It’s blasphemous, a prodigy on his knees, in front of you, for you. As if he’s worshiping something he can’t even comprehend, something beyond the expanse of his knowledge. And you just pull strands of his hair, pull at the strings of him.

His hands find the inside of your thighs, caressing the soft skin there and you make another noise, a noise that has him devouring you.

Face buried between your legs, he flattens his tongue against your clit, drags it upwards to catch wetness, to affirm that you’re just as affected as he. That since you touched him, all thoughts have consisted solely of you.

He doesn't think he's doing this correctly- but you're making noises, gasps that he didn’t even know you were capable of, and that's the thing about science or anatomy, whatever it may be, the brain is incredibly subjective, and the more knowledge you acquire, the less you really know.

And there's knowledge here, but it’s not utilised; no coordination, even when there should be, even when he’s got the human body memorised to perfection. Still, you seem to like him messy, desperate, drawing your clit into his mouth to pull, to tug, before shifting back to blow cold air against you.

The task was simple, at surface level: make you cry. And whilst, if you pick it apart, it becomes more complex, he seems to be efficient in following orders because right now, you’re ruined. It might not be the most meticulous head you’ve received (though you’re sure, under different circumstances he could probably surpass that standard), but it’s wanting, in a way that makes you ache.

“Oh oh, fuck— fuckfuckfuck.”

You grip his hair, twisting and pulling and using, and he lets you, he’d do anything, do this forever if he had to. His fingers, still gripping your thighs, dig into soft flesh, leaving visible marks. And he wants to see those marks, in the morning, an irrefutable fact that would force him to accept this as real.

But he can’t focus, can’t think about anything when you’re reacting like this, so undone. How can there be anything, at all, beyond this?

He lets you drape a leg over his shoulder, let’s you get off against his face, fingers sliding inside, one digit at a time, to feel warmth wrapped around him. To feel the way you clench when he curves them, when he grazes spots that he could explain to factual detail.

Your body shudders, and you’re making noises he hasn’t heard before, sounds that could only be described as obscene— and his name, you’re moaning his name, and god, he’s certain he would follow you to the ends of the earth right now. Without question.

It’s when he stops, when he leans back enough that he can breathe. That he can look at you, really look at you.

You’re messy, undone. The sight could be considered humiliating from an outside perspective, but you’re gorgeous, and he’d do this a thousand times over if it resulted in this exact reaction. A reaction that he’s given you. No one else.

“I love your face.” He says, a little bluntly. But it’s true, he does.

So he returns to the task. Practically situating you on his face now to suffocate him, to let him become some sort of extension to your pleasure. And inevitably when you fall apart, tears and writhing, boundless pleasure, he can only push you through it. Allow his existence to crumble, for the second time,

And as he draws back, face covered in you, he can only stare.

His knees are bruised. That’s the first thing you notice when you stumble to the bedroom, when you’ve taken a moment to wipe away evidence of the tears, to regather and compose yourself. It’s not in your nature to be soft, no to him, but you still find yourself kissing the mauve blemishes, working your way up his body after you’ve oh so unceremoniously undressed him. Reduced to his boxers, he’s an incriminating sight.

“Losing your virginity to me is like the biggest irony ever.” you say, kissing along his stomach, watching as his body reacts, arches, contorts in search of more pleasure. It’s a hypnotising sight, to see every nerve tuned to you solely.

“Ironic, demeaning, enough to send past versions of myself into an early grave. Yes, I get your point.” he mutters.

Your hands find their way to the waistband of his boxers, and he’s lifting his hips, because he wants you to undress him, because he’d let you do anything right now, but he also feels embarrassed, exposed. Vulnerable in a way he’s never felt before. You’re seeing him, seeing things he doesn’t even know himself. But there’s nowhere to hide, not while you’re slowly pulling off his underwear, with a care that he’s unaccustomed to.

“I won’t go easy on you,” you assure. Even though that’s technically a straight-faced lie. Of course it’ll be more tender than anything else you’ve endured; he has this devastating habit of softening those around him. It’s only taken this long to affect you out of pure, unbridled spite.

Oh, he wants. The evidence is his body alone. Laid out before you, like an offering, a hedonistic one. Dick hardened, dripping pre-cum onto his stomach.

“Hands above your head,” you watch as he blindly obeys, any defiance now crushed. Well, for the most part: at least in his actions. “That’s good— good boy. Tell me if they’re too tight,” you say, binding them with his discarded tie.

You stare, and it’s like you want to eat him alive, and against better judgement, he’d let you. Serve himself up, passive as you tear him limb for limb, taste all the bad parts of his existence, the ones he keeps hidden shamefully away.

“Too tight? I’ve been held hostage, I think I can handle a little bit of fabric.” he retorts before tugging at the restraints, “Tighter.”

“Didn’t realise you were so into this—“

“Neither did I,” he scoffs, “I’ve never done it before, obviously.”

“Now you have. Congrats, i’ll give you a sticker once we’re done. Gold star, huh?” and just for good measure, you tighten the restraints further. Just a few more pulls until you’re knotting it in place. Until he’s entirely defenceless, but realistically, what would you do? It’s hard to find fear when you’ve covered him on the field for over a year (he’s prone to being targeted, an unsubs wet dream).

“Yes, thank you. I’ll put the sticker on the wall next to my PhDs.” right now, right in this moment, countless people are getting what they want.

And Spencer is being manhandled by his pretty coworker.

Ironically, that’s exactly what he wants.

You’re the perfect dichotomy. Cruel, and caring. Harsh words to juxtapose gentle hands. Soft touches, but scathing remarks that linger, leaving behind a trail of scars, the ubiquity of your cruelty.

You’re lethal, and he’s smart enough to comprehend the danger. Except he’s never been smart when it comes to people.

Your hands are acquisitive, roaming, searching, blunt nails that scrape skin as you rake them down, down towards his abdomen. He shivers, bite into that pretty bottom lip of his until he’s spilling blood, and it’s a sight. Something sick that you both want to such an offensive extent.

“Sensitive.” you murmur, like the idea of him so reactive pleases you, in a way you’ve never considered before. Because the way his body strains, bucking forward to deepen the contact is maddening.

“Are you always like this?” you wonder aloud, leaning down to run a hand along the length of his inner thigh. “Poor baby, so touch-starved.”

“I don’t know if I’d use the word sensitive.” he replies, “More susceptible to the fact that you’re touching me, and that I haven’t felt another person touch me in a long time. And of course when people touch me, it’s usually professionals poking me with needles or stitching this weeks new wound.”

Touch-starved? He has sensory issues. The lightest graze can provoke, cause his skin to crawl. Of course he would like your touch, of course the universe would torture him by finding relief in the one person who nobody should stumble upon for relief.

“Oh you’re a soldier, you suffer so much.“ you state, and it’s condescending (naturally), but there is some truth to the serrated comment. You, the team, are all bruised, mentally and physically distorted from the consequences of the job. Only he could react so reverently to your calloused hands, blissed out to the extent that it looks like you’re witnessing ascension.

It’s pretty. Pretty, in a soft, domestic way. One that demeans his bound wrists and your sharp words.

You press a few tender kisses to his thighs, the inner sections, where you’re certain, assured, no one has ever touched before. Maybe there’s something possessive to that thought, the want to own, to know that no one will ever have him the way you have him.

Your touch is like a brand. He wants it, even if it’s bad, even if it’s cruel. Because the alternative to this is nothing. A lonely existence. A life of work, of chasing shadows, knowing he had so much to give, and no one to give to.

“Stop mocking me.” he replies, it’s through laboured breath. “Just because I don’t have your proclivity for taking hits doesn’t mean I don’t suffer.”

No one’s ever touched him like this. No one’s ever cared to try. You’re his first.

“I know you suffer,” you retort, are you arguing? Is this foreplay? If it is, then you have some serious self-reflecting to do on every single past conversation. Because maybe you should’ve taken him to your bed earlier, in that case.

Oh god was your hatred of each other built solely on sexual tension?

Finally, you move. Just like the first time, your hand runs across his length, taking him slowly, easing him into it, coercing him through the pleasure. It’s not similar to before: it won’t end after he’s found his release, and it’s not frenzied and ardent. Spurred on by shame.

“And you know i’m always going to take the hits for you, regardless.” he whines when you remove your hand, and whines again, for contrasting reasons, as you spit on your palm, generate lubricant to support each stroke.

“Oh—“ he breathes out. He’s fairly certain he’s supposed to be more contained. A huff escapes his lips and then he’s retorting, “You could try a tactic other than reckless self-sacrifice every once in a while.”

He’s overwhelmed, with you. All of you. The way you look, the way you talk, all the harsh lines and scathing remarks. The way you take the hits for him, an altruistic custodian, but he isn’t worthy of being saved. Isn’t worth the effort.

“Shut the fuck up, Spencer.” you say, promptly ending this discussion; you grip his dick tighter, tilting your movements to catch him at a better angle.

“Shit— okay, okay,” he moans because that feels really really good, and he wishes he could articulate it in a better way. Something complex and poetic, but it’s just so good.

He’s always been a little masochistic. Too smart for his own good, too analytical. He wants you to take him apart, piece by piece, and see the inner workings of his body laid out before you, raw and vulnerable. Because only you can see him like this.

He doesn’t even really touch himself. There’s been nights, body flushed and wanton, bucking up against sheets, muffled noises pressed into his pillow. But they’re rare, and they usually lead to an aftermath of ignominy.

He’s a prodigy, a genius in the field of criminal psychology. So why does it feel so good like this? To be humbled, to be demoted. As if all his degrees, his awards, his intellect, mean absolutely nothing.

He’s never felt so loved. Which is ironic. Because he’d always hoped love would be slow, gentle. Soft, like a caress. The kind of love you share over meals and pillow-talk.

He realises, with a jolt to his system, that if this is love to you, he’d accept it, in its most primal form.

“You get off on this,” he analyses as you draw back, mostly to stifle the begs that nearly escape his mouth. Come back, need you here.

“Well I’d be pretty concerned if I wasn’t getting off on this right now—“

“No,” he pushes, “You like that i’m, that yeah. I have no experience. You want to corrupt me, huh?” he looks up at you with pretty, innocent eyes. Holy shit. “Ruin me for anyone else? Go on, let me have it. I’ll only come back, i’ve already done it once. Statistically, it’s going to happen again. And again. Pavlovian responses, condition me. Make my body react to no one else.”

When you kiss him again, he can only take it. Can only moan, whimper, plead against your mouth until you’re lining him up, until you’re sitting on his dick, and everything is okay.

“You’re so—“ bottomed out, wrapped around him entirely, you sigh. “Fuck, Spence, who taught you to be so fucking dirty?”

“You.” he mutters, playing coy. “But you’re a bad teacher, I think I could do with a few more lessons..”

“I think you could do with learning to shut your mouth more often.”

“It is better suited for other purposes, I suppose..”

He gags when you slot two fingers, index and middle, into his mouth. No warning, no predetermined acknowledgment. They hit the back of his throat, and he can only suck, muffling protests around the digits until he goes blissfully silent.

“Better,” you retort. Drawing them out, you press your thumb against his bottom lip, keeping it parted so that you can lean forward, spit into his open mouth. When you first met, he promptly refused to shake your hand, too conscious of the dissemination of germs, now? He’s swallowing your saliva, unprompted, with little resistance.

You know him. The way you touch is like you’re searching for something. Anything about him. It’s like you’re a bloodhound, trying to unearth every single vulnerability. And you must’ve found them, because you’re suddenly here, bearing all your weight on him, moving, and it’s all his body can do to take it. All of it. All of you.

He tugs at his restraints, because he won’t go down without a susceptible fight. Even if he knows it’s fated that he will inevitably fall. “Please—please untie me, just wanna hold your hand.”

And, oh that shatters you. Like, mentally, physically, spiritually dismantles you until you’re breathless, staring at him with widened eyes and a loss of composure. It’s such a tender request, something domestic and raw, and mindlessly you’re fumbling with the knots of his tie. Freeing them to take one in yours.

It’s against your nature, but you can’t help, can’t refrain yourself from pressing a kiss against his knuckles. “You’re doing so good f’me. Such a good boy,”

Your free hand runs across his torso now, grazing skin, admiring the sight of him, flushed, debauched, sprawled out beneath you.

He grips your hip. That’s the first thing he does once he’s sufficiently sane, well… partially, the praise did knock him entirely off balance. Tip the scales, send him over the inexorable edge.

He watches as you take the incentive to slip off his body, and the loss of friction is okay, tolerable because he’s sitting up against the headboard, drawing you closer, whining for you until you’re on his lap, until you’re sat in your rightful place.

Here, he can kiss you. Which he admits has become a very vital aspect to his existence.

The kiss is like a bruise. Not rough, he’d never be rough with you, he’s all long, languid strokes and soft movements. But it’s overwhelming, and leaves discernible, lasting imprints.

And yeah, sure, kissing you is the closest thing to worship he has ever known. Something he would like to commit to memory, every single time your lips touch, it’s like he’s seeing god in the shape of your cupid’s bow.

“Please, I need—“ he stutters over his words, “If you don’t move, I swear—“ he pauses, his head falling against your shoulder— “I swear, I’m gonna die, this has to be against the Geneva Convention, you can’t leave me like this, please—”

“The Geneva convention? Really? Is this your form of dirty talk?” you retort, unable to muffle your laugh.

“No. I’m stating my rights,” he says, “Torture is prohibited.”

“I’m not torturing you—“

You tangle your hand through his hair, tug tug tug, and then pull, drawing his head back by tousled strands, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“Ohmyfuckinggod, yes. You are.” he whimpers.

It’s indefensible how good he feels, how he sinks into you, hitting crevices you’re certain no one else has ever grazed before. Feeling full, whole, it’s new. It’s your own first, and you can’t even begin to articulate how defenceless you are to the way it makes you disintegrate, fragment to pieces of pleasure. Spencer is warm, and soft, and it makes you want to cry. To just fall, give in, transcendence of self, Burke said, and right now, you feel that entirely.

His moan is unapologetic, unfiltered as you move. At this point, you could slice him open, leave him bleeding in your bed, and he’d thank you for it.

You hold his hand, and yet, simultaneously destroy him.

“Please,” he whimpers again— he’s too pretty to be asking so nicely. “I just— I want you closer. As close as possible, I want you so close to me that I’m not even sure if my body can handle it.”

It’s not dirty talk, it’s more like he’s begging you, tears staining his skin, pitiful eyes, wide and glassy, staring at you with some form of desperation. Brows furrowed, gaze soft.

And his gaze only grows worse when you do give him what he wants, when your pace fastens.

It’s a religious experience, like he’s about to be crucified, a martyr to his pleasure. He’s almost afraid to touch you— to stain something divine, like you’re too much for him. But you’re not.

“I like this. Like you. Like you here. You’re so good for me,” he murmurs, and it’s untruthful, but right now, he sincerely believes it. “so good, so perfect, all I need, please—”

“Stop it.” you bite, preferring him defiant over this— because this opens up wounds you weren’t even aware existed. “Oh fuck, stop it.”

“So good. You’re so good,” he cups your face, presses his forehead against yours, and you might as well just die right here.

“Says you.”

“Says me.”

You fuck him harder.

“Oh,” is all he can pronounce, little oh’s every time you rock against him, and he has to grip you hips, deepen the movements until you’re bouncing against him, up down up down, exploiting his sensitivity with a torturous pace.

And it’s not fair, he needs to balance the scales, so he runs his thumb over your clit, firm halos that have you keening. “If being nice got me this, I’d be so nice to you for the rest of my life—“

Another lie. But it’s worth it. If only for the way you kiss him. The way you silence his cutting words, forcing your way into his mouth, forcing him to just squirm and sob, until you’re clenching around him, and he’s there with you. Falling apart, bodies shifting until movement ceases, and there’s nothing but bliss.

“I hate you so much,” you say in the aftermath, and it’s closest you’ve ever gotten to a confession of love.

He laughs, wipes away tears, “Hate you more.”

“Don’t leave this time.” he just nods, bordering on nonverbal now. It takes you hours to coax actual words out of him, and by then, you’re both tangled in a foreign mess of warm limbs.

“Oh i’m going to be so mean tomorrow.” you mutter, playing loosely with his hair.

He can only sigh, stare at you dreamily. “God, is that a promise?”

[freshl6ve]

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓. 𝐒 | 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃?

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑─𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊

₊⊹⁀➴ : Late at night, Y/N lies awake, her mind racing and the familiar ache of insomnia gnawing at her. Weed always helped her sleep, but ever since she cut ties with her old habits, she hasn’t found relief. It’s been months since she last saw Matt, her ex-dealer, and she’d promised herself not to fall back into old routines. But tonight, the restlessness is unbearable. Desperate for peace, she grabs her keys and drives through the dark streets, the memory of Matt’s place pulling her in. Before she knows it, she’s standing at his door, heart pounding, unsure of what she’ll say when he answers.

⭑.ᐟ : SMUT, dealer!matt x reader, unprotected sex (be safe!), oral (y/n receiving), p in v, dom!matt x sub!reader, mention of drugs, pet names (baby, sweetheart), dirty talk, switch(?) and more.

𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐋𝟔𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋

˚⊱🪄⊰˚ : 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, my mind racing with a hundred thoughts. It was late, the world outside my bedroom window was pitch black and silent. I rolled over, trying to force myself to close my eyes and drift off to sleep, but it was no use. My mind was a whirlpool of worries and anxieties, refusing to let me find peace. Hours seemed to pass, the clock on my bedside table ticking away the minutes. I tossed and turned, my frustration growing with every passing moment. I knew I had to find a way to calm my mind, but nothing seemed to work.

I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes in frustration. It was as if my mind had its own agenda, refusing to cooperate with my body's need for rest. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was now 3:00 am. I sighed, feeling like I had been battling the demons of insomnia for an eternity. I decided that lying in bed was not going to solve anything. I needed a change of scenery, a distraction.

I felt a pang of guilt in my chest as my mind drifted to the familiar escape it had always sought— weed. I immediately pushed the thought away, reminding myself of the promise I had made to myself. No more falling into old habits, no more dependence on substances to numb the pain. But the more I tried to forget about it, the more the memory of its calming effects lingered in my mind.

I lay back down on the bed, my body tense and restless. I knew I had to find a way to distract myself from the temptation, but my thoughts kept returning to the past. Matt's face flashed in my mind, and my stomach twisted in knots. I had cut ties with him months ago, and the memories of our tumultuous relationship still haunted me. Seeing him again would only stir up old emotions that I was desperate to keep buried.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts. But the restless feeling within me didn’t subside. It was as if a part of me was still clinging to the past, refusing to let go.

“Fuck it”

Before I knew it, my car keys were in my hand, the familiar route to Matt’s house etched into my memory.

The drive to Matt's house was a blur. I wasn't thinking clearly, my mind was a mixture of nervousness and adrenaline. I tried to think of what I would say when I saw him, to justify my impulsive decision to show up at his doorstep in the middle of the night. The streets were quiet, the city seemed eerily still. I felt a pang of doubt, but my mind was too clouded with restlessness to turn back now.

I parked my car and turned it off immediately, not wanting to alert Matt of my presence just yet. My heart was pounding in my chest as I walked towards his driveway. I could see the lights were on in his house, a sign that he was still awake. I took a deep breath and walked up to the front door, my hand hovering over the door.

Matt stood in the doorway, his expression calm and almost nonchalant. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes scanning my face and taking in my disheveled appearance. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.

Matt's eyebrows raised slightly as he looked me up and down. He gave a half-smile, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Well, fancy seeing you here,” he said, his tone casual and almost amused. “I wasn't expecting company this late.”

I looked up at Matt, my voice slightly sheepish. “I couldn't sleep,” I admitted, the words sounding weak in the quiet night. “And, well, I'm all out.” I paused, my eyes locking with his. “I was hoping you might have something.”

Matt smirked slightly, leaning against the doorframe. “I thought you quit,” he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. I gave him a firm glare, my voice firm.

“I'm not here for small talk,” I snapped, my eyes meeting his. “I just need a quick pick-up, pay you, and leave. That's it. Don't get any ideas.”

Matt chuckled, his eyes scanning my face as he spoke. “Well, you showed up at my house in the middle of the night,” he said, a hint of teasing in his voice. “You can't blame me for being surprised. I figured we might at least exchange a few words.”

I took a deep breath, my patience wearing thin.

“Matt, please,” I pleaded, my voice weary. “I'm exhausted, I can't do this right now. I just want to grab what I need and go home. I'm desperate for a good night's sleep.”

Matt chuckled, pushing himself off the door frame and gesturing for me to come in. “Alright, alright,” he said, his tone slightly amused. “Come in, then.”

I entered his house, my body tense and my mind still racing. The familiar surroundings brought back a wave of memories, but I pushed them out of my mind. I was here for one thing and one thing only.

I followed Matt into the living room, my eyes darting around the space. The room was cozy and familiar, but I felt out of place. Matt gestured for me to take a seat on the couch, and I sank down onto the cushions, my body feeling weary.

“I'll be right back,” Matt said, disappearing down the hallway and into his bedroom.

I sat in the silence, my mind still racing with thoughts and memories. The room felt too quiet, too empty. The minutes ticked by slowly, and I found myself feeling restless again. I fidgeted with my hands, my eyes darting around the room. Just when I was starting to wonder how much longer Matt would take, I heard footsteps approaching again.

Matt returned from his bedroom, his footsteps heavy against the hardwood floor. He looked calm and collected as he took a seat on the couch, a few feet away from where I sat.

“So,” he began, his voice casual, “what do you need?”

I met his gaze, my voice steady. “A quarter ounce should be fine,” I replied, not wanting to linger on the details. I just wanted to get what I came for and leave.

Matt looked at me, his expression still nonchalant, and chuckled softly. “Want me to pre roll them for you?” he asked, his tone casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

In my mind, I couldn't help but think about the past. Matt had always been good at rolling joints, his hands skillful and swift. He had this way of making them look perfect, and they seemed to smoke better too. I remembered watching him roll, his fingers moving effortlessly and the end product always being a thing of beauty.

I knew that when Matt offered to pre roll my joints, he knew damn well that I would end up watching him, admiring his skill. It was a part of the ritual, a small pleasure that came with the transaction. His hands were like magic, and it was impossible to look away.

I nodded my head, unable to resist the offer. “Yeah,” I said, my voice slightly huskier than I had intended. “That'd be nice.”

Matt chuckled, not missing the change in my voice. He got up from the couch and walked over to the table where all his supplies were laid out. I watched as he grabbed the papers, the grinder, and the rolling tray, his movements efficient and smooth.

It was as if he was in his own little world, his mind completely focused on the task at hand. I couldn't help but admire his skill and precision as he started to roll the joint, his fingers working the paper and the weed with ease.

As Matt focused on rolling the first joint, his hands working in a practiced, smooth rhythm, I couldn't help but break the silence.

“It's really quiet,” I said, my voice tinged with curiosity. “Where's Nick and Chris?”

Matt answered without looking up from his work, his tongue quickly sealing the joint with a precise lick. “They're out,” he replied, his voice casual. “Went to some party or something. Probably won't be back for a while.”

I nodded, watching as he moved on to the next joint, his dexterous fingers working quickly. The sound of paper and weed being ground and rolled was the only sound in the room, along with our steady breaths.

It was almost soothing, the repetitive motions and the familiar scent of weed. I glanced at Matt, taking in the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrated on the task at hand. He was like a damn maestro, a master of his craft.

I couldn't help but ask, my curiosity getting the better of me. “How come you didn't go?” I inquired, my voice soft and low.

Matt sealed the second joint with another precise lick, his eyes meeting mine for a moment before he looked back down at his work.

“You know I don't do parties,” he said, his tone nonchalant. “Too much noise, too many people. I prefer my own company.”

I chuckled softly, realizing the irony of my question. “Right,” I said, my voice tinged with a hint of amusement. “I forgot you prefer solitude.”

I took a moment to reposition myself, shifting on the couch until I was comfortable. I placed my arms on the headrest, my head resting on them as I watched Matt across the room. The L shape of the couch allowed me a clear view of him as he continued rolling the joints.

I couldn’t help but speak my thought aloud, letting the words slip out before I could censor myself. “You know, it’s one of the things I always admired about you,” I said, my voice soft and honest.

There was no use denying it now. It was true. Matt’s preference for solitude and his ability to find contentment in his own company was something I had always found admirable. In a world where everyone seemed to be constantly seeking company, Matt’s self-sufficiency was a breath of fresh air.

As he sealed the third joint, his hands moving deftly, I continued to watch him, my head still resting on my arms. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia as I remembered all the times we had spent like this, him rolling joints and me observing, both of us comfortably silent.

The words slipped out before I could stop them, my voice filled with a mixture of emotions. “Why didn't you call, Matt?” I blurted out, my tone laced with longing and regret.

Matt freezes, his hands pausing mid-roll. He sets the half-rolled joint down on the table, his movements deliberate and slow. He leans back against the edge of the table, his fingertips gripping the edge of the surface. His back is tense, his shoulders hunching ever so slightly.

The room falls silent, the weight of my question hanging in the air. I can feel the tension between us, thick and palpable. I know I’ve crossed a line, bringing up the past and stirring up memories that we both had left behind. But something in me had compelled me to ask, a desperate need to know why he hadn’t reached out to me.

Matt's voice is quiet, his grip on the edge of the table tightening. “I just thought you needed space,” he says gently, his eyes meeting mine across the room. “I didn't want to push you or make things worse.”

The simple admission hangs in the air, the truth of his words making my heart ache. I had wanted space, yes, but in my silence I hadn’t realized how much I had missed his presence, his calm voice and steady demeanor.

Matt lets out a small sigh, his grip on the table loosening slightly. “Trust me,” he replies, his voice tinged with regret. “I tried to reach out, to make things right. But I couldn't forgive myself for what happened, and I didn't want to put you in a position where you were forced to forgive me.”

Matt takes a deep breath, his eyes downcast as he continues. “I was in a bad place,” he says, his voice quieter now. “And what I did to you… using you like a toy, when you were something special to me. I couldn’t see it then, couldn’t appreciate what I had. The addiction had its claws too deep into me.”

I nodded, a silent acknowledgement of his words. Matt's voice is soft and sincere as he continues.

“Our argument that night made me realize what I had lost,” he admits, his eyes still avoiding mine. “Since then, I've given up on the hard drugs and stuck with weed instead. It was tough, a rough road, but it's been worth it.”

Matt pushes himself off the table, his movements fluid and deliberate. He walks towards me, his steps silent as he approaches. I continue to look up at him as he places his hands down on either side of me.

“You don't need weed to help you,” he says, his voice a low murmur in the closeness. “You're just inside your head a lot, and you don't know how to shut it off.”

I couldn't argue against his words, because Matt had hit the nail on the head. I had always been prone to overthinking, my mind a never-ending whirlwind that refused to quiet down. It was as if he could see straight into the depths of my being, knowing me better than I knew myself.

I hated how accurately he had summed up my struggle, how easily he had picked apart my thoughts and laid them bare. It was both irritating and endearing, how well he understood me despite our months apart.

Matt's eyes hold a mixture of pain, regret, and longing as he gazes down at me. His voice is earnest and pleading as he speaks, his words ringing with sincerity.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he says, his voice slightly shaky. “I’m sorry it took me 5 months to apologize. I don’t want you to forgive me, I don’t deserve to be forgiven. I’m a bad person.”

Without thinking, I reach up to bring him into a kiss, my hand threading through his soft locks - a familiar sensation that I had missed dearly.

We slowly pull away, our lips reluctantly parting, yet our faces remaining close. I look up at him, my voice soft and earnest, as I speak.

“You're not a bad person,” I say, my hand still cradling the back of his head. “You just had a rough time.”

Matt's gaze locks with mine, his eyes swimming with emotion. When he speaks, his voice is raw and filled with vulnerability.

“I missed you,” he whispers, his thumb gently brushing against my jawline.

I can feel my heart swell at his words, a mixture of emotions swirling through me. I had missed him too, more than I cared to admit. The months apart had been a painful reminder of just how deeply he had become rooted in my life, and just how much his absence had left a hole in me.

I looked up at him, my eyes meeting his, their depths filled with a mixture of pain, love, and forgiveness. “I missed you too,” I whispered back, my voice barely above a breath.

Matt's hands grip my hips as he effortlessly lifts me up from the couch, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. Without breaking our kiss, he carries me across the room and down the hallway towards his room. The hunger and desire in our kiss grow with each step, and by the time we reach his bedroom, we're pawing at each other like we can't get close enough.

He gently sets me down on the bed, his body following closely as he hovers over me. The kiss deepens, our tongues hungrily seeking each other, and his hands begin to wander, running up and down my sides and slipping under my shirt.

His touch ignites a trail of fire against my skin, and I arch my back, pressing my body closer to his. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the feel of his hands on my body and the heat of his skin against mine. The past months of separation faded into the background, replaced by the pure sensation of being with him again. I wanted him, needed him, and was willing to surrender to the storm of emotions and physicality between us.

There was no denying it— I was powerless against him. Despite the hurtful things that had happened between us, I couldn't resist his touch, couldn't deny the pull I felt towards him. I wanted him close, wanted to feel the weight of his body against mine, to have his hands on me, to lose myself in the sensations he stirred within me. I would let him do anything, give him anything he wanted if it meant having him near.

Matt breaks away from the kiss and begins to trail his lips down my neck, his kisses hot and urgent. He nips at my skin, his teeth grazing against my pulse point, his tongue soothing the pain afterwards. I shiver at the sensations, my hands gripping his shoulders, my breath coming in short gasps.

He kisses further down my neck, his hands gripping my hips, and I arch my back, offering myself to him. His mouth finds a sensitive spot, and he sucks on it gently, his teeth biting down just enough to send a jolt of pleasure through me.

“Matt...” I moan, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

His hands trail down to my thighs, slowly sliding down my sweats. I part my legs for him, inviting him to touch me. He chuckles softly against my neck, knowing that he has me wrapped around his finger.

His touch is gentle at first, his fingers slowly caressing my inner thighs. He takes his time, enjoying the way my breath hitches with anticipation. “Please...” I whisper, my voice barely audible. He smirks, knowing that I'm begging for him.

He slides my underwear to the side, his fingers tracing the length of my folds. I'm already wet for him, my body aching for release. He slips a finger inside me, Pumping it in and out slowly, his palm grazing against my most sensitive spot.

“You're so wet,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear. He adds another finger, filling me up even more. I moan loudly, my hips bucking against his hand. He knows just how to touch me to drive me wild. “Nobody is here, be as loud as you want to be, Sweetheart”

His fingers curl inside me, finding that spot that makes my eyes roll back in my head. His mouth latches onto my neck, sucking and biting as his fingers pump in and out of me. I'm so close, my breathing growing ragged, my hands gripping his shoulders tightly.

I reach down and grab onto his wrist, my nails digging into his skin as my orgasm crashes over me. “Matt...oh god, Matt...” I moan, my body convulsing in his arms. He continues to finger me through my orgasm, drawing it out as long as possible.

He pulls his hand out of my pants, leaving me feeling empty. But then he reaches for the hem of my sweats and underwear, pulling them both down my legs in one swift motion. I lift my hips to help him, my body still tingling from the aftermath of my orgasm.

He buries his face between my legs, his nose pressing against my heat as he spreads my lips apart with his thumbs. I gasp as his tongue dives into my pussy, licking up every drop of my juices. He pushes my legs back over his shoulders, giving him full access to feast on me.

I reach down and tangle my fingers in his hair, holding on for dear life as his mouth works its magic on me. His tongue delves deep inside, curling up to hit that magical spot. I grind against his face, shamelessly riding his mouth as the pleasure builds again. “Matt...”

“Oh god, Matt...” I moan, my body writhing beneath him as his tongue works tirelessly on me. He brings me right to the edge, only to back off and start all over again. I'm a moaning, begging mess, completely at his mercy. “Please...”

“Please what, baby?” he murmurs against my flesh, his breath hot on my soaked skin. “Please...please don't stop...I'm so close...” I beg, my hands fisting in his hair. He hums against me, the vibrations sending me spiraling out of control. “Matt!”

With a final swipe of his tongue, he sends me hurtling over the edge. I shout his name, my back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over me. He keeps going, drawing out my release until I'm a quivering, boneless mess beneath him.

He finally lifts his head, his face glistening with my juices. I watch through hazy eyes as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You taste so fucking good,” he growls, crawling up my body. I can feel his hard cock pressing against my thigh.

He catches my lips in a searing kiss, allowing me to taste myself on his mouth. As we kiss, I reach down and unbuckle his belt, then slip my hand into his pants to wrap my fingers around his thick, hard length. He groans into my mouth, his hips jerking forward.

I start stroking him, my small hand moving up and down his shaft. He breaks the kiss to throw his head back, his eyes rolling shut as he fucks my hand. “Fuck, yeah...just like that,” he grits out, his fingers digging into my hip.

His movements become more urgent, his hips snapping forward as he thrusts into my hand. I tighten my grip, loving the way his face contorts with pleasure. He suddenly pauses, his breath hitching. “Not like this,” he rasps. “I need to be inside you.”

He grabs my wrist and pulls my hand out of his pants, then shoves his own pants and underwear down his hips. His erection springs free, curving up against his abdomen.

He reaches for the hem of my shirt and pulls it up and over my head, tossing it aside. He quickly dispenses with his own shirt, revealing his toned chest. He leans down to kiss me again, his hands roaming over my bare skin. “No bra? You’re insane.”

He chuckles against my mouth, his hands reaching up to cup my bare breasts. “You're killing me, you know that?” He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my neck and chest, pausing to lavish attention on each peak. I arch against him, my fingers tangling in his hair.

“Matt...” I whimper as he sucks one hard peak into his mouth, his hand squeezing and massaging my other breast. He lavishes attention on each breast in turn, bringing them to hardened peaks before moving back down my body.

He kisses and caresses every inch of my skin, making me squirm with need. When he settles between my thighs, I wrap my legs around his waist, my heels digging into his backside. He lines himself up with my opening and slowly pushes inside. We both moan at the sensation.

He takes his time, gently rocking his hips as he gradually buries himself to the hilt. Once fully sheathed, he pauses and leans down to kiss me. “You okay, baby?” he murmurs. I nod, my nails scoring his back. “More than okay. Please move...please...”

He starts to move, his hips rocking slowly at first and then picking up speed. He thrusts deep and hard, hitting all the right spots inside me. I meet him thrust for thrust, our bodies moving in perfect sync. The bed creaks and shakes with the force of our lovemaking.

As he continues to thrust into me, a sharp pinch of pain mixes with the pleasure. It's been months since we last did this, and my body has clearly forgotten just how big he is. I gasp, my nails digging into his back. “Fuck...it hurts,”

He pauses mid-thrust, his eyes filled with concern. “Want me to slow down?” he asks. “Or maybe stop?” I shake my head, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist. “No...just...give me a sec...you're just so big...”

I take a deep breath, trying to relax my body and adjust to his size. “It's been a while since I hooked up with anyone,” I admit, my cheeks flushing. “And you were my last...so my body forgot how big you were.”

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. “Good,” he murmurs. “Then maybe I should remind you.” He begins to move again, his hips slowly pumping as he gradually eases in and out of me. The pain fades, replaced by warmth and pleasure.

I arch against him, my nails scoring his back as the sensations build inside me. “More...” I whimper, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist. He responds by quickening his pace, his thrusts becoming deeper and more intense. The sound of our bodies slapping together fills the room.

His breathing grows ragged, his face buried in the crook of my neck as he pistons his hips back and forth. “You...feel...so...good...” he pants between thrusts. I can feel the pressure inside me building, coiling tight like a spring ready to snap. “Fuck, Matt...”

I grip his head, my fingers tangled in his hair as he pounds into me harder and faster. My vision starts to blur, the room spinning as he hits that spot inside me just right. “Ah! Matt! Matt, please!” I cry out, my voice hoarse from screaming his name.

He buries his face in my neck, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine as he speaks in a guttural tone. “Fuck, you're so tight...so fucking tight around my cock. I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk...until you can't think...”

“...Your pussy is the only one I care about, the only one I craved for. I missed your sweet little cries, your desperate pleas for mercy...I missed fucking you senseless until you passed out from exhaustion...I missed being the only one who gets to hear you scream my name...”

“You're mine, and only mine. No one else gets to touch you, to hear your beautiful voice beg for more...no one else gets to see your face twist in pleasure...That's my right, my privilege...and I've missed it so much...” With each word, he thrusts into me harder, his voice growing darker, more possessive.

I'm a moaning, writhing mess beneath him, my body completely his to command. My back arches off the bed as he grinds against me, his hips rolling in a circle as he hits that sweet spot deep inside. “Oh god, Matt! Yes! More! Please, more!”

He responds to my begging by capturing my mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing my cries as he increases his pace. His body slams into mine, each thrust punctuated by a sharp slap of skin against skin. He tears his mouth away from mine, his jaw clenched. “Louder...”

“I want to hear you scream my name for the whole neighborhood. I want them to know who's making you beg for mercy...who's making you fall apart...only me” His hands wrap around my thighs, tilting my hips to take him even deeper. “Matt! Matt, it's too much!”

His answer is to grab my ankles and pull my legs up to my chest, completely changing the angle of his thrusts. The new position has him hitting my g-spot with every stroke, sending me hurtling towards another orgasm. “NO! STOP! I CAN'T...OH FUCK, MATT!”

He grins mischievously, his eyes locked onto mine as he continues to pound into me mercilessly. “You can take it, sweetheart...You can take all of me...Look at me,”

I force my eyes open, meeting his intense gaze as he drives into me. “See how hard you make me? See how much I love fucking you?” His thumb presses against my clit, sending electric shocks through my body.

The combination of his thrusts and his thumb is too much, and I come apart with a scream, my vision blurring as my body shakes with the force of my orgasm. Matt keeps thrusting through my contractions, his own release approaching. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

I reach out and grab his wrist, my nails digging into his skin as another wave of pleasure washes over me. “Matt...I...I can't...” I pant, my body overwhelmed by the intense stimulation. He leans down, his lips brushing against mine as he speaks.

“You can...”

“...And you will...Now, hold on tight...” With that, he begins to move faster, his hips slamming against mine as he chases his own release. The sound of our bodies colliding fills the room, along with our labored breaths and desperate moans.

“Fuck...I need you to ride me...” He gruffly pulls out of me, flipping us over so that I'm straddling him. His hands grasp my hips, lifting me up and guiding me back down onto his cock. “Ride me, baby...”

He leans back against the headboard, his hands gripping my thighs as he watches me intently. I slowly rise and fall on his lap, my hands resting on his chest for balance. His eyes flutter closed as I pick up the pace, his head tilting back against the headboard. “Just like that...”

His hands squeeze my thighs, his fingers flexing against my skin as he tries to guide my movements. “Oh god, Y/N...You're gonna make me lose it...” He lets his head fall forward, his gaze locked onto where our bodies join. “Look at you...taking me so deep...”

I whimper, my nails digging into his chest as I continue to ride him. The sight of my body sliding up and down his cock is incredibly erotic, and I can feel my own arousal growing again. “Touch yourself,” he commands, his voice tight with impending release.

I reach down between my legs, my fingers finding my clit. I start rubbing it in tight circles, the sensation combining with the feeling of his cock inside me pushing me closer and closer to another orgasm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant, my hips bucking wildly against his.

Matt brings his hand down on top of mine, pressing my fingers harder against my flesh. “Come on, sweetheart...show me what you can do...just like that...” His voice is low and commanding, pushing me closer to the edge. “Matt...it's too much...”

Matt increases the pressure, his hand moving my fingers in even faster circles. I arch my back, screaming in ecstasy as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. I hold onto his thighs, my nails digging into his skin as I lose control. “MATT! FUCK!”

He slides his hands up my body, resting them on my waist as he leans in, his mouth hovering over my breast. His breath fans over my skin, making me shiver. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak as he slams into me from below.

I bring my hands up to rest on top of the headboard, gripping it tightly as Matt pounds into me. My head falls back, my hair cascading down my back as he continues to devour my breasts.

Matt looks up at me, his eyes locked on mine as he continues to fuck me. He pulls back slightly, his mouth leaving my breast with a soft pop. “Look at me,” he commands, his voice husky with desire. I meet his gaze, my eyes glassy with pleasure.

He brings me into a passionate kiss, his tongue tangling with mine as he continues to move inside me. I bring my hand up to his hair, my fingers threading through the brown strands as I lose myself in the moment. “Y/N...” he whispers against my lips, his voice tight with impending release.

As he whispers my name, I melt at the sound, my heart skipping a beat. I loved how he says it, how his voice cracks slightly with emotion, how his lips form the words perfectly. It's like music to my ears, and I craved hearing it more and more with each passing day.

The way he says my name...it's different coming from him. It's passionate, full of need and desire. It's like he's branding me as his, claiming me in the most intimate way possible. And I love it. I love how it makes me feel special, cherished, desired.

Our kiss becomes more heated, our mouths devouring each other as if we can't get enough. His hands grip my hips tightly, his fingers digging into my flesh as he continues to thrust into me. I moan into his mouth, my cries muffled by his kiss.

Matt's movements become more urgent, his hips jerking up to meet mine with each thrust. He pulls away from the kiss, his head thrown back as he moans loudly. “Fuck, I'm close...” His words come out broken, his voice tight with desire.

His hands tighten on my hips, his fingers digging painfully into my flesh as he thrusts into me one last time. He lets out a low growl, his whole body tensing as he finds his release. “Fuck! Y/N!” he moans my name, his voice filled with passion and devotion.

He releases into me, his warmth filling me completely. But with how full I am, some of it spills out. He lets out a shaky breath, his body still trembling with aftershocks. He lays his head back against the headboard, his eyes fluttering closed. “Oh god…”

I giggle softly, seeing Matt so spent and relaxed. His brunette hair is damp with sweat, making it look even darker. The damp strands stick to his forehead, accentuating his chiseled features. He looks so handsome like this, all relaxed and boneless from our passionate encounter.

I shift slightly, intending to move off him, but Matt's hands fly to my hips, stopping me. “No, no baby don’t move,” His voice is low and lazy, his eyes still closed.

I chuckle and lower myself, kissing his jawline before moving to his neck. I mark him with my kisses, my love bites, claiming him as mine. He moans softly, his hands tightening on my hips as he enjoys the attention. “Y/N...” he whispers, his eyes still closed.

His hands roam over my back, his touch gentle and soothing. He runs his fingers through my hair, tugging lightly. I continue to mark his neck and jaw, loving the way he moans my name. “Baby, please...I can't take much more...”

His breathing hitches as I continue to kiss and bite his neck. His grip on my hips tightens, his fingers digging into my flesh. “Y/N, please...baby, you've gotta stop...I can't...I'm going to cum again..” His voice is hoarse, his breathing uneven.

His hips jerk up against me, his hard length pulsing between my thighs. I look at him, his face flushed, his eyes closed, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He looks so vulnerable, so open...and I love it.

Matt's body jerks as he cums again, his hips thrusting up against me with a desperate urgency. There's no space left inside me, so his release spills out onto the bed, a thick stream of cum coating the sheets. I giggle, feeling incredibly full, my pussy stretched to the limit.

I cup his face in my hands, peppering his lips with soft kisses. He grins, his eyes still shut, his face relaxed and content. “Mmm...I love you, sweetheart” he murmurs, his voice lazy and sleepy.

I continue to kiss him, my hands caressing his cheeks. “I love you too” I whisper against his lips. He hums contentedly, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me closer.

I continue planting gentle kisses on his lips, his nose, his cheeks, anywhere I can reach without breaking our embrace. He sighs happily, his eyes still closed, letting me shower him with affection.

Matt finally opens his eyes, looking at me with a soft, loving expression. “Come on, let's clean up.” He carefully picks me up, his hands gently supporting my waist. As he lifts me off him, our combined juices spill out, coating his abdomen and the bed sheets.

He carries me to the bathroom, setting me down on the counter. He grabs a cloth and wipes himself clean, making sure to remove every trace of our intimacy. Once he's done, he turns his attention to me, gently wiping between my legs with a warm cloth.

He turns on the shower, testing the water temperature before helping me in. “I'll join you right now,” he says, his voice gentle. “Let me just put the sheets in the washer and put new ones on the bed.” He gives me a quick kiss before leaving the bathroom.

I step under the spray, sighing happily as the warm water cascades down my body. I lean against the wall, watching as Matt hurries back into the bathroom a few minutes later. He steps into the shower with me, pulling me into his arms. “Mmm...the bed's fresh now”

He tenderly washes my hair and body, taking extra care to clean between my thighs. He rinses me off, his touch gentle and loving. He steps out of the shower and wraps me in a fluffy towel, drying me off thoroughly. “Come on, let's get you into some clothes.”He picks up our discarded clothes from the floor, balled up and thrown haphazardly. He walks across the room to the closet where the washer and dryer are tucked away. He throws our clothes into the washer, starting a load.

He rummages through his dresser, pulling out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “Here, these should fit you.”He helps me into his clothes, his touch gentle.

He picks up our discarded clothes from the floor, balled up and thrown haphazardly. He walks across the room to the closet where the washer and dryer are tucked away. He throws our clothes into the washer, starting a load.

I sit on the edge of the bed, watching as Matt returns from the closet, his chest still glistening with droplets of water. He's wearing nothing but a low-slung towel around his hips. I admire his physique, his broad chest, lean muscles, and toned abs.

He walks over to his dresser and begins to sort through the drawers, picking out a pair of grey sweats and a black hoodie. As he does, he hears me speak up from the bed. “I always loved how you looked when you came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your waist, by the way.”

He pauses mid-movement, his head halfway through the hoodie. “Oh really?” he asks, a playful smile tugging at his lips. He finishes pulling the hoodie over his head, his damp hair peeking out from the hood.

“I always admired you whenever we had hookups back then each time made me fall more in love with you” I admited. Matt steps closer to me, standing between my knees. He reaches down and gently tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Is that so?”he murmurs.

I nod, my heart racing in my chest. Matt's eyes sparkle with amusement as he leans in, his smirk against my lips. “Good thing you'll be seeing me more often now, so admire how much you want,” he teases, his warm breath fanning over my face.

I can feel his smile against my lips, and I'm drowning in his eyes. “More often?” I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper. Matt nods, his lips brushing against mine gently. “A lot more often,” he whispers back, his hands resting on my knees.

“Because you're mine now,” Matt says, his voice low and possessive. “Something I should've said a long time ago.” His grip on my knees tightens, pulling me closer to him. “And I won't be so blind this time.”

I gasp softly at his words, and Matt takes advantage, pressing his lips to mine in a searing kiss. His hands slide from my knees to my thighs, his touch firm and gentle. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as our kiss deepens.

We break apart, our breaths heavy and entwined. Matt rests his forehead against mine, his eyes fluttering shut. “Let's get some sleep,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. He steps back, releasing his hold on me, and offers me his hand. “Come on.”

As we're settling into bed, the door to Matt's room bursts open. “Matt, what did I tell you about leaving the weed out?!” Chris, exclaims, storming into the room. Matt groans, flopping back onto his pillow.

As Chris is about to launch into another lecture, he notices I was there with Matt. “Y/N… nice seeing you back around here. Did my dumbass brother apologize for what he did?” he asks, crossing his arms. Matt groans louder.

“Yeah, he did,” I responded. “Don't worry, if he hadn't, you wouldn't be seeing me anywhere near this house.” Matt grumbles something under his breath. Chris smirks. “Good, thought I was going to lose my best friend because my shitty brother can’t think about anyone’s feelings except his own”

Chris says, still smirking. “Glad to see you two worked things out.” He starts to leave the room, then pauses at the doorway. “And Matt?”

Matt looks over at him. “Don't leave the weed out if you're going to be fucking for so long, guessing that’s what you both did to make up” Chris says, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

Matt sits up and glares at Chris. “Chris, get the fuck out!” he yells. “Alright alright no need to yell it’s 5 in the morning, Goodnight or should I say Goodmorning.” And with that, he pulls the door shut behind him. Matt looks over at me, rolling his eyes.

I look back at Matt, stunned. “We fucked for two hours?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. Matt chuckles, pulling me back into his arms. “It would seem so,” he says, nuzzling my neck.

I sigh contentedly, my hands finding their way into Matt's hair as we drift off to sleep. His breathing evens out, and his body relaxes around mine. Outside, the birds begin to sing, signaling the start of a new day.

a/n: THANK YOU FOR 300 FOLLOWERS!!

THIS IS A MORE LONGER ONE-SHOT THAN MY OTHERS

SO I HOPE YOU ENJOYED

I APPRECIATE YOU ALL THANK YOU AGAIN !!!

— 𝑮𝑯𝑶𝑺𝑻 ♡︎

[scarlethexelove]

How about a WandaNat fic where both are slightly dark and kidnap R. R isn't too worried about it though and soon grows to actually love both of them. Maybe something angsty with a happy ending 🙂

We'll Keep You Safe

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 1546

Warnings: Domestic violence, kidnapping, allusion to drugging, murder, I don't think there is much else.

Part 2 Save You

A/N: First I want to thank @abbyromanoff for the help on a bit of the story idea. I was struggling to come up with how they get to the point so thank you Abby. Hope this is what you wanted I'm not really sure how much I like this one myself but I hope you enjoy.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

You run from your house. Your wife is screaming at you to come back but you don't, you just run to your neighbors house. They told you if you ever needed anything that you could come to them. So that is what you did. Tears streaming down your face, your right eyes almost swollen shut and a gash on your cheek. You cradle your right arm with your left pretty sure that your wrist is broken. 

This wasn’t the first time she hit you, but this was the worst. You said you would leave but every time you were about to she promised to change to never hit you again. All she did was give you broken promises. So this time you ran her anger being heard even as you got to the front door of your neighbors. 

You banged on the door with your left hand as you looked back, scared she would follow you. You kept knocking even as the door opened, startling you and almost hitting the woman at the door. “I-I’m sorry.” You stuttered out. 

The beautiful brunette looks at your concern and anger swirling in her eyes. “S-sh-she” you stutter more, not able to form words. “Help” your voice sounding so small, your legs giving out as pain starts to spread through your body. The adrenaline wears off making you feel the full force of your injuries. Wanda catches you in her arms slowly helping you to the ground and pulling you into her. 

“Natasha!” Wanda calls out to her wife. Natasha comes around the corner, as soon as she sees you there is fury in hers. Your face is buried in Wanda’s neck as you cry. Natasha tries to make her way past you both so that she can teach your wife a lesson but Wanda stops her. Instead Wanda passes you to her wife. Sharing a knowing look. Natasha cradles you in her arms and carries you into the living room sitting down with you on the couch. Burying yourself into her she holds you tightly as you cry continuously apologizing to her as you soak her shirt in your tears. 

Natasha shushes you as she rubs her hand up and down your back. Wanda making her way into the kitchen. A few minutes later as you start to calm down Wanda returns with a tray. A tea pot and some tea cups sit on the tray. She pours a cup for you. Natasha coxes you out of her neck as Wanda extends the cup of tea. You take it hesitantly and take a few sips. Both women give you a sad smile. 

“Honey, do you want to tell us what happened?” Wanda speaks gently as she sits down on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. You lightly nod your head before speaking. “I-I came home and Lila was pissed. S-she found the divorce papers I had hidden. I tried to tell her I wasn’t going to but she s-started hitting me. I-I ran here as soon as I could get away.” You tell the woman. “I’m scared.”

“We won’t let her hurt you again.” Natasha says. You can feel her anger but also her concern. You lay your head on her shoulder starting to feel sleepy and your body feeling numb. The pain fading away. Your body feels heavy as you try to speak again but no words come out. That is the last thing you remember before everything goes black. 

You blink your eyes open, your body feeling weak and heavy. It’s hard to keep your eyes open but you're able to look around. You are wearing different clothes which freaks you out. Did someone change you? What the hell happened? Why are you here? And where is Wanda and Natasha? All these questions run through your mind. Panic setting in.

You start to look around again. This room is not one you are familiar with. The walls are wooden and a few paintings scattered around. There is a bedside table next to the bed you are laying on. It is soft, softer than anything you have been on in a long time. One of your wifes punishments for a long time has been sleeping on the ground. You notice the water on the bedside table which makes you realize how thirsty you are. Your mouth feels as though you have cotton in it. So you reach out grabbing it, but as you bring it to yourself you drop the glass and it shatters on the ground. 

Just then the door swings open and you see a panicked Wanda with Natasha behind her. They both quickly rush towards you. “Are you ok? Did you hurt yourself?” Wanda questions quickly come up next to you grabbing your hands and looking you over to see if you have any new injuries. “Where am I? What are we doing here? Why am I wearing different clothes?” You send out a rapid array of questions to the woman.

Wanda gives you a soft look. “We brought you here.” She told you, placing a hand on your check which you flinch from before letting her touch you. “We had to get you away from her.” Natasha added as she bent down cleaning up the shattered glass. “H-her, y-you mean my wife?” You question starting to push Wanda away and scrabble out of the bed. She grips you tightly and doesn’t let you up. 

“Ow, Wanda you're hurting me.” You tell her as her grip loosens on your good wrist. That is when you realize that they have tended to your injuries and cleaned you up. “Sorry detka. We just want to keep you safe. We never want to hurt you. You deserve so much better than that woman can provide you. We just want to keep you safe and give you the love you deserve.” Wanda gently tells you, holding your hands in hers. You let yourself relax and stare at her. “She can never hurt you again.” Natasha adds sitting down next to you. 

You can’t help but admit that you have had a crush on the women since you met them, but you have a wife and they were married to each other. So you always push down those feelings, but sitting here with the woman feels just right. Natasha’s words echoing in your head which causes you to think. “What do you mean she will never hurt me again? You can’t know that. W-what if she finds me?” You quickly panic at the thought. 

“She won’t be a problem anymore Y/n I promise you that.” Natasha reassures you, but something still doesn’t sit right. “Did you hurt her?” You question the woman sitting next to you. You can see an evil glint in her eyes. “No one will ever hurt you again and no one will ever find her.” Natasha said, trying to lessen the blow to the fact that she inadvertently admitted to killing your wife. You should be scared and you should try and run from them. They did kidnap you and murder your wife but you can’t find it in yourself to do any of that. They seem to care so much about you and you wouldn’t be surprised if they actually love you. 

“I-I I don’t know what to say.” You stutter out. They have already done more for you and made you feel so safe in such a short amount of time. So you accept it. You accept that they have killed your wife and brought you somewhere to keep you safe. They have taken care of your injuries. Your wrist has been set, they cleaned your cheek. Your eye doesn’t seem to be as swollen anymore. They really care for you. 

“You don’t have to say anything Y/n we love you so much already and we just want to give you everything you deserve.” Wanda gently strokes the back of your hand with her thumb. Natasha leans in and kisses your forehead. “You mean the world to us detka.” Natasha adds. Tears spring into your eyes at their words. They do love you and they are gentle with you. A stark contrast to the life you have been living. So you let the rational part of you go and you listen to the warm feeling in your chest. Leaning your body into Natasha as she wraps her arms around you. 

You feel tired again, your body relaxing with the safety you feel for the first time in a long time. You can’t remember the last time you felt like this. As you relax into Natasha she starts to guide you to lay down. She shuffles you and herself back on the bed pulling your body fully into hers. Wanda slides in behind you and wraps her arms around your waist as she gently kisses your shoulder. 

“We have you sweet girl and we promise to never hurt you.” Natasha kisses the top of your head. Your tired eyes closing as you nuzzle into her chest. You can get used to this. Living safe and sound with two women who love and care for you. “I love you.” You whisper as you drift off into a deep sleep. 

[beatrixstonehill2]

"A lot of people ask me, 'Chloe, what's the hottest part of being a pregnant trans girl?' And I mean, there are a lot of things! First of all, my womb is technically State property, so I have no say in if I get pregnant or not. Every time my uterus is ready I'm inseminated via a small port on my side, after lots of fertility drugs, of course, which are part of my hrt routine. I'd say, though, my favorite thing is the uncertainty of birth...... My port has a tracking device. So all of my checkups and any medical-related stuff happens compulsorily wherever I am. They pull up, take off my clothes, measure me, weigh me, take breast milk samples, semen samples, ask me embarrassing questions about how often I'm having sex, masturbating, if I'm letting men smack my belly during intercourse and if not, why not?

So I can be out on a date or at work or in line at the grocery store and they'll come up to me and do this whole checkup as everyone watches, filming, gossiping about it, and my body.... It's so humiliating, having my clothes removed, or sometimes even cut off of me with scissors, as the nurses and doctors only talk to each other and never me. I just have to obey as they touch and poke my body, grabbing me, openly talking about my growth and stuff..... I can only talk if they ask me questions like 'How many men have you fucked this week?' or 'Are you engaging in any extreme bondage?' or 'Are you using drugs while you prostitute?' I then have to explain that I don't prostitute myself and they don't believe me..... Well, I mean..... OK I hook sometimes but not all the time! It's just a hobby......

Then of course they weigh me and ask me stuff like how fat I'm trying to get..... again, more loaded fetish questions..... They take milk samples as another nurse jerks me off for a semen sample. When they're done they give me a nice spank and go on their merry way, leaving me still in line or at a restaurant on a date, naked, hugely pregnant, totally embarrassed.... But of course, the real answer to the initial question is obvious.... The hottest thing? I wasn't given any way to give birth naturally, so like a growing amount of trans girls I don't get the pleasure of giving birth anally or urethrally...... I'm given C-Sections...... no matter where I am, just like my checkups.

Last time I had a guy over and I was riding him, my cock on his chest getting absolutely smashed to hell by my giant pregnant belly every time I pumped down on him. It was pure bliss, some of the best sex I had that whole week! When...... the doctor came in. They have a key because my womb is State property, so they can enter my place whenever...... They told us not to worry or bother interrupting ourselves. So I mindlessly rode his cock and he had the time of his life watching this unfold, as they smeared my belly with numbing gel and, yepppp....... And every time I slowed down they told me it was a routine retrieval, that my time was up for this pregnancy, to not 'be dramatic' and stop what I was doing....

We both came so many times, we were exhausted by the end, because after we came they'd smack my ass and tell me to keep riding. I covered his chest in so much cum, it was glorious! My balls legit felt ready to pop, picture it.... My big hips, riding a guy anally, my balls were on his groin getting smashed under the weight of my belly, full of quintuplets with every pump and thrust..... My scrotum was bruised for a week, which guys just found hot..... They slapped this gel on my incision after my babies were taken out (again, State property!), and my whole Caesarian scar was healed in like a day. Not that they bothered to line it up with my other three Caesarian scars, so my belly is gorgeous but it kinda looks like people are taking a samurai sword to my belly when I'm full term. Wait, don't give them any ideas..... Kidding! I love being a breeder for the State! And I can't wait to see how many kids get pulled out of my belly this time.... I'll try to fuck as much as I can when I'm full term, so hopefully I get to give another guy the ride of his life! ❤️"

[glucoseprincess]

Let me just pour you a drink and tell you a joke as I hand it to you so you don’t notice that I’ve drugged it. It’s one of those pills that’ll make you a bit numb but won’t knock you out. Just make you pliant enough that you won’t be able to fight me back when I slip my hand under your tshirt while we drink together. You will be able to squirm and whine and ask me what the fuck I’m doing but you’ll be powerless to stop me and I’ll just slap your face with one hand gently. The other hand kneading your boob and tugging on your nipple. Telling you that you’re so pretty I couldn’t resist drugging you. Now I’m going to take advantage of you and use your body as my personal punching bag. But don’t worry I’ll do my best to be gentle. I’ll slowly strip you and take photos of you, positioning you for a gallery full of nudes with your face in them and telling you that if you ever tell anyone that I took advantage of you, the whole world will know that you’re a needy little slut and will know what your cunt looks like when it’s wet.

I’ll switch to video and start to film my hands exploring your body and gently rubbing your thighs as I tell you that you make such cute and soft sounds when I grope you. I rub your sweet little pussy and then slide my fingers into you because you’re already so wet and so easy to use. I take off my pants and my cock bounces out. I open your mouth for you and you drool a little as I shove my half erect cock into your mouth and fuck your face. The drug has taken full effect and you’re awake but you can’t fight me back at all. I laugh as I make you throat my cock all the way and you gag a little on it.

When you do I rub your cunt even faster and mock you for being a desperate girl with such a wet pussy. You’re so so turned on by someone taking advantage of you and it’s unreal to see this. What a dirty little girl. But it’s okay, I’ll fix you.

I start to fuck your throat and because you can’t resist I take liberties with how deep I go. I gently smack your face and change the pace constantly, using your mouth as a mere fleshlight and not even caring about how you feel. All I care about is making my cock feel good and get all lubed up with your spit and drool. Your drugged state forces you to make a massive mess which I just lap up with my cock and smother onto your skin. I tell you that this is your new skin care routine. Your own drool from when you get face raped by me. When I say the r word I feel your cunt clench on my fingers that are still inside you and I pull my cock out of you.

I taste my fingers and say it’s delicious and desperate before I push you onto your back and spread your legs apart. I slap my cock on your cunt, telling you that it’s going to hurt a little but it’s okay. Obedient little toys are made to take a bit of punishment anyway. So I align my tip with your opening and start to move inside, brushing against your walls as I start to sink into you. My cock parting your folds as I kiss your forehead and my cock sinks into you all the way.

You’re so wet from being helpless that I bottom out easily and then I start to fuck you deep and slow, locking eyes with you and telling you that you’re so pretty. That you make the perfect little rape doll because you don’t pay attention. I tell you that henceforth you will sleep only in big T-shirts and with nothing on underneath. Your bedroom door will always remain unlocked. This is so that whenever and however I want, I can walk into your room, pull you to the edge of your bed and have my way with your needy little desperate cunt. You whine and moan and say ‘yes sir’ as I start to fuck you faster and faster.

Your boobies bounce in a rhythm as I push deeper and deeper into you, trying to force as much of myself into you as I can. I kiss you and call you my pretty little rape toy as I put both hands on your stomach and push down so you can feel my cock thrust in and out of you.

I keep going, using your hole for my pleasure and you somehow muster the strength to say ‘please… please finish…’ and I say ‘don’t worry rapetoy, I’m close.’

I pick up my pace and kiss your lips deep as I thrust into you all the way and shoot a fat rope into your unprotected and fertile little pussy. I tell you that you’ll make an amazing mommy as you simultaneously cum on my cock and I feel your womb open up and suck my cum in. I kiss your face gently and lie down on top of you, making sure my cum stays plugged in to you while my cock gets ready once more for round two.

- ⭐️⭐️

Mmmm, anon! I wish this was happening to me right now, I need my pathetic pussy used and abused. I need to be raped. I need to be put in place. I need my drool all over, gagging on a cock.

Thank you again, and I look forward to some more tales of what you want to do to me~

[imweirdimjazzy]

Questions of Hell

Pairing: Alastor x GN!Reader

Description: after tiring a day, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea for the radio demon chasing you with questions spending the night, right?

Warnings: mentions of drugs and that’s about it (alastor is prick btw)

Word count: 2104

A/N: hello! This is kinda my first time posting here in tumblr so bear with me on my first post here. Also this isn’t proofread so there could be couple of mistakes here and there so I’m sorry about that. No use of Y/n. But please enjoy it! Btw this fic can be taken as romantic or platonic either could work. Enjoy! :)

For most of my human life I thought death would be simple and morbid. Once life expectancy reaches its limit for how much it can go, the body starts to get tired and the brain will shut, just as the body decomposes.

And just like that you would be dead.

I never tried hard to question the afterlife since it had gave me a headache if I had think too hard about it but I do admit I had a few times where I did think about it too hard.

I just didn’t expect to wind up as a goddamn sinner in a literal pot of hell.

I can admit I wasn’t exactly the most holiest person. I fucked up. Quite a lot of times. And I suppose that life is all about whether you be rewarded to get into heaven or thrown down to hell for punishment.

And for that I now have to deal with the princess of hell and her friends in the Hazbin Hotel.

Charlie was energetic to know that I was another guest at the hotel ready to redeem sinners and probably grab the chance to get to heaven. Seems quite ridiculous once the opportunity was handed to me. Honestly I stayed because I knew nowhere else would let me stay without paying or doing something to repay back.

Yet I got to meet some of the most interesting people. Starting with Angel Dust who was porn star himself and only seems to make it his whole personality but he sure knew how to make a party start going. He also makes anything—and I mean ANYTHING to be dirty.

Vaggie who seems to be strict on everyone and trying her best for all of us to actually have good morals. Sure, we didn’t care but we all understood she wanted for the best of us. Sir Pentious was there to spy on them because of the Vees but then accidentally liked the idea of staying and making a better change of himself.

And there was Nifty who has a certain quirk driven into her personality that was unlike everyone else but she was almost a kid just needed to be protected. Just try not to get stabbed by her. Husk who seems to tell everyone to fuck off even though he’s bartender and you’re sitting at the bar specifically wanting a drink. He acted he hated everyone, but he never really did. He just hated someone who seems to fake who they actually are.

And I’m guessing that’s why he isn’t particularly fond of Alastor.

Alastor is a unique demon. To say in a short sweet way to not say any bad word on his name. Yet it’s hard to say he’s quite a mystery to all of us. Charlie might own the hotel but Alastor is faculty manager of the hotel. He’s always looming somewhere in here and always there with an eye to watch us.

I have to admit I even avoid him. His presence was kind I never had bump into, I rather make it stay that way.

My legs had grown numb and heavier as I kept walking back to the hotel. I was exhausted from Charlie’s shenanigans today. Trying to encourage other sinners out there to come to the hotel and save themselves from the extermination. Failed horribly since how many either attempt to kill us, offer sex, or offer straight up cocaine.

I gave up and had left Charlie with the others to keep going. It was getting late either way and they were planning to go into club.

Didn’t want to get myself into too much trouble anymore either way.

Pushing the doors to let myself in the hotel—I had let out an exhale that I had held all day. My body was slumped and all I could think was my comfy bed.

“My, my, you look quite a mess dear!”

The radio voice had made me slightly jump out of my skin.

To the right of me I could see Alastor sitting on a couch in the lobby. One hand with whiskey in a glass cup and the other with a book. His legs crossed with one leg on top bouncing to the sound of jazz playing background.

“Alastor?”

“Didn’t expect a fellow like me up around this hour, but I couldn’t resist such a great novel here wouldn’t you say?”

He made that little hum that sparked a few radio statics in his voice.

“Look, if you’re here to mock or annoy me today I make sure those antlers of yours are gonna be long gone before you know it.”

Alastor laughed and got up with swift movement with his cane. That smile was almost stitched to his face every glance I took of him. I expect there won’t be a day where I don’t see that venom smile of his.

His hands clasped in front of him as he eyed me down. “Now why would I do that? I merely checking up on is all.”

He said it with such a smirk in his voice.

“Sure, whatever, do what you want I guess,” I grumbled under my breath.

Attempting to head upstairs, Alastor tried to get in my way as he kept reappearing in front of me in every corner I try to go.

“What the—“

“Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going?” A playful tone was layered into his voice. Letting out chuckle as his antlers move just for a second.

He knew it was getting on my nerves.

“To my room. Is there something that you want?”

I was a bit hesitant when I first spoke, especially since Alastor was a type of demon who never necessarily wants nothing out of someone except manipulation.

He makes that same hum again, letting out a sing-song voice. “Well, I’m bored and I’m in the mood of doing something.”

“Okay—kill someone or some deer.”

I tried again walking away but he reappears again in front of me on the steps of the stairs. Keeping his eyes on me as he leaned on the handrail of the stairs. I could tell from his eyes that my annoyance was kicking the roof by now.

“Not really in the mood for that kind of fun tonight dear. I was actually hoping to maybe play some sorts of game with you.”

“A game?” I questioned.

“Yes! Just any sort of ordinary game. A game where I can ask questions about you and you have to answer them.”

I blinked at him for a moment and then narrow my eyes.

“So you’re interrogating me.”

“No, nonsense! Now, come on, sit on the couch and make yourself comfortable.”

Alastor nudge me downstairs and I follow him. I had no choice and I rather didn’t wanna push any limits with radio demon exactly. He wasn’t the type to be messing around.

Suspicion was written all over my face as I sat down.

Alastor offers whiskey in a glass with a smile. “Whiskey, dear?”

“Um—-no, no thank you.”

He sets the glass on the side table along with the book. Peering to my side I notice the book was the classic Dracula book.

Alastor sat on the other end of the couch. A leg propped on the other. Resting his chin on his hand on the arm rest.

“Now, I’ll start of the with an easy question to start off soft,” stated Alastor. “Do I annoy you?”

“Yes. Next question.”

His smirk grew wide yet his eyes narrowed down on me. Letting out a laugh that sounded for sure forced but as well annoyed.

“Okay, let me ask an easier question. What is your favorite color?”

“Oh well um—maroon. Maroon is my favorite color.”

Alastor hummed to himself. “Quite an unique answer. Didn’t take you as the type to like color such as maroon.”

“Red or maroon. I just like good color of red. Next question.”

Alastor tapped his fingers along the arm rest as he thought of another question to ask.

“What’s your favorite time of day?

Looking back at him with a tilted head I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Alastor rolled his eyes jokingly and chuckled, seeming slightly amused of me. “I mean exactly what I said. What is your favorite time of day? Mornings? Afternoons? Nights?”

He lists off with this condescending tone, as if he spoke to me as a child.

“Watch your tone, and watch your ears, deer,” I hissed. But since you’re so damn curious. It’s night. And sometimes late afternoons. Not as much anymore though. I love them more in human life.”

“Human life you say?”

Alastor watches me as I adjust the black turtleneck I wore.

“Next question please.”

Alastor didn’t say anything but made a louder hum as he thought. Still overbearing me with annoyance of course.

“I’m running out of quite a lot of questions here but I suppose I should’ve asked this first, how are you liking this hotel so far?”

The tone switches and audibly notices it. Turning into this nonchalant tone. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be curious or crack me under pressure with his eyes seeming to only stare at me.

With a sharp inhale I spoke direct.

“Annoying as fuck. I never was too fond of the idea of redeeming since it was hard to wrap my head around the fact that sinners here can even get the chance to go up to heaven with the rest of angels.”

He kept silent with his smile but I kept continuing.

“I didn’t think it would work. And I still have mixed feelings about it but…I do have to admit I kinda like the friends I made here.”

His eyebrow raised and he tilted his head almsot intrigued of what I had said. “I see. And these friends you’ve made here..”

His smile twisted into a smirk as he leaned forward slightly, his elbows on his knees.

“Any particular ones you admire the most?”

It was a question that had me actually thinking this time around and I knew it was a way for Alastor to get to me, and I didn’t want him too.

“Well, each person has their own unique thing to admire.”

He tweaks his head to the side and only narrows his eyes. Still with smile.

“Charlie can be a lot and maybe too hyper, but she’s willing to give people a chance. Vaggie pushes everyone and is harsh but does it for us to get better.. Sir Pentious is someone willing to give up villainous tendencies. Angel is…well Angel but he is a friend that is loyal and would do anything to back up friend.

Husker and Nifty are the same as well. All of them have everything to admire about.”

Alastor listened intently on how I spoke each of the hotel residents living here

“Interesting. Very interesting.”

He sat back once again, his legs still crossed and his hands back in his lap. Alastor chuckled again, looking at me for a moment.

“And what about me? Is there anything you admire about me?”

I scoffed and smirk a little.

“A bit full of yourself are you?”

His eye twitched a little and seemed ready to respond, but I quickly added on.

“You always stay in control. Even if you aren’t or you’re not wanting to, you always are. You piece of shit who certainly earn a spot living here. I’ll give you that, but even I can admit that you’re intelligent in what you do. Even how manic and evil it can be.”

Alastor chuckled again. He was quite amused by my words. That wasn’t what he was expecting, but he was satisfied by it. He leaned forward a bit again, resting his arms on his legs. His elbows on his knees once again as he stared right into your eyes with his permanent smirk.

“How observant you are my dear. I thought you’d think of me as a annoying bastard”

“No, I also think that too.”

A smile spread on my lips as genuine the pit of fire in hell and before another word had slipped out of Alastors mouth, a rush of familiar friends came through the door.

“I need fucking a drink what the hell was that!?” Angel's voice rang through the hotel and same with others.

I laughed and got distracted by them as soon they called for me but Alastor sat on the couch there observing the others.

Asking himself many questions of himself now.

For how much this sinner might’ve made him rethink his plan.

[rjunswrld]

you know you like it.

johnny x thick POC! reader

shibari, oral (receiving), overstimulation, mentions of gagging and saliva (yum)

“don’t move” silence came from your end as your eyes watched him (as if you could) carefully seeing how he reached to fasten the rope behind you keeping your limbs in contact, it was hard to move feeling the rope stick to your skin it was no use, on the other hand, you tried your hardest to swallow as much saliva before it slid out of your mouth onto the ball gag to drip down your chest making such a mess.

"too tight?"

you shook your head 'no' giving you a sly smirk as he pet your head. he gently turned you around to have your rope-covered body facing away from him leaving him to stare at your bare back and bottom; he was drooling at the sight. when you, his innocent and very shy girlfriend approached him wanting to try shibari with him who was he to deny? he sat down watching tons and tons of videos on how to properly do it, using one of the many huge teddy bears he had gifted you in the past to master the patterns and to do it correctly without hurting you.

it took him about 2 weeks to get it right.. he was dedicated to it getting hard at the thought of you being completely helpless and retrained on the bed for him- it was better than he had ever imagined. running his hand down your body feeling both the rope and your soft burning skin following the dips of your body along with the now super prominent curves, so delectable he wanted to devour you.

"you should see yourself right now love.."

he placed you down gently to where you were now laying on your tummy with your ass in view exposing everything to the older who groaned at the sight of your cunt. he placed his large hand over one of your ass cheeks giving it a firm slap making you jolt and whimper; this was gonna be fun.

he repeated the action earning more gasps and whimpers that grew louder the harder he would impact you, leaving a dark red mark behind you trembling with chills coating your skin at the burning numbness covering your lower body.

"beautiful" he enjoyed watching your ass jiggle every time, he enjoyed all the sounds escaping you and seeing you like this gave him just another reason why to enjoy it even more, expect a million 'thank you's' from the male after this is over. he let his hand rest on your sore ass cheek creeping closer and closer to your sopping hole, fluttering as he ran his thumb over your hole to tease. he spread you apart to get a good look at you he adored your pussy with his whole heart, he would find himself between your legs eating you out almost every hour of the day just to get a taste of you, a taste that became a drug to him.

"god love.. i don't know if i can control myself any longer.."

he promised he would drag out the foreplay as long as possible so the both of you could enjoy this new experience longer.. he was trying, honest! but when he saw you approach him in the room dropping your robe leaving your naked exposed body for all to see, handing him the rope, and telling him to get to work.. he was gnawing on his inner cheek trying to keep himself from fucking you like a mad man.

you whined at his words wiggling a little trying to get him to do something with the throbbing pain between your legs. letting himself go he leaned in to connect his mouth with your pussy, you moaned as your mouth was covered with saliva, drooling onto the pillows with your eyes shut to fall into the feeling of johnnys tongue licking at your bud perfectly. you wanted to speak and form words to your lover but due to the ball gag in your mouth, there were restrictions.

he used both of his hands this time to spread your ass cheeks apart to get a better angle for your pussy to eat. you squirmed with no use since you stayed in the same place, he had a tight grip on you keeping you close hearing you let out muffled pleas and calls of his name as he proceeded to stimulate your clit. feeling his thumb making its way inside of you as he greedily had his way with you, holding onto you as if you were a bowling ball grinding down on the bed below him to keep his cock tamed enough to have at least a few orgasms rip through you this way.

replacing his thumb with his index finger instantly pumping in and out of you just how you liked, he was drunk off the taste and sight of you he couldn't think of any better way to spend his friday night honestly. "please cum for me baby wanna taste you.. need to taste you.." he spoke desperately as he added his middle finger into you, curling them at the perfect angle licking you; not missing a single beat of his built up rhythm he had set, he wanted all that you could give him.

"yes baby yes cum for me.."

you trembled with a squeal erupting from you as your orgasm hit you like a truck, clenching and unclenching around his fingers as his tongue licked you feverishly moaning at your juices that dripped down you never coming to a halt as you squirmed and jolted due to the overstimulation kicking in. the way your body had no access to moving away from him or to push him away he smirked hearing those pretty little wails coming from your gagged mouth

"m'sure you can give me more right love?"

tonight was gonna be a long night.

⭐︎

[moonlightspencie]

and i’m not how you hoped

Description: “forgive my northern attitude, oh i was raised out in the cold”

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: drugs (reader smokes weed), alcohol consumption, past loss of a child

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: might write a part 2

playlist here!

Things had been weird. That much was for certain. We both knew there was something happening between us that neither of us wanted to address. Until we did.

What followed were a couple years of… not bliss, but the closest thing we could get to it. He was good to me; too good to me much of the time, if you ask me. But it worked. It was good and comfortable and entirely natural to us.

Though, as I always tended to do, I had to find a reason why it wouldn’t last.

Most of the time, he could reason with me. He was really good at that, actually. Being reasonable, and knowing me well enough to use what makes me tick against me in order to keep me from self-sabotaging.

But, as things always do, it changed. Now, something was weird again. And it was something I didn’t want to talk about. It was something he’d try to figure out, but never quite get.

I sat at the table in our motel room. We went on a case that weekend after Sam had seen something online about a possible werewolf. He’d tried suggesting it as a way to get us to let him help regardless of his still-healing broken arm. All that came of it was us leaving him behind to take care of it. And we did.

I’d gotten into bed, expecting Dean to meet me there after his shower. But, my body seemed to know something was off before I did. I woke up an hour later to see the impala missing.

So, I sat at the table. Waiting.

“You’re back late,” I noted, not looking up.

I didn’t need to. I could smell alcohol and stale cigarette smoke rolling off of him. He’d been at the bar all night, that wasn’t a secret. I just wished I didn’t have to hear him lie about it.

“I needed to go for a drive.”

I looked up at that, simply raising a brow. We both knew he didn’t really mean that. Sure, he’d gone for a drive. But I knew that he’d be going back for the impala in the morning when he thought I wasn’t awake.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking down at his shoes.

“Sorry.”

I nodded. “I know. Just go shower.”

He shuffled into the motel bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him. I settled into bed again shortly afterwards, letting myself drift off the sounds of the water hitting shower tile. I woke in the early morning hours, his bed already empty.

I turned over, seeing the sunlight start to settle over the horizon and give a warm glow to the earth. I cuddled further into the comforter, deciding to close my eyes until I heard the rumble of an engine, the rustling of a take out bag hitting the table, and the mattress creaking under his weight. It all happened as I had preplanned it in my head, and only after all of that did I allow myself to pull my aching body out of the bed and into a stream of hot water.

I closed my eyes, letting it wash over me and bring relief to all of the parts of me that were battered and bruised on the case. Getting slammed into a wall was seldom a fun time. At least this place actually had some water pressure.

We drove down the road in silence, and I stared out the window. He tried a few times to strike up a conversation, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak more than a few words.

Things had been off for a long time. He knew it. I knew it.

It started when I raised concerns about his habits at the bar. It scared me sometimes how he’d drink until he was numb. He’d get back and pass out until the morning. He’d wake up half human. I hated the cycle of it.

But, really, it was more than that. I knew how he was.

What scared me most was that he’d started talking about our future. He’d started planning for when we were done hunting, or at least when we only took smaller cases to pass the time. He told me he wanted to marry me. Not in some big, fancy wedding. He said he wanted our family there, blood and found. He told me I didn’t have to wear a white dress if I didn’t want to, but that he’d love to see it if I chose to do it.

He told me he wanted kids eventually.

I didn’t know what to say at the time, and weeks later I still couldn’t figure it out. There was only one solution in my mind to it all.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he sighed, pulling to the side of the road and whipping the car into park. “Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“Don’t act dumb. You know exactly what.”

I huffed out a breath. “I can’t do this anymore, Dean.”

He was physically taken aback, his stare on me unwavering. He shook his head in disbelief as I tried not to notice.

“Can’t do what, exactly?”

“This. All of it.”

He reached out, a warm hand on my arm.

“Baby.”

“I can’t do it. I can’t lose you. I can’t watch something out there finally get to you. Or Sam. I really can’t watch you drink until you’re dead.”

“I’m doubt that’s going to be the thing to kill me.”

“It’s been every night, Dean. You’re sneaking out to do it.”

“I’m sorry, okay? But I’m not going to kill myself with a beer.”

“That’s not my point, Dean.”

“Whatever the hell your point is, you knew me before we got together. What changed in the past few months other than the fact that I told you I want to be with you for real?”

I sighed, my eyes scanning over my hands in my lap. He knew his answer, regardless of how much I tried to hide it. Part of me hating his method of self-medicating, that’s for sure. But a much larger part was scared of how much I loved him, and even more how much he seemed to love me. The way he could see through me so easily told me as much.

“I thought,” Dean started, shaking his head as he glanced away.

“You thought,” I said, almost as a confirmation that a thought is all it would be.

I watched him as he looked out the window. My heart was pounding in my chest. I knew I was being harsh, but I always told him to be careful getting too close to me. We’d both known too much loss.

“I tried telling you it wouldn’t work, Dean.”

He snapped his head towards me. “So that means you’ll shut me out the second we really get close to— to something real?”

I let out a breath, not able to bring myself to respond.

“Say something! Anything,” he pleaded, trying to mask his pain with anger. It didn’t work well.

“You don’t know what I’ve—”

“Dammit, then tell me,” he said, voice raising even more. “How am I supposed to know if you don’t say anything?”

“Try telling yourself that, Dean,” I replied before I could think.

“The difference is that I’ve opened up to you.”

I fell silent at that, taking a slow breath. He kept his eyes on me through it all, knowing he’d bested me on that point.

“I can’t lose anyone else,” I said quietly.

“You think I don’t know what that’s like?”

“Not like I do,” I stated firmly, looking at him with glassy eyes. “You know part of how I got into all of this.”

“What else?” he asked, voice growing quieter.

“I was twenty, settling down finally after breaking things off with my boyfriend at the time,” I began.

“Right. You were with your parents then.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Uh, but what I don’t tell anyone is that I was pregnant when I moved in with them. That’s why I moved in with them, actually. I could’ve taken care of myself, but I needed help with the baby.”

His faced dropped, and he reached his hand out to hold mine on instinct. I gave it a soft squeeze, appreciating the grounding he gave to me in that moment. He always knew how to calm my nerves, though this time even his hand engulfing mine only provided a tiny amount of comfort.

“Did…” he started, sighing softly. “Did you lose the baby?”

I shook my head, and his hand squeezed mine a little tighter. I didn’t dare look in his direction, turning my eyes outside the window. I looked at the trees blowing in the wind, the clouds passing by, and pretty much anything else that would take my attention away from what I was about to say.

“I had the baby. Her— her name was April,” I stuttered out, quickly wiping away tears as they fell with my free hand. “We got to spend two years together. The first six months were with my parents, and we moved south after that. She was everything to me. I never knew you could love someone that much, you know?”

“I’m so…”

“I know,” I cut him off.

“If I’d have known sooner,” he said, leaving me to figure out the rest.

“Would it really have stopped you from trying?”

“No,” he shook his head. “But I would’ve understood more. I could’ve been more sensitive. I could’ve been there for you.”

“That was ten years ago. You only got to know me a couple years back.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

He brought my knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there.

“You deserve to have someone who’s there for you when you need to talk. Pain doesn’t just go away. Especially— Especially since that kind of pain isn’t like anything else,” he said, keeping my eyes on his.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, though. You couldn’t understand what I lost.”

“I could still be there for you.”

I snorted out a laugh, and he merely looked at me curiously. I shook my head before I looked at him again.

“When did Dean Winchester become the soft and sensitive one?”

“You’ve given me a run for my money on the whole ‘cold and mysterious’ thing, sweetheart,” he said with a soft smile.

“I’ve won on the unattached part, too.”

His smile faded, a more somber look taking its place.

“You’re still leaving?”

“Telling you my closest secret doesn’t mean I’m obligated to stick around. I think we both know you’re not changing your ways anyhow.”

He nodded slowly, finally dropping my hand. He looked ahead, starting the car and pulling away from the lookout point as if it were any other day.

Each day passed so slowly over the next several months.

I packed up everything I had, though it wasn’t much, and just drove. I didn’t know where to yet at the time, but I needed to clear my head before I made any real decisions. Doing it behind the wheel seemed as good a place as any.

Eventually I found myself going north. It was like a magnetized pull, I couldn’t help myself. I drove and drove until I was in front of an old cabin that I still somehow had the key to.

It was almost the same as I remembered inside. A bit further north from where my parents had lived, but still a slice of home out in the woods. It needed a little work, but then again, so did I. I figured it could be a little project that would help each of us polish up a little.

It was a slow process, but eventually the cabin looked just like it did when I was a kid. It was airy and warm in the summer. And as the fall months rolled in, it was cozy and bright from the blaze in the fireplace.

I picked up old habits as I settled into my new home, needing a little buzz here and there when I wasn’t on the occasional hunt.

I rolled up slowly, methodically, letting it take the same mental place that I knew cleaning a gun would take for Dean. I wondered if he’d be disappointed in me. I wondered if he’d take the smoke from my lips and swallow it down like it was the sweetest autumn air. I took a deep breath, clearing out that air from my head and let the routine take over.

Routine carried me from the small dining table in the cabin, out the back door, onto the wooden deck, and right into an old, rickety rocking chair. The chill in the air seeped into my bones, and I wrapped my jacket closer around my body. I could hear the quiet chirps of a few birds telling me that it was far too late in the season for anyone to really enjoy being around here. But I couldn’t help myself.

Home was home. No matter how much I’d tried to remove myself from it as a kid, I always found my way back. It felt like an odd kind of comfort now. Now that everything has changed so much.

I wondered if April would’ve liked it here. She loved the snow when it came, I knew that much. Maybe she would’ve been able to grow accustomed to a more lingering cold. I wondered what would’ve happened if we’d have stayed with my parents up north. Though I rationalized that thinking about those ‘what-ifs’ would only tear me up. I didn’t know about any of the evil in the world outside of human beings. I couldn’t have done anything better to protect her and I had to force myself to remember that.

I looked out over the small patch of land that wasn’t covered in a blanket of trees. It was overgrown, I could see that well enough. I just didn’t care all that much. I breathed in deep, letting the crisp air fill my lungs. It smelled like pine and rain, with the faint smell of the chimney smoke seeping out of the cabin’s rooftop. The wind carried much of that smell in the opposite direction, much to my dismay. I wished it would come and wash away the smell of a different type of smoke that was soon to come.

I closed my eyes, letting the breeze carry itself over my body. It was growing colder with the fire-orange sky forcing itself into nighttime. I wished the sun would stay with me a little longer. But I was born and bred into the cold, and summer sunshine was always a privilege and blessing. I couldn’t expect it to stick around forever. I put the joint to my lips.

My eyes opened slowly. I lit up the end, letting the smoke slowly fill up my body like I was a hot air balloon and it was the only thing keeping me afloat. I exhaled slowly, watching the cloud float into the sky with the rest of it’s purer siblings.

I thought of Dean again, and this time I allowed myself to indulge for more than a few moments. I wondered what he was doing. Where he was. If there was some case pulling him across the states and even further than he already was from me. I wondered if he was even alive.

Life was dangerous. We all knew that much, and it was almost a comfort. It was hard to feel unprepared for the end of all things when you could recognize that you had a much larger margin for it than most other people. But I worried less for him when it came to being torn apart by werewolves or getting his neck snapped by a demon. I worried more that the bottle would take him long before he’d have a chance to die bloody.

Dying from liver failure seemed to be a much worse fate, I thought.

But, even so, I knew that whatever he was doing, he was probably drinking while doing it. It was another kind of morbid comfort. That wherever he was, I could know that one thing wouldn’t change: he’s been and probably always will be a functioning alcoholic. The bottle would be by his side through everything. Even if I couldn’t.

Maybe Dean wouldn’t really have a right to judge me for smoking. Vices were the things that kept us going when we felt like false virtues were perpetually being forced onto us. If we kept saving the world, maybe we deserved to fuck around a little on the side.

I sat with that for a little while, letting it chill me the same way the air did until my fingers felt the heat from the end of my nightly indulgence. I decided I could go for a cigarette.

Winter came in fast. In hindsight I should’ve known, but I hadn’t lived up north in so long. I pulled a blanket up to my chin as I settled on the couch after dinner, closing my eyes as my body warmed slowly. I’d already had my smoke for the night, and it was still in the process of settling in my body. The night was peaceful. Until there was a loud knock on my door.

I got up quickly, taking my gun from the side table and walking slowly towards the entry way. Nobody was supposed to know I was here, and I certainly wasn’t expecting visitors. I kept my gun behind the door, ready to pull it on whoever stood on the other side.

The door creaked loudly as I pulled it open, but the sound of my heart in my chest was much louder when I saw who was standing on the other side.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said quietly, giving me a lopsided smile.

I let out a breath. “Hey.”

He sighed softly, looking past me into the cabin. I could see in his face he was sizing up the place, trying to see if I was safe enough here. That brain of his was always working, even when it was covert like this. Something people never seemed to see with him.

He’d always been undercut by everyone who knew him. Sammy was the smart one, Dean was just the muscle. But he was so much more than that. He was practically a genius in his own right. The amount he knew about various gods and monsters would blow most other hunters out of the water. All he’d seen and knew amounted to more than someone who spent all their time in a library. I knew that from firsthand experience. He’d shocked me time and time again with all of the facts he’d be able to pull out of thin air.

I stared at him as he took me in, too. He was sizing me up just as much as he’d done to the house. Trying to figure out if I’d been taking care of myself. He had a special talent for reading me in that way.

“How’ve you been?” he finally asked when he had his suspicions in place.

I shrugged. “Same old.”

“You look good.”

He could still make me blush. I stepped backwards, opening the door further.

“Do you want to come in?”

He nodded. “Please.”

I watched him as he walked past me, looking around the place.

“This is nice,” he stated at last, then looked back at me with a soft smile. “Where’d you find this?”

“Uh, it was a place Bobby helped my dad find years ago. I was just a little kid, but this place… It was like Disney World-equivalent.”

He laughed. “Screwed up standards we’ve got. This still looks like magic to me.”

I walked nearer. “It is.”

He fell quiet, giving me that same old look. It never got old, the way his eyes softened and his lips formed the slightest smile. It was almost imperceptible, but I could always tell when it was there.

“I needed to be back home,” I said, glancing around like I was seeing it all with new eyes. “It’s good for me.”

“You always talked like it was the greatest place in the world. I kind of always thought you’d end up back here. At least back in Wisconsin,” he shrugged. “I’m happy for you.”

I put my hands in my pockets. “You thought I’d come back here?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Felt kinda… Like it was supposed to happen. Not fate, just—”

“Inevitable?”

“Yeah.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, something clearly on his mind. I looked off towards the fireplace, noting how it had started to smolder rather than burn. That just wasn’t right.

I walked over abruptly, throwing a few fresh logs onto the pile, standing and staring until it was in a comfortable blaze once more. I let myself feel the warmth through my clothes for a few minutes.

I turned towards Dean again eventually, seeing him still in the same spot like he was stuck in time. I called him over, telling him to get warm by the fire. The winter months weren’t always kind this far up in the state, and he was clearly feeling the chill.

He came to stand next to me, his arm just barely brushed mine, but it still managed to send a spark all the way through my spine. Some things never changed, at least. He held out his hands, letting the fire’s warmth creep all the way up and through his clothes. He let out a soft breath, enjoying the blaze.

“It’s cold up here,” he stated.

“Always told you I grew up cold. Sun sets around 4:30, and the snow comes in hard.”

“What about in the summer?”

“Sweltering and beautiful.”

He laughed quietly, shaking his head after a few seconds. I gave him an amused smirk, looking up at him.

“What are you laughing about?”

He shrugged. “Grew up cold, but it’s still sweltering and beautiful. Just sounds a lot like you.”

I swallowed, not responding. We stood at the fireplace a minute longer before I finally found words to say. Probably the wrong ones.

“You smell like the bar,” I stated quietly.

“You smell like smoke,” he retorted.

I hummed. “Not much else to do up here in the dead of winter.”

I walked towards the couch, settling into the cushions and letting my body melt. He watched me as I did, waiting until I was comfortable to sit beside me. He let out a long, soft sigh.

“You could always come back. Hunt with us.”

I didn’t respond. Once again.

I saw him watching me out of the corner of my eye. His arms were crossed over his chest, but even with his guarded appearance, I knew he was desperately wanting to open up. There was something on his mind, I just couldn’t quiet tell what it was.

“We miss you,” he said at last. “It’s not the same without you. And I don’t want to pull you away from all this, I just—”

He let out a breath again, though this time it was much heavier. I took a chance and turned my head to see him in full. He no longer looked all calm, cool, and collected. I could see it in his face. He was deeply uncomfortable with what he was saying, but he couldn’t quite stop himself from saying it anyways. He swallowed, looking down at his hands in his lap before he continued his thought.

“I’d really like it if you could come with sometimes. You don’t have to stay all the time, but I— me and Sammy… We just really miss you.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Dean.”

He nodded solemnly, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. I watched him for a moment, only speaking when I realized he wasn’t planning on saying anything else.

“I’m better off here. Sometimes I’ll grab a case if it’s nearby, but I’m pretty much as out as a hunter can get right now. And besides, everything that happened with…” I trailed off, looking away when he turned his head towards me. “Well, you know.”

He swallowed. “I know.”

We were quiet for a moment, a million thoughts running through my head and probably his. He looked at me for a moment.

“What changed?”

I raised a brow. “What didn’t?”

He smiled to himself a little, tilting his head down almost shyly. It still sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach when he smiled like that.

“You never really wanted to leave the life. Now you kind of have.”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I don’t know, I guess it just— Hunting all the time like that just isn’t for me anymore, I guess. Things change.”

He sighed softly. “You know, I really don’t drink much anymore. I did tonight, but that’s mostly because I was terrified to see you.”

I looked at him, catching his eye quickly. I didn’t know what to say, and it was clear after a moment that he didn’t either.

“Where’s Sam?” I asked after another beat of silence.

“He stayed behind. Wanted to give me some space.”

I nodded.

We both turned, looking into the flames of the fireplace for a while. It was quiet again, but a bit less uncomfortable, now. He breathed slowly, the rhythm of his chest rising and falling calming me down. Several minutes passed just like that. Peaceful silence.

I felt the cushion he was on shift a bit eventually. Little by little his hand moved towards mine. And I let it happen. I even opened my hand to his when his palm finally covered my fingers entirely.

I heard his breath change at last, one big sigh let out, as our fingers intertwined. I’m sure my breath sounded a tiny bit erratic, but I’m certain the effects of the weed were helping to calm any nerves I’d be feeling. That what I tried telling myself, even as I turned my head towards him and opened my mouth to speak.

“Do you need someplace to crash?”

“No, I have a room.”

I breathed in. “Will you stay anyways?”

He froze up for a few seconds. Then…

“Always.”

[drferox]

The ✨Joys✨ of Kesimpta

(With a medium amount of sarcasm).

Kesimpta is a monoclonal antibody named Ofatumumab which targets the B cells of my immune system to discourage them from demyelinating my spine and brain. It’s a very targeted therapy, these artificial antibodies only target one protein, and yet the side effect profile continues to be an interesting and unpredictable experience.

But firstly: does it work? Yeah, pretty well so far. Minimal progression, actually some improvement across most symptoms, and I will willingly trade the one day a month or so of side effects I have to endure for the medication that will hopefully keep me functional as long as possible. I will probably never go back to performing surgery, and there are bad days here and there, but the burning arm pain doesn’t happen anymore and the numbness is generally restricted to just hands, not the whole limb.

The side effects though, they have been… interesting. They’ve certainly lessened over time as I adjust to the medication, but it’s such a random grab bag of effects.

You get warned when you start this medication that it will cause a bit of a headache, so to take some Panadol. But what happened for me:

First two hours after the injection - nothing happened at all

Then the migraine came, plus heavy fatigue.

Then the shivering started, I had chills so bad that I was filling hot water bottles with boiling water to hug in my bed, because it was the only way I wouldn’t tremble constantly.

Then came the gastro signs, while I still had the chills.

Unrelenting insomnia approximately 12 hours after the dose.

The chills dissipated overnight but the nausea continued the next day, plus dizziness and exhaustion.

And I got to do that once a week for the first few doses, so I was pretty much non functional other than keeping myself alive at that point.

Over time, the side effects have been steadily less and less though. If I’m a little bit unwell in some way before a dose, the Kesimpta will exaggerate the symptoms, and I try and time the dose so I can sleep through most of the nausea and headache. I’m usually a bit off balance for most of the day, not enough to be a fall risk but aware enough that I am not right enough to drive and definitely shouldn’t climb a ladder.

But I still get these completely bizarre mood swings. I can go from being okay to crying over a sad thought in about 20 minutes, over no meaningful stimulus. I’m watching myself react this way and just have to ride it out, but there’s no way I could go to work on a medication day. People will think I’m insane or on a recreational drug.

So I have to take the day as a scheduled maintenance day.

Being on this medication has made me very glad for the Medicare system we have in Australia, and the pharmaceutical benefits scheme which subsidises the cost of a lot of medications through the government.

Without these systems, Kesimpta would be costing me about $2.5k per month. As it is now, it costs me about $60 a month, delivered, and I get a handy little ap that reminds me when my dose is due, and will send me an email or text message if it thinks I’ve missed a dose, steadily getting more frequent so that I will get a text message every hour as a reminder if it thinks I’ve forgotten.

[jermer10]

Hello👋 i dont know if you can but, can you do a drabble of yandere Sniper [tf2] stalking and kidnapping the reader[gender neutral]? And that he keeps them locked up in his camper van?

And uhhh, if you can the reader loves him right back?👉👈

If you cant do the stockholm syndrome thing, i get it. But at least do yandere Sniper please.

TF2 yandere sniper drabbles

suggestive, gn reader | this prompt was so fun!! tysm for the ask :)

tw: stalking, kidnapping, obsession, depictions of wounds and blood, drugging, abusive relationship, reader falling in love with yandere

drabbles under the cut :P

- you were aware of his existence a long time before meeting him, and whilst you had dealt with creeps and weirdos before, this guy was....different... - waking up during the night and feeling a presence in the room, yet finding no one once the lights were turned on; catching a glimpse of someone from the corner of your eye, and turning around to see nothing - for the longest time you had felt insane! "you're just paranoid!" you'd hear from friends and family - and then you had your first encounter with him at your local cafe whilst in the lineup ordering your coffee - okay, well, you weren't certain that it was him, but the way his bluish-grey eyes bore into yours with such an obsessive, aching, needy want caused you to put two and two together - and much to your dismay, he had realized that you knew - you brushed past him, hoping he wouldn't follow you, hoping that you could make it home in time to pack a bag or two so you could stay with a friend for the night - but you only made it half way down the street before being pulled into an alleyway and feeling the sharp jab of a needle in your shoulder

- you must have fought for several minutes before finally passing out, because upon waking there were bruises and scuff marks littering your skin - the second thing you noticed once you gained consciousness was the leg of camper van pull-out table you were tied to - if you had the strength, you would have kicked the table upwards and slid your ducktaped wrists off of the leg, yet your drowsiness and the numbness of your legs told you that trying to escape would be futile - for a second you considered screaming out - someone, anyone must be able to hear you, you couldn’t have gone too far out of town - you hear the stifled laugh of a man from the other side of the van - you turned sharply to look at the man, when an overbearing wave of nausea and dizziness rushed over you. “fuck!” you hissed, squeezing your eyes shut - the man chuckled, and from what courage you could muster, you glanced up at him. he was….handsome? - ‘fucking gross y/n! don’t think that about this guy! he KIDNAPPED YOU!’ the reality of the situation had finally set in - “who are you?! where am i?! please, please just let me go and I wont tell anyone about this! I’ll give you whatever you want! please don’t kill me!” you had started to sob - through the blurry tears you saw him get up and walk closer to you, his brown boots clacking against the floor rung in your head like gun shots - “shut up. I took ya because you’re the thing I want. I’ve been followin’ you for a while and I know you know about it. I got tired of waitin’, so I made myself known, that’s all.” his face was serious, his voice condescending, as if it were obvious - you felt hopeless, pathetic, and manic. you started to scream, cry, thrash around pathetically whilst he stood over you. he lit a cigarette and blew some smoke down at you - “we are a looooong way away from any people darl’, so it would be easier for both of us if you played nice” the man spat, and walked towards the exit of the camper van, grabbing a sniper rifle out of a locked compartment in the wall - “if you’re not here when i get back, i will kill you, y/n.” and with that, he left.

- months had gone by, and eventually you had grown placid, sitting under that table on your makeshift bed day in, day out while the man you had eventually grown to know as Mundy monitored you, fed you, bathed you, and clothed you - you had gained his trust, therefore he decided it would be best to remove your constraints - while he was at work you would rummage through his belongings to find out more about him; what hobbies he had, where he was from, his likes and dislikes - you found a photo of his parents and casually asked him about them one day. he was taken aback by your curiosity, yet he told you stories about his childhood and you shared some of your own - you couldn’t even hate him anymore, you had actually grown fond of the man in your time spent with him, but there was no fucking way he could know that. you still wanted to escape from this sicko and return to your old life - but what even was your old life? your 9 to 5 job, coming home to an empty house every day, the constant feeling of being watched with no one to believe you - suddenly your situation seemed a lot better than what you were previously stuck with - that night you had awoken, startled by a wounded and bloody Mundy stumbling through the camper van doors. “holy shit, are you okay?” you hated how it came out so earnestly - luckily for you, the concern had seemingly gone unnoticed as he had sat himself on the floor next to you, peering into your eyes for some kind of permission with a guilt and bashfulness you hadn’t seen from him thus far - you didn’t know what to do or say, so you nodded slightly, and on cue he pressed himself into your side, burying his face in the crook of your neck - he smelt like cigarettes, dirt, and gore - you didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell, but you knew he had a hard day at work. no matter what his job was, you knew all too well the feeling of coming home after a shitty shift and sobbing into your pillows. you often wonder if Mundy ever saw that side of you, sides you hadn’t shown anyone - you held each other in this awkward side hug for what felt like both hours and seconds, you honestly didn’t want to let go, but he was still bleeding out and you had been dirtied - “wanna shower?” you asked chastely. it felt uncomfortable asking your captor for something so….sweet? he glanced at you, attempting to hide the shock in his face - “yeah, okay.” he mumbled, slowly letting go of your warmth and standing up shakily, you followed in suit and head into the cramped bathroom

- by this point you had already been naked around Mundy, he refused to let you shower by yourself and most days you had been so exhausted you had looked forward to him washing you - but you had never caught a glimpse of what was under his work uniform or the red plaid pyjama slacks and white t-shirt he wore around the van, and a small part of you was nervous, but a huge part of you anticipated the reveal - you stripped yourself and climbed into the tub, chin resting on your knees, hugging your legs, and staring up at the tall, lanky man - a red tinge glossed his dirty face, clearly this was a vulnerable spot for him, and you couldn’t help but respond with your own red cheeks in turn - “….are you jumping in or what…?” you couldn’t look at him, the only sound louder than the thumping of your heart in your chest was the water spilling from the tap filling the tub - “ah- yeah just uh, gimme a second,” he murmured, removing his jacket and unbuttoning his top - his chest and back were scarred, some old, some new. you felt a pang of sadness. the irony of this situation was not lost on you, feeling more remorseful over hating this man than he does for kidnapping you, but you couldn’t help it. he was so raw, so genuine - he had stripped bare, and climbed into the tub facing away from you, handing you a bar of soap, you absentmindedly washed his back, it felt all too natural to you, maybe it was the steam of the shower, maybe it was the exhaustion that came from sleeping on the cold, hard floor of the camper every night with nothing but a blanket and pillow to keep you comfortable, but something about being here now, with Mundy, felt so right - “I think I’m in love with you,” you spoke softly, so softly you were sure he couldn't even hear the whisper, and before you could react, Mundy turned and pulled you into a rough kiss. you melted into it, running your soapy hands through his auburn hair. eyebrows furrowed and face burning, he pulled away - “wanna sleep in my bed tonight?"

[galaxywarp]

Here’s my working theory about what happened to me.

I was mostly stagnant for most of last year. A lot of bad stuff happened to me at once. Grandma died. Little dog died. I lost my job. I moved. And I was trying the whole time to stay clean, with my brain slowly healing for months from the longterm effects of me abusing it with meth and heroin.

But those drugs were also keeping me numb from everything I needed to process, emotionally. And now I didn’t have them. And for like 8 months I just sat and I ROTTED.

I barely got up out of my bedroom. I went between sleeping for days to being awake for days just doing nothing. Feeling hardly anything. Not really talking to anyone. Not even myself.

And then I finally started trying to get better. And I rode the pink cloud for a bit. And the pink cloud is very real. It’s that happiness and confidence when you first start treatment and you feel good and like you can commit to all this positive change and you’re proud of your progress.

And then I started actually feeling some of these negative feelings I’ve been running from my whole life. And I didn’t have meth or heroin to help. And I became so depressed I nearly killed myself.

But I survived. And I’ve been living in fear honestly of crashing again. I’ve been scared to say im feeling better because I’ve been having bad feels days again and what if I end up wanting to die again. You know.

But. I’m starting to wonder if this is just me going through what I need to go through. Finally crying all these tears that I was burying for six years with drugs. And it sucks and I’m sad and im angry and i feel gross and it hurts.

But. Maybe the solution isn’t to turn those feelings off. But let myself feel them. And go through them.

And it fucking sucks. It sucks that I spend the last two days crying in my closet. But you know I also went for a drive today. I made myself dinner. And drank water. And attended my psychiatry appointment. And then went back to crying. But maybe I need to cry.

Maybe it’ll be different now that I know what to expect and I can figure out how to take care of myself through these hard feelings, instead of punishing myself for them

[whorediaries-09]

can't wait 'til the drought is over;

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort, mentions of drugging. a/n- hopefully the ending does not disappoint!

prequel masterlist series masterlist little train.

the lotion is hot and humid on your skin. sweat crawls on your forearm, the skull burnt on your skin throbbing with pain. his fingers are cold and numb. a quiet solace in the dark room. his eyes are like stars against the contrast of the darkness.

'sirius,' you say, the name familiar on your tongue. his ears perk up at his name falling from your lips, the sound almost forgotten by his brain.

'yes?' he asks. you're full of fear. you're afraid that he cares for you so much, even after he watched you kill a man. you wonder if its a ploy. you wonder if he'll report you. but you're too tired from your thoughts. you're too tired of running, too tired of being chased.

for once, you want to believe it's a blessing in disguise.

'will you report me to the authorities?' he unwrapped his fingers from you, removing his cold touch from your hot skin. his upper lip quivered.

'all this time you've known me...and you think i'm going to report you? bullshit!' there it is again. the rage, the false accusations. you feel anger pour inside of you, as you get furious at the only person who helped you keep your calm.

'known you? i never knew you. don't you fucking lie!' he knitted his eyebrows together. he felt his ears get warm with the rage that boiled inside of him, boiling to the edge.

'you're the one who's lying.' he said, silent intimidation in his voice.

'i am the one who's lying?' you got up from the bed, throwing off the sheets from your body. your vision dizzied, but you couldn't care less.

'I AM THE ONE WHO'S LYING? ALL THOSE YEARS AGO, YOU LEFT ME. YOU DECIDED TO GO AND FUCK IT UP BY TALKING BULLSHIT ABOUT LOVING ME AND THEN GETTING IT ON WITH THAT WOMAN. I, SIRIUS, TO YOU AM ALWAYS THE OTHER WOMAN.'

and god it felt good to let it off your chest. all those years you'd spent those sleepless nights, looking for answers, looking for closure. all those years, you'd spent those years trying to fight your demons. all those years, you'd spent, trying to search for the flame of warmth that sirius lit within you.

it was finally tearing down, as he stared at your anguished form. you watched tears fill up his eyes.

'I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE! YOU FORCED ME TO LEAVE. AND DON'T BE SUCH A PATHETIC LIER, I NEVER GOT WITH NO WOMAN AFTER BEING FREED EXCEPT YOU!'

'please,' you begged, pathetically. you shook, years of suppressed emotions finally catching up to you. 'don't lie. it was the night of 14th august, at 7:28pm. i saw you crystal clear with the woman.' you curled your fingers, balling your palm into a fist. disgust churned in your stomach, putrid hatred running through your intestines.

the memories flashed in your brain like a film.

this film, you'd seen before. and you didn't like the ending.

'we'd planned a date on 14th of august. i'd asked you out, but you never came. i s'pposed you got stuck with some extra work. by the time i wanted to leave and go check on you, i'd already been caught up by the woman you're talking about. i don't remember her name, but i do know that i'd been drugged by her. because i ended up in the hospital a few hours after.'

the silent was deafening.

'what? i- i never knew-'

'of course you didn't. then i came up to check on you and i saw that you would've been killed by lucius. i saved you, and there you were shouting at me, giving me no chance to explain myself.'

'you never contacted me afterwards-'

'i thought of calling you. write you letters. but i knew you wouldn't respond. a few years later dumbledore comes bearing with the news that you were in great trouble, and i could think of nothing but you. i wanted to do nothing but prove myself and signed myself up for the mission of saving you. it was a job to be done by one, too many people would've messed up. and i saw you, on the verge of fighting death, i couldn't bear it. i couldn't bear the thought of losing you again.'

'i'm sorry.' he got up from the bed, tucking his finger under your jaw.

'i realize now, how much i love you. how much the thought of losing you terrifies me. how much i hate the fact that i love you because you want nothing to do with me. because i love you and it has ruined my life.'

he nudged his forehead against yours, warm breath falling on your lips.

'let this night be ours,' he begged. you cradled his face.

'it was always ours.' the hot salty tear fell on your cheek.

'i think i never wanted to accept it, because it was terrifying, the thought of loving someone. but i don't think i can escape it anymore. i never stopped loving you. i don't think i was never not yours.'

his nose budged against yours.

'say it.'

'i love you, sirius.'

his lips met yours. softly and ecstatically, his tongue slipped into your mouth as he kissed you harsh. harsh with the dull pain of separating. harsh with the dull pain of loving you. harsh pain of the paradox.

and even if the both of you were too close too the stars, you'd fall. fall again.

because when the sky fell, you'd face it all together.

running away from the ruins of loving each other.

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original idea posted by - @lilwnet

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

taglist (for series) - @urbansaint

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

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[miss-celestia13]

Steal My Breath

Jake x MC Smut One-Shot

Words: 2.2k

A visit to her childhood home brings up an interesting question for Jake. “Have you ever fucked someone here?” He takes her negative response as a challenge.

It's been ages since I wrote for this, and I'm glad I managed to get back to these two. As usual, it's just a smut and love one-shot. If anyone wants to read, nothing needs to be read before reading this. There is no plot, only filth. MC's name is Manon.

Breathplay.

Manon’s POV

The clock beside her bed ticked past 2 am and she took to memorizing Jake in her old room and wondering how she had gone from being utterly hopeless to this. Having nothing but hope and joy for the future, it was a gift, and she didn't want to waste it ruminating on the ghosts.

She looked at him, admiring the firm line of his stubbled jaw and the lips she knew better than her own. He was her peace in a world of war and bloodshed. And he was the chaos and desire when their world was bright and open and beautiful.

All of him, fashioned just for her. All of her forged in fire and blood for him.

His face was oddly severe as she stroked her fingers over his thumping heart and let the heat of him ease her chilled bones. She wanted to remind herself she was alive and thriving, that no matter how hard it got, there was good waiting for her.

She had to swallow a few times. Her mouth was so dry, but she managed a silly joke.

"What are you thinking? You look like you're trying to solve a math problem in your head and you're failing," she laughed. Her earlier stress faded away under the power of his attention as he met her venom gaze.

"I was wondering..."

His lips twitched, his hand trailing over the flare of her hip and gripping her tight, the heat of him like a branding through her clothing. Concern still lurked in his gaze, but he sensed the shift in her mood and reacted in kind.

He looked at her through a fan of thick black lashes as she waited for him to elaborate.

She wasn't very good at waiting.

Manon arched a brow and said, "Yes?" When he just kept touching and touching her.

His indigo eyes blinked and locked on her, lust threading through his irises. And they were darker than they were seconds ago.

"Have you ever fucked someone here?"

Manon laughed, cackled really, "No, do you think anyone other than Steve would have made it past my dad?" With an unladylike snort, she shook her head at the mental picture of a poor, horny teen boy, rosy-cheeked and stuttering, as her dad read him his rights. She went on, "I had to fuck myself."

"But you lived here alone for a while," he reminded her.

Manon rarely ventured back to those days, even now, multiple lives away from it. She never sought those memories out of the locked wrought iron cage in the back of her hive of a mind.

Sex had been her drug to fill the numb, hollow plain where her heart used to reside. She didn't go out all the time, no, too lost in her head for that.

But when she went out, she drank just enough to feel warmed through and buzzed, seeking her target for the night.

Some nights, she left empty-handed. Often, she went home with someone. She took no one back to her place. They were one-night stands, and she just needed to feel something, not embed them in the fabric of her shattered life.

They'd discussed past loves before, and she felt no anxiety opening up about this.

"I never brought them home. They took me home."

Nothing but quiet understanding shone in his crystal eyes, a slight tightness in the corners of his closed, smiling mouth told her he wished he'd been there for her then just like she would trade all the money she had to be at his side as his world became a real life thriller without the promise of justice until she demanded it for him.

He was everything to her, and she knew she was everything to him. Like he was a trophy or a champion ring, she coveted and hoarded him inside herself to keep him safe and hers. The possessive way he touched her echoed her silly thoughts, and she wanted to feel the heaven in him meeting the hell in her.

Leave this place with a wonderful memory to ease the pain of all the awful ones.

Jake grinned like a devil as he read the thoughts on her face, his heated gaze holding her in sway.

"We're here now, and no one can stop us."

As she smirked at him, his hands pulled her in and wound around her, heat and light glittering through her as he brushed his lips over hers.

Featherlight and gentle, so at odds with how hard he gripped her hip and made her skin bloom wild with violets. She wriggled closer and laid a possessive hand on his neck. He pulled back and searched her eyes for any sign of distress, and she knew he didn't find it when the shadows in his sapphire gaze vanished.

She tilted her head, admiring the sparkle of her engagement ring as she said, "What are you waiting for?"

He instantly lunged and captured her lips in his, hungry and urgent; he kissed her until her head spun and aching want pulsing through her veins until her entire body trembled with it.

Her shaking hands laced through his hair as she swung her leg over his and pressed in as close as she could.

Manon's blood shimmered.

His wandering hand found her jaw, fingers tracing along and curling behind the bone, trailing down her neck, and wrapping around her throat to feel her pulse skittering under his fingers and thumb.

Her breathing quickened and slowed with the pressure of his hand as it tensed and relaxed, scalding, wet heat cascaded through her. Pooling between her thighs as a hollow ache opened inside her.

There was an invisible cord of love and deep trust between them, and a heady, liberating sense of having no control that ran through her. She gladly handed herself over to him. And knew he would take care of the need rising like a tide to drown her.

She whined low in her throat as sweet desperation and nerve flaying anticipation pricked over her skin like needles as his free hand wove through her hair to pull her lips more firmly against his.

His tongue slid alongside hers, bristled lips teasing and bruising her mouth as she smiled into it, greedily inhaling his arousing scent with every scant breath.

The simmering heat in her abdomen, the familiar catching sensation in her chest, and the wild thrum of molten blood in her veins. It was the most intimate and cherished thing she'd ever known.

His body aligned with hers. She melted into him and filled every hollow space between them, absorbing his fierce heartbeat as it pounded alongside hers.

How good and right and real he felt pressed into her. It was all that mattered.

He was like fire and she raised no resistance as he burned his way in. His lips seared against hers, one roasting hand splayed wide on her lower back as she wriggled until his knee parted her legs, and she sighed into his mouth, happier than ever.

There was still a slight hint of, "we shouldn't do this. We will be caught any minute." In the back of her mind, that almost made her want to laugh.

It intensified her desire instead.

The hand collaring her throat tightened. A strangled moan left her when he eased up.

All that strength — he was so very careful to leash it with her, and she took great delight in pulling at his every trigger to make him loosen his hold on himself.

He pressed his fingers into the veins under her skin, cutting off the flow of her blood again and again, creating a dazzling rush of euphoria. She felt high, so sensitive even the air whispering against her skin felt like a heated caress against her dewy skin.

They hurriedly undressed each other. No shame or hesitation. Both hungry and wanting.

He kissed every scar as he unveiled them. Hot mouth sending flares of flame spiraling through her and she grew so wet. He chuckled possessively as he dipped a finger into her soaked folds. She tasted the salt and musk as she dragged her lips across his chest as she nearly ripped his shirt from his body to get to the skin underneath.

Soon, nothing stood between but shivering anticipation and deepest, darkest desire.

His hand came up to grip her throat again, her body arching and trembling as his lapis eyes watched her every reaction. He taunted her with a gentle squeeze on her neck that restricted her breath, a single finger grazing her clit as she gasped and writhed.

She was so ready for him. So wet and hot and pliant he didn't torture her for long as he palmed his hard cock, vicious lust etched across every line of his handsome face.

He gave her an order, "Hold on tight, don't let go, Sweetheart."

Her hands instinctually lifted and grabbed hold of the wooden bedposts, arcing her body into an elegant arch as he spread her thighs wide.

She felt the head of his cock pressing into her. Thick and very hard, he pushed in. He glided through her slick cunt so fast her eyes rolled back and her knuckles bleached white on the wood as she struggled to absorb him.

Pressure and fullness. It obliterated all thought as her body acclimated to his invasion. He was holding his breath, eyes shadowed and breath short as he felt her cunt yield to him, wetness dripping from her with every tiny shift of his cock against her fiery flesh.

When he moved, it was emphatic and utterly devastating.

Forceful thrusts into her tight clasp, fingers cutting into her hips as he pulled and pushed her body with every snap of his hips.

The tension was like a screw being turned too tight inside her, twisting and twisting, tightening until her skin quivered and his name rolled off her tongue.

Heat and fire bled through her as her legs wrapped around his waist and he braced his elbows on either side of her head.

He took her mouth with the same ferocity he took her cunt with. Rapid flicks of his tongue against hers, sliding and tangling together, joined so closely they felt like one being as she shuddered and keened.

His cock grinding and jabbing deep, his groin catching her swollen clit, and his ravenous mouth all worked together to destroy and heal her.

All she felt was pleasure, love, and desire so intense, her toes curled with it.

She was moaning as he fucked her. So lost in him and the whirling flames of his lust for her, she never wanted to be found.

Jake was insatiable. Tearing moan after moan from her and demanding more with every brutal lunge of his cock inside her taut heat. She saw the black desire eating away at him. Her fingers itched to pull at his hair to feed it, but his hand came up and enveloped her throat once more.

She could only burn and feel and breathe through the incredible pleasure threatening to steal her sanity as his hand flexed.

Tension strung so tight she went rigid, her eyes flashing her distress at him as she needed more to fly off the precipice, slicing her in half. He immediately understood and nodded, silent permission that made her loosen her hold on the headboard.

She worked one hand between them, fingers soon soaked in her own essence as she circled her clit. Her other hand weaved through his hair and dragged him in, kissing him so forcefully he paused in surprise before returning her famished kiss with equal fervor.

Her swirling fingers on her clit sent embers flying through her, the tension pulled so taut she wailed as Jake rattled her with a thrust so savage she felt it in the soles of her feet.

Sweat beaded on their skin. The sharp and heady scent of her own arousal was unmistakable in the air between them. It was like a humid warmth that cloaked them both and turned their desire up to lethal levels.

Jake broke free of her mouth and sobbed her name as her cunt clenched down hard, her busy fingers pushing and pushing her to release as the skin on her belly trembled.

The sound was like a siren call to her. It slithered like a shiver through her nerves and coiled in her core to intensify the pressure of his cock filling her again and again.

He was so warm. He was hers. Her world wasn't cold with him and never would be. The thought sent her over the edge with another flick of her fingers.

Her cunt clasped his cock so tightly she took him down with her. His shocked shout bled into a rippling growl she felt between her quaking legs as release surged through her like a landslide of molten lava.

A storm of tingles and shocks burst under her skin as she shivered and shook. Her breath came in great gasping bursts as wave after wave of glittering, searing sensation rolled through her. She was mindless, lost in utter glory, and pleasure as it swamped her system so thoroughly she thought it would never end.

She was aware of herself making noise but couldn't understand a word of it as Jake kissed her to soothe her. He swallowed every twitch and sound her orgasm incited and she reveled in the feel of him still locked inside her body.

His body blanketed hers as her useless, boneless legs fell away from his waist and flopped down on the bed. She held him close, nails scratching at his damp skin and hands smoothing over firm muscles as they made their way to his raven hair.

Tiredness forced her eyes shut as he nuzzled her neck and breathed her in. She just kept holding him. She didn't let go until they woke up later that day and they began packing the things she wanted to keep.

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