#if they look innocent enough for long enough

[littlelamy]

𝓹𝓱𝓸𝓽𝓸𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓬

rafe’s obsession with you was something that burned hot and unrelenting, but nothing fueled it more than his need to capture you—every curve, every shadow, every fleeting look of abandon that crossed your face. his phone was practically an extension of his hand, always ready to snap a photo, no matter where you were or what you were doing.

at first, it was innocent enough—your laughter at a party, the way the sunlight kissed your skin at the beach. but it didn’t take long for rafe’s fixation to grow darker, more possessive, more intimate.

“stay just like that,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as his phone hovered above you. the dim light from the bedside lamp threw golden highlights over your bare skin, the sheets tangled around your thighs, your body still flushed from the orgasm he’d just dragged out of you.

“rafe,” you breathed, half-protesting as you tried to pull the sheet higher. he was having none of it.

“don’t cover yourself,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “i want to see all of you. fuck, baby, you’re perfect like this.”

the camera shutter clicked, and he leaned in closer, his fingers brushing over your hip to guide you into a position that had you arching slightly, your nipples peeking through the sheer fabric of the shirt he hadn’t bothered taking off you.

“rafe, you’re insane,” you muttered, but there was no real heat in your voice. not when his free hand slid between your thighs, teasing at the slickness he already knew he’d find.

“i’m obsessed,” he corrected, snapping another picture as his fingers pressed against your clit. the sharp gasp you let out made his lips curl into a grin. “and you fucking love it.”

even out with friends, rafe couldn’t help himself. his hand would slide under the table, his phone angled just right to capture the way your skirt rode up your thighs, the hint of lace he knew was there. when you caught him, your eyes narrowing in playful warning, he’d only smirk, his thumb already swiping through the photos to pick his favorite.

“rafe, stop,” you hissed, your face heating as you shifted in your seat.

“you say that now,” he murmured, leaning closer so only you could hear, “but later, you’re gonna beg me to show you what you look like when you’re coming apart for me.”

the worst—or maybe the best—was when you were asleep, your body sprawled out on the mattress, completely unaware. he’d prop himself up on an elbow, his phone in hand as he framed you like a piece of art. the curve of your ass peeking out from under the hem of his shirt, the faint marks of his teeth on your skin—it all belonged to him, and he wanted to remember it forever.

rafe was relentless, unapologetic in his obsession. every photo was a declaration, a silent vow that no one else would ever see you the way he did. and as much as you pretended to protest, there was a dark, thrilling part of you that craved the way he saw you—raw, unfiltered, and entirely his.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl

[montag-guy]

“You know my name,” said Montag.

Granger nodded to a portable battery TV set by the fire. “We’ve watched the chase. Figured you’d wind up south along the river. When we heard you plunging around out in the forest like a drunken elk, we didn’t hide as we usually do. We figured you were in the river, when the helicopter cameras swung back in over the city. Something funny there. The chase is still running. The other way, though.”

“The other way?”

“Let’s have a look.” Granger snapped the portable viewer on. The picture was a nightmare, condensed, easily passed from hand to hand, in the forest, all whirring color and flight. A voice cried: “The chase continues north in the city! Police helicopters are converging on Avenue 87 and Elm Grove Park!”

Granger nodded. “They’re faking. You threw them off at the river. They can’t admit it. They know they can hold their audience only so long. The show’s got to have a snap ending, quick! If they started searching the whole damn river it might take all night. So they’re sniffing for a scapegoat to end things with a bang. Watch. They’ll catch Montag in the next five minutes!”

“But how—”

“Watch.” The camera, hovering in the belly of a helicopter, now swung down at an empty street:

“See that?” whispered Granger. “It’ll be you; right up at the end of that street is our victim. See how our camera is coming in? Building the scene. Suspense. Long shot. Right now, some poor fellow is out for a walk. A rarity. An odd one. Don’t think the police don’t know the habits of queer ducks like that, men who walk mornings for the hell of it, or for reasons of insomnia. Anyway, the police have had him charted for months, years. Never know when that sort of information might be handy. And today, it turns out, it’s very usable indeed. It saves face. Oh, God, look there!”

The men at the fire bent forward. On the screen, a man turned a corner. The Mechanical Hound rushed forward into the viewer, suddenly. The helicopter lights shot down a dozen brilliant pillars that built a cage all about the man.

A voice cried, “There’s Montag! The search is done!

The innocent man stood bewildered, a cigarette burning in his hand. He stared at the Hound, not knowing what it was. He probably never knew. He glanced up at the sky and the wailing sirens. The camera rushed down. The Hound leapt up into the air with a rhythm and a sense of timing that was incredibly beautiful. Its needle shot out. It was suspended for a moment in their gaze, as if to give the vast audience time to appreciate everything, the raw look of the victim’s face, the empty street, the steel animal a bullet nosing the target.

“Montag, don’t move!” said a voice from the sky. The camera fell upon the victim, even as did the Hound. Both reached him simultaneously. The victim was seized by Hound and camera in a great spidering, clenching grip. He screamed. He screamed. He screamed!

Blackout.

Silence.

Darkness.

Montag cried out in the silence and turned away.

Silence.

And then, after a time of the men sitting around the fire, their faces expressionless, an announcer on the dark screen said, “The search is over, Montag is dead; a crime against society has been avenged.”

Darkness.

“We now take you to the Sky Room of the Hotel Lux for a half hour of Just-Before-Dawn, a program of—” Granger turned it off.

“They didn’t show the man’s face in focus. Did you notice? Even your best friends couldn’t tell if it was you. They scrambled it just enough to let the imagination take over. Hell,” he whispered. “Hell.”

Montag said nothing but now, looking back, sat with his eyes fixed to the black screen, trembling.

Granger touched Montag’s arm. “Welcome back from the dead.” Montag nodded.

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451°

[moonstruckme]

Pookie! I need you to write me something pretty please :)

Can you write Remus comforting a reader with an anxiety disorder when someone told them "there's nothing to be anxious about. You just want attention" ??? Pretty please?? Love you pookieeeeeee

Thanks for requesting!

cw: mean girl stuff, social anxiety

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 929 words

“Shh.” Remus holds you close to his chest, his hand moving up and down your arm now that your crying has slowed. “It’s okay. It’s just us, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you echo, croakily. You’re glad you can’t see your boyfriend’s face, for fear you’d die of embarrassment otherwise. The looming insecurity of your day stands over you like a grim reaper. 

You arrived home from a friend’s birthday dinner to find Remus sitting on the couch, already marking the page of his book as he turned to you with a soft smile. 

“Hi, sweetheart. How was it?” 

You replied, through a laugh that turned into a sob halfway through, “Not great.” 

The dinner had been an event of foreboding for you since your invite. You’d been determined to be a good friend by not bailing, but actually going had confirmed your worst fears; it was loud, crowded, filled with people you didn’t know and didn’t fit with. Your outfit wasn’t right, the menu was daunting, and conversation swirled all around you about things you weren’t a part of. The fallout was basically inevitable. 

You perhaps waited too long to excuse yourself. You were sweating buckets and breathing around a lump by the time you did, whispering an explanation to your friend before locking yourself into a bathroom stall to talk yourself down. You’re sure she didn’t mean anything by telling the people sitting closest to her why you were gone—you don’t think she’d do it to gossip, and she’s never talked down to you about that sort of thing, at least not to your face—but by the time you returned one of her friends—a stranger to you, who’s name you can’t even remember—had formulated a fairly decisive opinion and dubbed you an attention seeker. 

You stayed only a little longer after that. Just long enough to avoid attracting more attention. And you worked yourself up well enough on the way home that all it took was one innocent question from Remus to send you crumpling into his arms. 

You’ve tried to steel yourself more than once, but any attempts at stoicism have been foiled by your boyfriend’s tender looks and whispered placations, which only make you cry harder. If you’re an attention seeker, Remus is your holy grail. Self loathing sits lodged in your throat like a stone. 

“Whose friend was it, again?” Remus asks, stroking your arm gently. 

You take a breath, trying to steady your voice. “Does it matter?” 

“I don’t mean it’s your friend’s fault, sweetheart,” Remus says. He’s all softness and patience, better than you could ever deserve. “I just thought you might talk to her, if you want to. She ought to know her friend is going around saying cruel things.” 

“She was there.” Your throat tightens at the memory. 

“Oh. Then I don’t suppose you need to say anything; I’m sure she’s already very upset for you.” 

You try to laugh, frustrated with yourself when it only seems to spur another wave of tears. “Rem. You’re biased.” 

“What?” Remus sounds genuinely surprised. “You don’t think she’s angry with that other girl?”

“She’s her friend.” 

“So are you.” His arms tighten around you protectively, chin bumping your head. “I may be biased, but the other girl was clearly in the wrong. There’s no excuse for the way she acted.” 

A dozen rebuttals fly about your head, but you keep your mouth shut. You don’t have the energy to argue. Unfortunately, Remus hears your argument in the silence anyway. 

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “no one puts themselves through what you do for attention. You don’t choose to feel that way.”

You hunch your back, tucking your head underneath his chin. “I do get attention for it, though.” 

“That doesn’t mean you want it.” 

“But I—”

“Do you want it?” You can’t see Remus, but you hear the hardened edge to his tone. “Did you like it, when that girl called attention to you in the middle of the dinner?” 

Your voice smalls. “No.” 

“Right.” The gentleness returns. Remus puts his lips to your head. “I know you didn’t, dovey. So don’t torment yourself, please. She doesn’t know anything about you.” 

You push your lips together. He lets you chew on your next words for a while, his thumb swiping softly back and forth over your upper arm, the sleeve of your top shifting slightly with the motion. 

“What if…” You gnaw the inside of your cheek. Remus waits. “What if everyone thinks that?” 

“Mm. Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think most people would. Surely not anyone who knows you, or anyone worth being around.” He takes a breath, thinking. “You can’t always control what people think. I know you say I’m biased, but anyone who thinks something like that really isn’t worth thinking about at all. You’ve got enough going through that head of yours, yeah?” He kisses your hair fondly. 

“I guess so,” you admit. 

“Yeah,” Remus decides. He pulls away to see your face, pushing hair away from your tacky cheeks. “I’d say so.” 

You wonder if you look as horrendously in love as you feel. You think you must, because your boyfriend’s expression softens impossibly further as he turns his head to give you a proper kiss. You feel raw but comforted, and suddenly, totally exhausted. 

“Let the bullies worry about themselves.” Remus gives you a tender look. “I’ll worry about you.” 

You let a small smile tilt your lips. “And what am I left to worry about?” 

“Nothing,” he says solemnly. “Think you can manage that?” 

“Nope.” 

“Mm. Well, try.” 

[chevroletdean]

slowly kissing down the body [49 + dean] ── ✮⋆˙

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff, smut (MDNI) To note/warnings: Established relationship, spooning, body worship, oral (m receiving), cussing, not proofread Word count: 1.4k A/N: @xpurdyglambertx requested this one in our Discord server and I hope I did it justice 👁️👁️ Thank you, Liz! Sorry it took me so long.

kisses askgame here 💋

It’s a rare occassion — or maybe it’s been happening more frequently lately. Either way, it feels special and you’re pretty sure it always will.

His back molds perfectly against your chest, both your bodies forming a seamless curve together. Your limbs are wrapped around him like some koala’s, as Dean likes to phrase it.

“Shut up,” you smile softly, your voice half-muffled by the way your face nuzzles the nape of his neck. “You enjoy being the little spoon, admit it.”

A gentle chuckle escapes his lungs, the deep vibrations of which buzz lightly against your palm, which he holds close over his heart.

“Guilty as charged,” he hums sleepily, before bringing your fingers up briefly to press a small kiss to your knuckles.

You know you’re lucky to be able to unwind with Dean like this.

Such a long day, so much work to do, a long drive after a complicated hunt — it’s all worth it once you can cuddle up with your boyfriend in clean sheets, comfy pillows and each other’s body warmth.

After coming back to the bunker, you had shared a warm shower. He threw on his sweatpants, you stole his shirt and thus you turned into two puzzle pieces that connected into one on the bed.

You sigh happily, all but melting into him. If you could crawl into his skin, you would. Your lips automatically find home at his bare shoulder, pecking a freckle there.

“I’m startin’ to think you just enjoy being the big spoon way more,” Dean teases.

Your smile widens into a smirk and you hum, practically feeling the shudder that runs down his spine.

“Mhh, maybe,” you mumble back and brush your lips at the spot between his shoulder blades. His skin is warm, the perfect balance between smooth and roughened. “Wanna know my favorite part of it?”

Dean’s breath hitches before he can answer. All thanks to your teeth grazing down his naked back.

“Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he utters through gritted teeth and ragged breath, voice all husky and heavy.

You could get high on the effect you have on him.

Your mouth latches onto an old scar of his, your tongue hot and wet as it trails down lower and lower. Another kiss follows, that one carefully exploring a faint bruise on his ribs, before you continue your exploration further south and add a purple mark of your own.

Dean’s hand squeezes yours tightly, pressing it impossibly closer to his chest and you swear you can feel his heart drumming against your palm.

Then, you sit up slightly, using that exact palm to push his back against the mattress. Shifting, you position yourself on top of him, straddling his lap. The plush of your thighs drapes on each side of his hips perfectly, pulling his hands to them like magnets

“This is my favorite part,” you mumble sweetly, wide eyes feigning innocence as you bat your eyelashes down at him and trail both your hands over his torso. Over his stomach, to his hips, where you toy with the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Right here,” you add with a not so innocent smirk and roll your hips against his slowly.

You feel his cock hardening beneath you right through the thin lace of your panties and you feel yourself clench around nothing at the broken grunt you’re able to pull from Dean. The way his fingers sink into your supple flesh has your mind reeling.

It’s about him though.

Your plan is to make him feel good and from the looks of it, you’re doing a fine job at it.

Dean’s body, lax and compliant from a stressful hunt, tenses and squirms just enough to signal you which spots are the most sensitive.

You lean down, claiming his lips in a chaste kiss, to which he eagerly lifts himself, only to be nudged down by you again.

“Sit back and relax for me, babe,” you smile, before repeating your previous steps. Your pecks and kisses and nibbles wander down his jaw and throat, over his chest, his tattoo, lower and lower.

You map out every freckle and scar, each dip and curve.

You know his hands are itching to touch you all over, fingers itching to paw at every inch of you, but for now it’s his turn to be pampered.

Your tongue leaves behind a trail of slick, warm saliva cooling against his flushed skin. By the time your teasing kisses reach his navel, he’s impatiently bucking his hips.

He’s getting desperate, so you throw him a bone by ghosting your fingers over his clothed cock.

“Quit— shit, babe, fucking *shit*,” he interrupts his own whimpering briefly to swallow thickly, “quit teasin’ me already.”

“I just wanna take my time with you,” you breathe sweetly, while tugging the fabric down. “It’s supposed to be relaxing, remember?”

“You just wanna drive me crazy.”

A grin tugs at the corners of your lips and you look up at him theough heavy lidded eyes and a glimmer in your widened pupils.

“Is it working?” You ask teasingly.

“Obviously,” he quips back, unable to contain a grin of his own. Christ, he’s so smitten with you, it should be illegal. You have him wrapped around your little finger. Though your fingers are wrapped around him, pulling his twitching dick from its confines at last.

Dean’s head falls back against the pillows, eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy as you begin to pump him slowly.

Your other hand gives his thigh a firm pat.

“My eyes are down here,” you joke while you lower yourself into a more comfortable position, your knees tucked neatly beneath you, head resting between his thighs.

“’S very funny,” he huffs back and his chest is heaving as he pants heavily.

Still, his green eyes lock with yours and you reward him by placing your lips right at his base.

Dean’s brow twitches and it’s obviously taking all his self-control to stay still.

He’s already ruined, but God, what are you doing to him? You’re taking him apart at the seams, making him crumble. Whatever did he do to deserve you?

“Just a little reward for such a hardworking hunter,” you giggle coyly.

Had he said his thoughts out loud or are you just able to read his mind so well?

You kiss up his shaft and he thinks his soul is about to leave his body and ascend to heaven. He’s been to about every plane of existence fathomable, but this is like a spiritual calling. The sight of your tongue swirling around his red tip, your lips stretching around his head as you begin to slowly take him into your warm mouth.

You let him place his hand on top of your head and hum in approval as his fingers run across your scalp. His actions are tender as he lovingly wipes some of your hair out of the way. He can’t help but grasp at it, especially when you hollow your cheeks and suck.

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, putting angel’s choirs to shame

After a second, you force your jaw to relax further and waitingly look up at him. While Dean would never want to hurt you, he takes the cue and pushes your head down more — gently, but definitely to the point of your eyes getting glassy with tears.

You nearly sputter around him and his grip loosens.

“Shit, sorry,” he hisses through his teeth. “Did I hurt you?”

You hum a negational “mhh-mm”, that pretty little mouth of yours still stuffed with his thick cock. You take him even deeper, until he almost slips down your throat and your nose bumps against him.

You know exactly how to snuff out any doubts of his. Whether or not he thought about pulling you back, now he can’t help meeting your head halfway with shallow thrusts of his own as it bobs up and down.

“So good f’me, sweet girl,” Dean praises and strokes his fingers through your hair. “Takin’ such good care of me, hm? ‘S like your pretty mouth was made for me. Taking me. So. Damn. Well.”

Each word is punctuated with another thrust, making you — and him, consequently — see stars.

Because as much as this is to help Dean unwind, you know you could end every day like this, worshipping every inch of him.

Dean Winchester Taglist (Put a green heart 💚 in the comments to be added to the Dean x Reader taglist):

@ladysparkles78 @winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126 @zepskies @calibootsgirl @hot-and-confused @spookyfunhottub @berryblues46 @midnight--raine @emmy21842 @whichwitchwanda @foxyjwls007 @lyarr24

[misswynters]

Innocent

short drabble

featuring. ambessa x princess!reader

requested by anon

a/n. a short drabble in honor of the new league cinematic video. (not proofread)

Whispers followed you wherever you went, delicate and sweet like the trailing ribbons of your pastel gown. A princess from a distant land, they called you, with eyes like morning dew and a smile so radiant it could disarm even the most hardened souls. You walked beside Ambessa Medarda as you entered Piltover’s council chamber, her imposing presence drawing wary glances and tightened jaws. But you, oh, you were such the opposite compared to her with your delicate hands grazing the edge of the table as you curtsied. The softness of your voice weaving through the room like silk.

They couldn’t understand it. What was someone like you, someone that was the vision of elegance, doing at the side of a woman like Ambessa? A warlord who ruthless and cunning, with a reputation for crushing anything that stood in her way. You looked out of place at her side, like a butterfly perched on the shoulder of a lion. But appearances, as Ambessa had taught you, were the first weapon in your arsenal.

“Your Highness,” one of the councilmen greeted, his tone dripping with condescension as he rose from his chair. “It is truly an honor to have such a distinguished guest among us.” His gaze lingered a moment too long on your soft hair and the glimmering jewels that adorned your wrists. You smiled, tilting your head ever so slightly.

“Thank you, my lord,” you said, your voice so sweet it bordered on saccharine. “I must confess, I find Piltover to be… overwhelming. Such brilliance and innovation, but so complex. I hardly know where to begin.” You laughed softly, the sound drawing smiles from more than one member of the room. Ambessa remained silent beside you, her sharp gaze watching, as you worked your magic on the men.

“You need not worry, Princess,” another councilman intersected, his voice laced with eagerness and a touch of pride. “We are more than happy to guide you through anything you wish to understand. Perhaps… I could offer you a private tour of the academy?” His tone was almost gallant, but the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

Your cheeks flushed, as you clasped your hands together. “That is so kind of you, my lord,” you said, casting your gaze downward shyly before glancing back up through your lashes. “I wouldn’t want to impose, but I’ve always been so fascinated by Piltover’s Hextech. Perhaps I could ask you a few questions later? I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time.”

Ambessa fought the smirk tugging at her lips, her arms crossed as she leaned back against the far wall. You were perfect. Every tilt of your head, every soft-spoken word was calculated to pull strings you weren’t even sure the men knew they had.

The council meeting proceeded, but you hardly paid attention to the broader discussions. Instead, you focused on planting seeds into the minds of the men. Compliments so subtle they felt like afterthoughts, questions that seemed harmless but dug at the roots of Piltover’s inner circle. By the time the meeting was over, you had gathered more than enough information to satisfy Ambessa’s expectations.

As the members filtered out, one lingered, his gaze fixed on you. “Princess,” he began, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “I couldn’t help but notice your… curiosity earlier. If you truly wish to learn more about Hextech, I could arrange a demonstration for you. Something private, of course, so you could see its full potential.”

Your lips curved into a soft smile, even as the words you spoke were sharp enough to cut. “You are too kind, my lord,” you murmured, stepping closer until you were just within his space. “I would love that. Perhaps tomorrow evening?”

The man nodded eagerly, his face alight with excitement as he stumbled over his words. Ambessa cleared her throat, her presence suddenly oppressive as she stepped forward. “Her Highness will have a full schedule,” she said, her voice like the edge of a blade. “But I’m sure she’ll find time for your… demonstration.”

As the man hurried off, you turned to Ambessa, your expression dropping the moment he was out of sight. “Amateur,” you muttered under your breath, your sweet demeanor melting into something sharper. Ambessa chuckled, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“You’ve done well,” she said, her voice low and approving. “They’re all wrapped around your little finger.”

You looked up at her, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Of course they are,” you replied, your tone light but edged with pride.

Later, as you sat on the edge of the bed in Ambessa’s quarters, she watched you from her seat by the fire. You were still the picture of sweetness in your pink nightgown, your hair falling in over your shoulders, but she knew better. Beneath that façade was a mind as sharp as any blade she wielded.

“You were perfect today,” she said finally, her voice breaking the silence. You turned to her, your smile genuine this time as you padded over to her chair.

“Only because you taught me,” you said softly, kneeling at her feet. Ambessa reached out, her rough hand brushing against your cheek, her touch surprisingly tender.

“Couldn’t be prouder,” she murmured, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it. You leaned into her touch, your eyes closing as a contented smile spread across your lips.

Innocence was your mask, manipulation your weapon, and loyalty to Ambessa the thread that bound it all together. You were exactly what she had shaped you to be. It was easy to manipulate others when they weren’t expecting it from a person with such a sweet demeanor. Clearly you proved them wrong, well eventually.

taglist. @blckbny @ch-bl0gsss @b-lossm @fortluocha @ekkosh @limereance @wolfessa @themostlesbianever @simonapietra @1-800-fantasy @saikikittykusuo @sevikaishot @sugarplumz100 @chaostudi @wxwrites @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 @robzo4 @puppyphia @xreadersarchive @boom58 @d3adbrainer @kylorey25 @slutmeoutfortoge @yaeil @sapphicarribean @randomperson291 @mvistl @hellokittyfeenie @literallyimthenerdemoji @nikaachuuuu @prettysupplicant @iamaboringrattat

[notlongtolove]

it's dry january

“alcohol makes people say things they shouldn’t.” you hear the faintest tremor in his tone as he swallows hard. “and do things they shouldn’t.” spencer thinks looking at you too long might just undo him altogether.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: bau out for drinks! very very brief mention of case violence in the first line. flirty bau reader renders spencer a bumbling idiot!

word count: 1.1k

note: some days i stare at 5 open tabs of WIPS and some days i stare at my notes app during an hour long train ride and come up with this. no linked poem bc twas a random idea, happy january everyone! fic is titled after this poem though!

a line: You always leave him scrambling, speechless, completely stupid—He adores you for it.

Nothing prepares you for the aftermath of the kind of week where you find five headless bodies drained of blood. Therapy perhaps? But everyone knows the job doesn’t pay you enough for that. They hardly give you enough time off to begin with. 

For now though, O’Keefe’s, on Rossi’s tab, gets the job done. Well, that and a cigarette of course. Always a cigarette.

You exhale a puff of smoke, the stick balanced carelessly between your fingers. The shuffle of shoes on asphalt behind you doesn’t startle you, and neither does the voice.

“You really shouldn’t be out here alone like this when you’re inebriated.”

You don’t need to look up to know who it belongs to. 

“Needed a smoke,” you say simply, flicking the cigarette. The ash tumbles to the ground. “And Morgan’s on his whole ‘new year, new me’ shit.”

“I give him two weeks,” Spencer grins, stepping toward you. “Emily’s got a pool going.” 

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name. Your eyes catch his briefly as you spin to face him. “Are you seriously betting against our dear coworker’s journey towards self-improvement?”

Spencer tilts his head and shrugs innocently. “I’m just making an educated guess based on statistical probability.”

“And cashing in on it.”

“Well, yes,” he admits. “That’s definitely an added bonus.”

You shake your head, your laugh soft and smoky, as you take another drag. The toe of your heel nudges his shoe when you take a step to close the gap between you. “You’re cute, Reid,” you say, almost intimately. “Y’know that?”

Spencer’s cheeks flush a faint pink. You always do this to him. His usual arsenal of facts and percentages is rendered utterly useless against your charms. You always leave him scrambling, speechless, completely stupid.

He adores you for it. 

“You—uh—you really shouldn’t smoke while drinking. The nicotine accelerates alcohol absorption. Inhibits you faster,” he manages. 

“That's kinda the point, handsome.” You retort, leaning in just enough to make his breath hitch. “S’what makes this fun isn’t it?” 

“Alcohol makes people say things they shouldn’t.” You hear the faintest tremor in his tone as he swallows hard. “And do things they shouldn’t.” Spencer thinks looking at you too long might just undo him altogether. 

He’s granted momentary relief when you turn away to stub out your cigarette on the edge of a nearby trash can. It’s shortlived though, because your hand comes to land on his chest the moment you turn back. When your fingers move to toy absentmindedly with the buttons on his vest, Spencer blanks entirely. 

“Like tell you I think you’re really cute?” you ask, your lashes fluttering in feigned innocence as you gaze up at him.

“Exactly,” he breathes out, a shaky laugh escaping him. “Like that.” His hand moves over yours and for a moment you think it may be to pull it away—He doesn’t. 

“And, uh, it’s a well-known fact that alcohol lowers inhibitions, making people more likely to do things they normally wouldn’t—like talking more or saying things they don’t really mean.”

There’s a glint in your eyes that makes his heart thud painfully against his ribs. Spencer hopes to god you can’t feel it beneath your hand. 

“And who says I don’t mean it?” you counter. Spencer doesn’t answer. He doesn’t think he’s even capable of it, his mouth opening just slightly before closing again.

“I mean, you don’t mind my honesty, do you?” you tease playfully. Then your smirk deepens, just shy of wicked. “Unless… you do?” You start to pull your hand away, but his fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours, stopping you. “Wha—no—I didn’t say—I mean, I—I don’t mind,” he stammers. 

“See?” Your grin spreads, soft and triumphant. “Cute.” 

At that, you lace your fingers with his, tugging him gently toward the bar. Spencer laughs nervously, already wondering how much of this you’ll remember in the morning. “You uh—You’re pretty cute when you’re drunk,” he says softly. 

Your eyes light up, saccharine delight crossing your face. “Aw! So you think I’m pretty and cute?” you echo, voice dripping with adoration. Spencer can only nod, blush deepening as he lets you lead the way with his hand in yours. 

Back inside, it’s clear the group has moved on from their individual drinks when the waitress sets a pitcher on the table. It fizzes, something green and citrusy that Spencer is grateful to abstain from. 

“About time,” Morgan calls, as you slide into the seat next to him. “What’d you do to get my boy genius all flustered like that, pretty girl?”

Spencer’s ears burn faintly as he takes the seat directly across from you, his hands folding awkwardly on the table. 

You ignore Morgan’s tease entirely, turning your attention to Garcia instead who’s already handing you a full glass.

“Me too!” JJ pipes up, her voice light. Spencer freezes mid-sip of his water, his eyes darting to JJ’s very noticeable baby bump.

“JJ, you can’t—you really shouldn’t—” he splutters, gesturing weakly toward the pitcher. Alarm is written across every inch of his face.

“Relax, Spence.” JJ waves him off amusedly as she reaches to grab a glass from Garcia. “It’s non-alcoholic.”

Spencer blinks, his brain trying to recalibrate. “Non-alcoholic?”

Across the table, Garcia beams like a proud parent. “We’re doing Dry January! No alcohol for the whole month. I proposed the idea to everyone.”

“Proposed isn’t the phrase I’d use,” Emily interjects dryly, leaning back in her chair. 

“Coerced,” Morgan says with a pointed look.

“Borderline threatened,” you add with an exaggerated sigh, swirling the contents of your glass lazily.

JJ, of course, opts for silence, contentedly stirring her drink with a smile. Misery loves company. 

Spencer’s eyes you, his brow furrowing. “All of you?” You lean back in your chair, biting back a grin as you take a deliberate sip from your glass. 

“Well, nearly everyone,” Garcia grumbles, nodding toward the end of the table. Rossi doesn’t miss a beat, raising his glass of scotch. “When hell freezes over,” he declares, taking a swig.

Spencer’s gaze flicks immediately to you now, brazen. “So, you’re not actually—”

“Drunk?” You cut him off, your grin now fully formed as you lean forward. “Oh, definitely not. I’m sober as a judge, gorgeous.”

Spencer’s certain he’s not going to survive this night​​—Not when the way you say gorgeous sends his heart stuttering in his chest. 

Later, when you mutter something about being too sober, Spencer can’t help but think, more than ever, that this is going to be a very long night—But he lets you tug him toward the bar by his tie anyway, smiling like a mumbling, bumbling idiot all the while.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: dizzy on the countdown by turnover im in love with you by the 1975

[cjlouwho]

Tommy gets wrongfully accused of killing his father and is sent to prison. At first, everyone is on his side but eventually the evidence kinda piles up and Buck is the only one still convinced it wasn’t him.

The guilty verdict comes back in less than four hours and he’s led away. Buck can only come visit on the weekend because it’s a three hour drive but he adjusts his schedule to make sure he can go every single weekend.

He spends all his free time working on the case. Long after it’s been considered closed, he goes over it with a fine tooth comb looking for anything he can find. He gets little bits and pieces here and there but it’s not enough and he needs help.

This continues for 3 years. Three years of visits where Tommy slowly becomes more withdrawn. Buck says they should get married. They can have conjugal visits and also have more privacy to discuss the case. That’s when Tommy tells him to stop. Stop working the case and please let it go. Buck agrees- for him- but doesn’t stop.

Another two years of visits goes by. Sometimes Tommy comes out, sometimes he doesn’t. Until he asks Buck to stop coming altogether. Please move on and let him go and go live his life.

Buck still comes. Tommy denies every single visit but Buck doesn’t stop.

So Buck quits his job. He moves closer to Tommy. He finds a detective who- finally- agrees that Tommy is innocent. They just have to get definitive proof. This detective (we’ll call him Roy) and his wife ends up letting Buck move in with them after a year, so he doesn’t spend his life savings on his rental. Buck does side jobs, like doordash, to pay them rent for the room. They spend all their time working the case.

Four more years go by before they get the break they need. Tommy had just left from a terrible visit with his dad and was thought to be the last to see him alive. Except one of his dad’s “friends” who he owed money stopped by for a visit afterward. Because Kinard didn’t have the money, in a fit of rage, the man killed him. He knew Tommy had been there and used that to his advantage.

His mistake was becoming an old drunk who couldn’t keep his mouth shut when Buck wore a wire and talked to him one night.

Six months later, when Tommy is officially released, Buck is standing there, waiting for him outside the doors. Roy and his wife are there too, standing back and watching them reconnect.

Tommy stops dead in his tracks at first. Stares at Buck with an unreadable expression. And then practically falls into his arms. They’re both crying, can’t stop, while Tommy just repeats, “Evan, Evan, Evan,” over and over again.

[aesthetically-dying101]

Trainwreck

A/N: *sighs* can you guys guess who i wrote for? yes its nanami

warnings: innapropriate workplace behavior (this is all so unrealistic pls), thats mostly it, maybe a bit OOC? idk obsessive behavior, lowkey creepy

Nanami Kento prides himself on being a man of structure. He clocks in at 8:00 AM sharp, organizes his desk with ruthless efficiency, and approaches every task with a quiet, burning determination. But recently—recently, you’ve ruined him.

Completely, utterly ruined him.

You’re not even his boss. No, you’re her secretary. Just the secretary, really.

A pleasant smile in the hallway, the click of heels passing by his office door. You’re always polite, professional. Efficient. And yet, you’ve utterly dismantled every ounce of his composure.

He notices everything about you.

He notices too much.

The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're focused, the faint scent of your perfume (something floral but not cloying, clean and perfect). The way you laugh softly with the receptionist when you think no one is listening.

God, you never wear a wedding band.

He’s looked.

He’s ashamed of how often he’s looked.

He hates himself for it—hates the way his chest tightens when he hears your voice. Hates the way his thoughts stray in the quiet moments of the day, imagining what it would be like if you looked at him the way he looks at you.

But you barely notice him.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. Why would you? He’s just another cog in the machine, another suit with no significance beyond his output.

Nanami lets out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s supposed to be working, but instead, he’s replaying that moment from earlier today: the way you’d popped into the breakroom, looking fresh and radiant in that blouse that he’s now convinced was designed to torment him.

“Oh, hi, Nanami,” you’d said, smiling at him as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. It had been such a simple, innocent thing. And yet, his brain had short-circuited.

“Morning,” he’d managed, stiff and awkward, and he’s sure you noticed. God, why did his voice sound so clipped?

“You doing okay? You looked a little stressed in the meeting earlier.”

And that had really done it. Your concern—casual, effortless—had hit him like a freight train. He could barely stammer out a reply before you were gone, leaving him standing there, coffee untouched, his heart doing somersaults in his chest.

He wants to believe he’s subtle about it, but he knows better. He’s not subtle. Not when he hangs back in the breakroom just to hear you chatting with someone, filing away every detail like the pathetic little moth he is, hopelessly drawn to your flame.

“Yeah, no, I’m just focusing on work right now,” you’d said once, when someone asked if you had any plans for the weekend. No mention of a boyfriend. No hint of anyone waiting for you at home.

It shouldn’t matter, and yet it feels like the cruelest kind of hope, igniting in his chest despite himself.

Nanami leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He’s disgusting. Obsessed. You’re probably not even aware of his existence beyond the bare minimum. Why would you be? You’re smart, funny, stunning—and he’s just him. Dull. Predictable. The kind of guy women settle for when they’re tired of the fireworks.

But oh, if you ever gave him the chance. If you so much as glanced in his direction with anything resembling interest, he’d fall to his knees. Worship you. Do anything to make you happy.

It’s humiliating. The longing, the yearning, the ache.

And yet he can’t stop.

His thoughts spiral as the hours drag on, oscillating between bitterness and hope. He tells himself to stop—orders himself to focus—but his mind keeps circling back to you.

Always you.

The end of the day finally comes, and as he’s gathering his things, he hears the soft sound of your voice drifting from the hallway.

“Night, Nanami!”

You wave as you pass, the gesture casual but bright enough to light up the entire goddamn floor.

“Goodnight,” he replies, quieter than he means to. His hand tightens on his briefcase.

You disappear around the corner, and Nanami stays frozen for a moment, staring at the space where you’d been.

*-*

It’s Christmas in the office.

The annual “holiday celebration,” a thinly veiled excuse for everyone to slack off in the name of festivity. Nanami hates it—or at least he wants to hate it. Forced camaraderie, cheap decorations, music that grates on his nerves. It’s the kind of chaos he typically avoids.

But then you walk in, and every ounce of self-discipline he’s built over the years shatters into irreparable pieces.

The pencil skirt.

The goddamn Christmas-colored pencil skirt. It’s shorter than usual, clinging to your hips in a way that feels engineered to destroy him. The matching blouse, festive but just tight enough to drive him completely fucking insane.

It’s not fair.

You’re smiling as you step into the breakroom, chatting with a coworker, utterly oblivious to the wreckage you’re leaving in your wake.

Nanami’s pulse spikes. His gaze darts away, but the image of you is already seared into his brain, lingering like a bad habit.

He adjusts his tie, swallowing hard. Don’t be a creep. Don’t be a fucking creep. But then his eyes flick back, just for a second, and—oh no. Oh no, no, no.

His pants feel too tight.

He grits his teeth, clenching his jaw as he fumbles with a stack of papers on his desk. His hands tremble slightly. He’s mortified, but there’s no stopping it. Not when his traitorous brain is already spinning, conjuring images he really shouldn’t be entertaining in the middle of the office.

Images of you. That skirt riding up higher, your thighs bare beneath his hands. The sound of your laughter softening into breathless gasps. The way your lips would feel against his skin—

Nanami bolts.

He mutters something vague about needing a minute to no one in particular and beelines for the bathroom. The fluorescent lights are harsh as he leans against the sink, gripping the porcelain edge like it’s the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hisses to his reflection. His tie feels like a noose around his neck.

He splashes cold water on his face, but it doesn’t help. Not when every time he blinks, he sees you. The soft curve of your waist, the way your hair catches the light.

Pathetic. He’s fucking pathetic. You’re just trying to celebrate the holidays like everyone else, and here he is, locked in the bathroom, wrestling with his own shameless thoughts.

The worst part—the absolute worst part—is that it’s not just the dirty shit. Oh, no. His brain is crueler than that.

He imagines quiet mornings with you. You in his kitchen, wearing one of his shirts, smiling at him over a mug of coffee. Your hand brushing his as you pass him a plate, the warmth of your touch lingering long after.

It’s insidious. It’s relentless. It’s everything he doesn’t deserve, and yet he wants it so badly he feels like he might choke on it.

Nanami drags a hand down his face, letting out a groan that echoes in the empty bathroom.

She doesn’t even notice you, idiot.

He stays there longer than he should, collecting himself—or trying to. Eventually, he straightens his tie, squares his shoulders, and forces himself to return to his desk.

But when he passes by the breakroom again, you’re laughing, radiant, and he knows this torture is far from over.

*-*

Nanami doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.

Really, he doesn’t.

But it’s impossible not to overhear you when you’re in the breakroom, talking to someone about the bouquet on the receptionist’s desk.

“Oh, these are lovely,” you say, your voice light and cheerful. “But if I had to pick, I’ve always been more into bold flowers. Red dahlias, spider lilies, roses—things like that. Dark, dramatic colors. They’re so beautiful.”

Nanami freezes in the hallway, a stack of files in his hands. His heart does this stupid little stutter, the same one it always does when he hears your voice. But now it’s worse because his mind is spinning with the image of you holding a bouquet like the one you’ve just described.

Red dahlias, spider lilies. The thought of you cradling those flowers, smiling at them, smiling because of him—he has to physically shake his head to clear it.

He’s pathetic.

He knows he’s pathetic. He clenches the files tighter, willing himself to keep walking, but the image won’t leave him.

Over the next few days, he thinks about it more than he wants to admit. He imagines walking into a flower shop, carefully selecting each bloom, making sure they’re perfect. He imagines handing the bouquet to you, watching your face light up—

And then he imagines the aftermath. You smiling politely, awkwardly thanking him, wondering why the hell one of your coworkers is giving you flowers.

No.

He can’t do it. It’s wildly inappropriate. He’s already teetering on the edge of unprofessionalism just by thinking about you like this.

But then, one quiet afternoon in the office, he hears you mention your birthday in passing.

“Oh, it’s in a month or so,” you say, laughing softly. “I don’t usually do much for it, though. Just a quiet day, you know?”

Nanami marks the date down the second he gets back to his desk. He feels like a creep for it, but the thought of letting the day pass without acknowledgment feels unbearable.

He’s spent weeks overthinking this, debating whether or not he should go through with it. But as he stands outside the florist that morning, the door handle cold in his hand, he decides he can’t let it go.

He picks each flower carefully: crimson dahlias with velvety petals, a few spider lilies that curl dramatically, and deep red roses. It’s a small bouquet—not too extravagant, just enough to feel thoughtful.

By the time he gets to the office, his palms are clammy, and he feels like he might actually pass out.

He doesn’t give it to you right away. He waits until the middle of the day, when the office is quieter and most people are out at lunch. He finds you at your desk, bent over some papers, your hair falling slightly into your face.

“Excuse me,” he says, his voice more formal than he intended.

You look up, blinking in surprise, and when your eyes land on the bouquet in his hands, they widen slightly.

“I, uh—” He clears his throat, trying not to fumble. “I overheard that it was your birthday today. Happy birthday.”

You take the bouquet slowly, your expression shifting from surprise to something softer—something warmer.

“Oh my gosh, Nanami, these are gorgeous,” you say, holding the flowers close to your chest. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s nothing,” he replies quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide how much they’re trembling. “Just… thought you’d like them.”

“I love them.” Your smile is radiant, and for the first time, he feels like he might actually be able to breathe again.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice sincere.

He nods, forcing himself to meet your gaze for just a moment.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, before quickly retreating to the safety of his desk.

But that's what happens in his mind, in his fantasy... in reality, he simply left those at your desk while you were in a meeting, though he did hear you gasp when you saw them.

As he sits at his desk, his heart pounding, he allows himself a small, private smile. For once, his yearning doesn’t feel quite so pathetic.

*-*

Nanami doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. Again. But it’s impossible not to hear you when your voice floats down the hallway like that, soft and full of joy.

The bouquet sits proudly on your desk, vibrant reds catching the fluorescent light, and you’re standing nearby, talking to another employee.

“I still can’t believe it,” you’re saying, your tone carrying this sweet mix of wonder and delight. “No one’s ever done something like this for me before. It’s just… so thoughtful, you know?”

Nanami, passing by with his usual quiet efficiency, freezes mid-step. His breath hitches in his throat.

“I mean, look at them,” you continue, gesturing to the flowers. “They’re perfect. Whoever picked these out really put a lot of thought into it.” You laugh softly, a sound that makes his chest ache. “I’m not even sure how they knew these are my favorites.”

He stands there, rooted to the spot, his pulse roaring in his ears.

She’s talking about me. She’s talking about me.

He feels ridiculous for the way his stomach twists, for the heat creeping up his neck. A grown man shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t feel this weak, over a few kind words. But goddammit, he can’t help it.

The idea that you’re gushing about something he did, that he made you happy, even for a moment—it’s enough to undo him completely.

“Whoever it was,” you add, your voice softening, “it’s just… it really made my day. Probably my whole week, honestly.”

Nanami swallows hard, clutching his briefcase like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His emotions are a mess—a chaotic tangle of pride, relief, and something deeper, something that makes his throat feel tight.

He knows he should walk away. He shouldn’t linger here, shouldn’t keep listening like some lovesick fool. But he’s stuck, trapped by the sound of your voice and the warmth in your words.

When he finally moves, it’s with a heaviness in his chest that he can’t quite define. He makes his way back to his desk, sitting down and staring blankly at his computer screen.

*-*

Weeks bleed together in the monotony of office life, except for the moments where Nanami lets himself carve out little spaces of joy—tiny gestures that go unnoticed by most but feel monumental to him.

It starts with a single chocolate, placed carefully on the corner of your desk one morning before you arrive. Just a small thing, barely bigger than his thumb, wrapped in shiny foil. He doesn’t linger to see your reaction. He couldn’t stomach it, not when he knows he’d fold in on himself if you so much as tilted your head in confusion.

But the next day, you’re chatting with the receptionist, that same soft laugh spilling from your lips.

“It’s so weird,” you’re saying, holding the empty wrapper in your fingers. “I found this little chocolate on my desk yesterday. I don’t know who left it, but it was sweet. Made my morning, honestly.”

Nanami ducks his head, pretending to be engrossed in the stack of reports he’s holding, but inside, he’s practically vibrating. She noticed. She noticed.

He tells himself to stop, to leave it there, but he doesn’t. He can’t. The yearning is too big, too loud, and it demands an outlet, however small.

After a grueling conference one afternoon, he slips a bottle of chilled water onto your desk when you step away. Nothing extravagant—just a quiet act of care. You’re gone for no more than a minute, but when you return, you blink down at the bottle, tilting your head in that way he finds unfairly adorable.

“Huh,” you murmur, glancing around. “Did someone leave this?”

You shrug, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip, and Nanami has to fight the urge to look away too quickly, lest anyone catch the faint pink blooming across his cheeks.

It’s pathetic.

The way he lives for these small moments, like a man stranded in a desert, savoring droplets of water. Every tiny gesture, every unnoticed offering, feels like a prayer he’s too afraid to voice aloud.

He notices everything about you. How you seem to perk up on Friday afternoons, your shoulders relaxing as you chat about weekend plans. How you wrinkle your nose just slightly when you’re concentrating. How you hum under your breath when you think no one’s listening—a soft, tuneless sound that drives him to distraction.

He doesn’t need grand gestures. He doesn’t want them. He just wants to make your days a little brighter, even if you never know it’s him.

And god, does he yearn.

He daydreams when he shouldn’t, his thoughts slipping away from spreadsheets and into fantasies that make his chest ache. He imagines brushing your hair back from your face, the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He imagines quiet evenings, your laughter filling the silence of his apartment. He imagines the weight of your head on his shoulder as you drift off to sleep.

And sometimes—sometimes, when he’s alone, when the ache feels unbearable—he lets himself imagine things he shouldn’t. Things that make his heart race and his breath catch and leave him staring at his own reflection in shame after.

But he never acts on it. Never says a word. Instead, he keeps leaving his little tokens: a coffee cup placed carefully on your desk when he overhears you complain about a late night, a pack of your favorite pens after you mention running out.

You smile every time, and though you never suspect him, that’s enough. It has to be enough.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

*-*

You’re not an idiot.

No, you may be a little dense sometimes, but you’re not stupid. Someone has been leaving you small, thoughtful little gifts over the past few weeks.

And you have absolutely no idea who it is.

It started innocently enough—chocolate on your desk one morning. You didn’t think much of it at first, but then it kept happening. A bottle of water after a long conference, a cup of coffee after a particularly brutal meeting. At first, you thought maybe it was just a mistake, someone leaving things around and not realizing it was yours. But no, they were always right where you’d find them. Right when you needed them.

It’s sweet. Really sweet. But it's also starting to annoy the ever-living shit out of you because, for the life of you, you can’t figure out who’s doing it.

You’ve spent the past few days trying to narrow it down, your brain doing mental gymnastics over every damn interaction you’ve had at work. And frankly? You’re getting tired of it.

“Alright, let’s break this shit down,” you mutter to yourself as you sip your second cup of coffee of the day, pretending to focus on an email.

Option one: Your boss.

Ha. Right. She’s too busy scheduling her hair appointments to think about leaving chocolates on anyone’s desk. Plus, she’s got the whole “I don’t care if you live or die” attitude, so yeah, not her.

Option two: Kevin from accounting.

Kevin’s an idiot. A well-meaning idiot, but still. He’s the type to forget the coffee in the breakroom and then call it “the best thing ever” for two hours, as though anyone cares about his “discovery.” You’re not buying that.

Option three: That one guy from marketing, Tom.

You nearly burst into laughter just thinking about it. Tom’s an over-caffeinated golden retriever in a human’s body. He’s the type of guy who thinks sending a “Hey, just wanted to check in!” email twice a day is “checking in” on people. He probably couldn’t even remember to get a chocolate from a store, let alone leave it at your desk.

Option four: Nanami.

You pause mid-sip, blinking rapidly. Nanami? The quiet guy from finance? The one who barely says more than a handful of words in a meeting?

Now that’s an intriguing thought. He’s always… there. Always around, like a quiet shadow, observing. Sure, he’s not exactly filling the room with energy, but there’s something there, right? Something beneath that perfectly structured exterior.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. No way. That’s ridiculous.

But then you think about it. Nanami’s the type of guy who doesn’t get distracted by office chaos. He’s methodical. Focused. The guy who lives on routine. He’d be the one to sneakily notice when someone’s overworked and needs a small pick-me-up. He’s just... quiet about it.

But then again, who leaves water bottles, chocolates, and coffee? It’s not like he’s ever said anything about it. Not a single “hey, I thought you might like this,” or anything remotely close to an acknowledgment. Hell, he doesn’t even smile much.

God, he’s so damn mysterious it makes your head spin.

You glance over at his desk. There he is—quiet, as usual. Focused, pretending the world isn’t falling apart around him.

It could be him.

But no. You shake your head, dismissing the thought immediately. He’s not the type. Right?

It’s just… weird. And you’re not even sure why it feels so weird. Maybe it’s just the fact that you’ve got a secret admirer at work, which is fucking hilarious because it sounds like something out of a shitty rom-com you wouldn’t even watch if someone paid you.

"God, I’m going insane," you mutter under your breath, checking your watch. "Seriously. Who the hell is doing this?"

*-*

It took weeks.

Weeks of small gestures.

You’ve figured it out.

It took some careful observation, a bit of deduction, and honestly, a lot of staring at Nanami when he wasn’t looking. But there’s no doubt in your mind now. The quiet, stoic, almost painfully composed man from finance—the one who always has his tie perfectly in place and whose voice could melt butter—he’s your secret admirer.

And oh, it’s delicious.

At first, you weren’t sure. Nanami wasn’t exactly the type to scream “hopeless romantic” or even “mildly interested.” But the more you watched him, the more obvious it became. The way his eyes linger on you just a second too long, the way he tenses when you get too close, the way he seems to disappear right after you find something thoughtful left at your desk.

You caught him once, hovering near the break room as you raved to a coworker about the flowers. He didn’t say a word, but the way he froze mid-step, his jaw tightening ever so slightly? Yeah. That was all the confirmation you needed.

And honestly? You’re thrilled.

Nanami’s hot. Not just conventionally attractive, but smart-hot, the kind of guy who could ruin you with a PowerPoint presentation and a sharp comment about fiscal responsibility. He’s also maddeningly composed, which makes you want to poke at him, see what’s underneath that calm, collected exterior.

So, naturally, you decide to fuck with him.

Just a little.

You can feel the tension building in the air as you move through your day, the little comments, the subtle glances. Nanami’s still trying to play it cool, but it’s clear. He’s a mess. You can see it in the way his eyes dart away when they linger on you a second too long. You can hear it in his voice when he answers you—a little too stiff, a little too forced.

So, you decide to push him.

You start small. Little things. Nothing too obvious, just a few well-placed gestures to see how far you can take him before he finally snaps.

You walk past his desk, and you’re definitely not trying to make sure your skirt hugs your hips just right. You bend over just so to grab a file from your bag, letting him get a full, uninterrupted view of your cleavage.

You’re certain he’s trying not to look—hell, you can practically feel him forcing his eyes up to the ceiling, but you know. You know he’s been watching.

When you straighten up, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s gripping his pen like it’s a lifeline, his knuckles pale, and his jaw is tight. You smirk, leaning in just a little closer.

“Need something, Nanami?” you ask, the words dripping with an edge of playful mischief.

He swallows, clearly doing everything in his power to maintain his usual stoic expression. “No,” he replies, too quickly, voice clipped. “I’m fine.”

You laugh lightly, keeping the tension alive as you pull away. You can practically feel the heat radiating off him. Oh, this is too good.

You don’t stop there, though. No, you want to see how much he can handle.

The next day, you make sure to wear a skirt that’s just a little tighter, just a little shorter than usual. The fabric clings to you in all the right ways, and when you walk past Nanami’s desk, you make sure to let your hip brush against the edge of his desk, just lightly enough to catch his attention.

As you bend down to grab a report from the printer, you give him the tiniest, most casual look over your shoulder. You’re sure you catch the way his eyes flicker down to your legs before he quickly looks away. Gotcha.

You straighten up, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you walk back past him, barely stopping yourself from humming in satisfaction when you feel his gaze linger on the curve of your back.

It’s all too easy.

And now? Now it’s time to turn it up a notch.

You’ve been toying with him for days now, watching as he stiffens every time you get a little too close, testing how much he can take before his composure cracks. You see the way his breath catches when you “accidentally” brush your arm against his as you pass by. He doesn’t say a word, but you know. You can see it in the way his eyes flash with something darker, something needy, before he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

You know what you’re doing to him.

And you’re fucking loving it.

*-*

For two weeks, you’ve been shamelessly pushing Nanami to his limits.

You flirt, you linger, you brush your hand against his arm just a little too long, your skirts are shorter, tighter—designed to test the boundaries of his sanity.

And he notices.

Oh, he notices.

But what you don’t see is what’s going on beneath that perfectly calm, stoic exterior.

Because Nanami is losing his fucking mind.

Every look, every casual touch, every time you lean just a little too close—it’s like pouring gasoline on the fire inside him. He’s never been this affected by anyone, and now it feels like he’s constantly teetering on the edge of a cliff.

He tries—he really does—to keep his composure. He’s a professional, damn it. A man of control and discipline. But you? You’re unraveling him piece by piece.

*-*

She knows. Oh, God, she fucking knows. Why is she looking at me like that? Is she doing this on purpose? She’s doing this on purpose. That skirt—did it get shorter? That’s not appropriate for the office, right? Should I say something? No. No, shut up, you idiot. Just focus on your work. She’s walking toward you. Act normal. Act—

“Hey, Nanami, could you help me with something?” you ask, your voice sweet, with just the faintest hint of teasing.

His throat goes dry. He looks up, forcing his expression to remain neutral, professional. “Of course. What do you need?”

You lean closer, your hand brushing his shoulder as you point to your tablet. “I can’t figure out this formula. Can you show me?”

He doesn’t miss the way your perfume lingers in the air, soft and floral, and it’s driving him mad.

“Sure,” he says, his voice even, betraying nothing of the way his heart is hammering in his chest.

But inside? He’s screaming.

*-*

This is a problem. She’s doing it on purpose. She has to be. That look she gave me this morning? That wasn’t casual. No, that was calculated. She’s testing me, trying to see how far I’ll go. Does she know how much I—

He can’t even finish the thought. Because the truth is, his daydreams are becoming increasingly inappropriate, increasingly desperate.

He imagines you sitting on his lap in his office chair, your arms draped around his neck as you laugh at something he said. He imagines kissing you—soft at first, then deeper, more passionate, until he’s completely lost in you. He imagines everything he wants to do to you, and it’s enough to make him clench his fists under his desk, trying to hold himself together.

*-*

One afternoon, you’re standing next to his desk, going on about some report, and he can’t take it anymore. You’re wearing a dress that hugs you in all the right places, and the way you’re looking at him, with that mischievous little glint in your eye—it’s too much.

“Enough,” he says, his voice low, controlled.

You blink, taken aback. “What?”

He stands, towering over you, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on yours. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” you ask, feigning innocence, though the slight curve of your lips betrays you.

“This,” he says, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “The teasing. The looks. The... whatever this is. If you’re trying to drive me insane, congratulations. You’ve succeeded.”

You grin, your eyes sparkling. “Oh? And what are you going to do about it?”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, then takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m going to ask you on a date.”

Your grin widens, and you cross your arms, leaning in just slightly. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, his confidence unwavering now. “Saturday. Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, and he feels his chest tighten all over again.

“Okay, Nanami. You’ve got yourself a date.”

*-*

The date is perfect.

Nanami shows up at your door precisely at seven, looking sharp in a navy suit and holding a small bouquet of red dahlias—your favorite. Dinner is a mix of light conversation and laughter, the two of you falling into an easy rhythm that feels like you’ve known each other forever.

When he walks you back to your apartment, the air between you is warm, charged with something unspoken.

“Want to come up?” you ask, your voice soft, your eyes searching his.

He hesitates for half a second before nodding. “Yes.”

*-*

Your apartment is cozy, filled with little touches that are unmistakably you. Nanami takes it all in—your bookshelves, your mismatched throw pillows, the faint scent of vanilla in the air.

But then you’re there, standing close to him, your eyes meeting his, and everything else fades away.

The first kiss is tentative, a soft meeting of lips that quickly deepens as he pulls you closer, his hands resting on your waist. You sigh against him, your fingers threading through his hair, and he groans softly, losing himself in the warmth of you.

“Nanami,” you murmur, pulling back just enough to catch your breath.

“I hate you,” he says, his voice low, a teasing smile playing at his lips.

You laugh, your forehead resting against his. “Do you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to your lips. “I hate the way you consume my thoughts. I hate the way you make me feel so... so...”

“Alive?” you offer, grinning.

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the moment.

Before things can go further, your cat jumps onto the couch, meowing loudly, and you both break apart, laughing.

“Excuse me,” Nanami says, his voice soft but firm as he picks up the cat and carries it to another room. “We need privacy.”

When he returns, you’re still laughing, but he silences you with another kiss, his hands cradling your face.

Between kisses, he whispers things that make your heart ache in the best way.

“You drive me crazy... but I don’t want it to stop. You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

By the time the night ends, you’re both a mess of tangled limbs and whispered confessions, and for the first time in weeks, Nanami feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

A/N: sorryyy, this might be ooc for him? im unsure...

Masterlist.

:)

[reidphobic]

trying hard not to get into trouble (but i’ve got a war in my mind) - s. r.

in which your criminology professor is just too tempting. 3359 words.

switch!spencer x switch!fem reader, questionable age gap & power dynamic, mild exhibitionism, authority kink, brief choking, praise, semi-public sex, oral (f and m receiving), mild degradation, no use of y/n

Your bare thighs stick uncomfortably to the plastic lecture hall chair, and you shift in your seat. Still, you focus diligently on the lecture, or, more specifically, on your professor. Dr. Reid is your favourite kind of challenge, a man you can’t have, the kind who won’t compromise his morals no matter how much he wants you — or, thinks he won’t.

You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on you just a second too long, flickers down to your chest before he catches himself. Toying with him is the highlight of your week, coming up with new ways to torture him, push his boundaries as far as you can before he snaps. The semester is drawing to a close, though, and you haven’t quite snared your pretty professor yet, so you’re having to resort to drastic measures.

It’s like he’s deliberately avoiding you, eyes sliding over you as if you’re not even there. You hope that means your barely-there outfit is working as intended. Dr. Reid refuses to call on you to answer a question, stuttering through his sentences and raking his hand through his unkempt curls. You wonder if they’re soft to the touch, if he likes having them pulled, if— Focus. You raise one hand, digging through your bag with the other. When his attention is finally on you, you spout off some stupid question that’s believable enough not to arouse suspicion; he sees right through it, though, knows the ruse.

Out of politeness, Dr. Reid keeps his focus on you as he speaks. His words come out rapid-fire as if he’s trying to escape you before you do any more damage. It only makes him stumble more, and his struggle is frankly adorable. His reaction as you wrap your lips around a cherry-flavoured sucker is audible, a hitch in his breath and a waver in his voice as you smile innocently around the candy. From then, he can’t take his eyes off you, watching your red-stained tongue lap at sticky sugar, fist clenching and unclenching at his side.

You’ve got him right where you want him.

Leaning back in your chair, you smirk slightly, wait to draw his attention. When he meets your gaze, you spread your legs, give him a deliberate eyeful of the tiny scrap of lace between them. At that, you physically see him snap, rail against the constraints of his moral compass, finally, gloriously give in. A thrill skitters up your spine as he stops in front of your desk. “See me after class,” he murmurs, jaw clenched.

“Yes, Professor,” you breathe, licking your lips as your thighs clench under the table.

You linger as your class lets out, carefully reapplying your lipgloss while you wait for the room to empty. When you’re finally alone, you approach his desk cautiously. “You wanted to see me, Professor Reid?” you say delicately, suddenly uncertain — you might just be in for the reprimand of your life, and that’s no fun for anyone.

“If you’ll just come with me to my office,” he says tightly, staring resolutely past you as he stands from his desk. Desire pools under your skin, your every nerve alive with tension as Dr. Reid lets you into his office. The sound of the lock clicking shut falls straight between your thighs — that’s when you know you’ve got him. You sit demurely in his armchair, legs crossed as he puts as much distance between the two of you as possible, standing across the room with his arms folded protectively across his chest. “I think we need to discuss your behaviour in my classroom.”

You smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor,” you say, putting on a wide-eyed, naive look you’re sure he won’t fall for. Unconsciously, he steps towards you. 

Dr. Reid’s gaze is unreadable. “Really? That little stunt with the sucker, I— I know what you’re doing, and it has to stop, okay?” he says, and, oh. He’s the one pleading with you.

It makes sense, once you think about it. You know he used to be an FBI agent; a dangerous, high-stress job like that, it’s no surprise he’d want to shut off, hand over the control, be taken care of, entrust his pleasure entirely to someone else. “Why would I stop?” you pout. He’s close enough now that you could reach out and touch him. “I’m having so.” You take Dr. Reid’s tie delicately between your fingers. “Much.” You pull him in gently. “Fun.” You tug sharply on his tie, hard enough that he stumbles, bracing his hands on the arms of your chair.

He lets out a shaky gasp, like he’s expecting you to unhinge your jaw and swallow him whole. “This is… The, uh…” He clears his throat. “The way you’re acting in my class is not appropriate, and it needs to stop,” he says. You’d almost call it firmly, if not for the near-imperceptible tremor in his voice.

You note that he hasn’t pulled away. “I don’t think you want me to stop, Professor,” you murmur. “I think you want me to stop teasing you, and you want me to give you what you want.” Your smile widens the longer he stays silent; searching for the words to refute you, but the lie won’t come. “Tell me what you want, Doctor Reid,” you purr.

“I can’t,” he breathes. “You aren’t… It’s not…”

“Look at me and tell me you don’t want this,” you breathe, catching his jaw so he can’t look away.

His mouth opens, but no words come out, speechless in a way you’ve never seen him. “I… I’m twenty years older than you.”

You grin. “And?”

“I’m your teacher,” he protests, nearly a whine, and oh, isn’t that a delicious sound.

“So?”

“So?” Dr. Reid repeats, incredulous. “I can’t… have sex with you in my office!” he hisses, low as if someone might be listening in.

Your grin only widens, and you pull him down towards you, so close that his breath skates across your lips. He twitches nervously, like you’re close to breaking him, like he’s this close to doing something he’ll regret. “But you want to,” you murmur, cupping his jaw and letting your fingers trace his cheekbone. “Tell me, Professor… When was the last time you had something just because you wanted it, hm?” He shudders, eyes fluttering closed. “I’ll take real good care of you, sir, I promise.”

With a strangled groan, he gives in. The kiss is sudden, harsh like he’s furious with you for pulling him in like this. Soft lips give way to sharp teeth, greedy tongues, slotting together like you were moulded for him. Your hand slides up into his hair, tangling in his curls as you kiss him harder. A moan slips from your lips when you pull away for air, and the sound seems to drive him well and truly into madness. His lips meet yours with a renewed hunger, resting a hand at your jaw when he breaks away.

Spencer (you’ve just had your tongue down his throat, for God’s sake, you’ve earned the right to call him by his first name) strokes his thumb over your bottom lip, gazing down at you with awe and disbelief written across his face. He sucks in a sharp breath when you close your lips around his thumb, lapping at it just like the sucker from earlier. “You’re trying to kill me,” he breathes.

Releasing his thumb with a slick pop, you laugh. “Is that what you think?” You stand up, press your body into his. Spencer nods warily. “You’d know. If I was trying to kill you, I’d do something like this,” you murmur, sliding your hand up his throat and pressing down softly. His eyes flutter closed in surrender, and a filthy, spit-slick grin spreads wide across your lips. “You like that? Good boy,” you say silkily, letting go of his throat as he nods. “You gonna let me take care of you, Professor?”

“Please,” Spencer gasps, and when you let your gaze wander away from his flushed face and down his body, your lips part softly at the sight of him straining against his pants. You dip your head to kiss his neck, wishing you could bruise, make him yours, but you restrain yourself.

Rough carpet grazes your knees as you sink to the floor, hands coming up to work his belt open. You kiss him through his pants, slide his zipper down with your teeth. Spencer whines, and the sound sends a pulse of arousal through you. “So needy, sir,” you croon, slowly pulling him free of his boxers. It’s probably the prettiest you’ve ever seen, thick and hard in your palm, drooling precum as you lean in to kiss the tip. The salt taste of him fills your mouth and you moan involuntarily, his hips twitching as you pump his cock slowly.

Hands thread into your hair, but the touch is gentle, reverent, born from need rather than demand. Not that you’d say no to his manhandling you, but you get the sense that’ll take some time. “If you want something, it’s polite to ask,” you tease, holding Spencer’s hips when he tries to fuck into your hand.

“Fuck, please,” he hisses, and the obscenity slides deliciously up your spine. “You’re so pretty, baby, look so gorgeous down there. I want you so badly, I just— please?” Spencer whines, and he sounds so sweetly pathetic that you take pity on him, wrap your lips around his head. The moan that falls from his lips is made of pure lust, and you shiver, arousal dripping between your thighs.

You suck and lick at him, eager and teasing, moaning as the taste of him fills your mouth. Spencer trembles with the effort of holding still, not fucking up into your mouth, and his hands unconsciously tighten in your hair. “You can be a little rougher, if you want,” you say, sliding your palms up his clothed thighs and taking him in your mouth again. You moan around him as his cock bumps the back of your throat, swallowing a gag with practiced ease.

Spencer’s hand curls into a fist in your hair, your stomach clenching in anticipation. The gentle sting when he tugs just a little buzzes under your skin, and you moan enthusiastically around him, hollowing your cheeks and taking him even deeper. “Fuck,” he whines, hips jerking forward until his cock bumps the back of your throat. Heat throbs between your legs as he twitches on your tongue, and you can tell from the sounds he’s making that he’s close. 

You double your efforts, pulling off to lick around his head and drip spit along his length. Arousal throbs in your belly, hips grinding down against nothing. Slowly, you take him all the way back in, moan low in your throat when he’s buried to the hilt. You trace your tongue across the vein throbbing on his underside, and Spencer lets out the sweetest, most desperate little whimper you’ve ever heard. “I- I’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum, fuck, baby, oh, my God,” he gasps, needy and adoring.

His voice trembles as he begs, so soft you’re not sure he knows he’s speaking aloud, and the way he pleads your name, fuck. Time blurs around you, your head goes hazy, pleasure knotting itself deliciously around your insides. Spencer gives a strangled moan, a garbled sound that might be your name, and that’s all the warning you get. You swallow greedily as he spills on your tongue, twitching and moaning and praising you through short, gasping breaths.

He’s still twitching with the aftershocks as you pull off, kneeling to smile blithely up at him. Spencer’s eyes are wide, sparkling with adoration as he struggles for breath. “How was that, Professor?” you tease. “Do I get an A?”

He gives a groaning sort of laugh, pulls you to your feet. “You’re unbelievable,” he says, still gazing into your eyes. It’s disarming, and you get the distinct impression he can read what you’re thinking as plainly as if it were stamped on your forehead. “Come here, come on,” he adds, pulling at your hips and pressing your body into his. You’re almost shocked when he kisses you, hard and greedy and hungry, the most aggressive he’s been this entire time. He sanitises his damn desk three times in a class, for God’s sake — you’d half expected him to hand you a toothbrush when you stood from the floor.

And yet, he’s kissing you breathless, and his hands are tangled in your hair, and his body is pressed so close to yours that you can barely tell where you end and he begins. “Thank you,” he mutters against your lips. “That was incredible. You’re incredible. You’ve gotta let me— Come here, sit,” he says, guiding you to sit on his desk. You balance between scattered papers, an uncapped pen bleeding a black stain into your skirt. 

“Let you do what, Doctor?” you say, quiet and breathy, gazing up at Spencer with wide, adoring eyes.

Spencer smiles, and something warms in your chest at the sight. Long, delicate fingers trace along your thigh, push up your skirt until your panties are on full display. “Pretty,” he remarks, maddeningly casual. “Did you wear these for me?”

“Of course, sir. I don’t dress up for boys anymore.” You swallow, bite your lip. You decide to lay it on a little thicker. “See, I need a man.”

“Is that so?” Spencer murmurs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Your heartbeat quickens, excitement throbbing between your legs as he drags them down. “Look at you, sweet girl. So wet. Is that all from sucking my dick?” he teases, and you shudder.

You don’t know where the sudden obscenity, sudden dominance came from, but it thrills you all the same. “Mhmm,” you murmur. “What are you gonna do about it?” Smirking, Spencer picks up your panties, lets them dangle from his fingertips, red lace starkly incongruous from the calm, studious background of his office.

After a beat, his grin turns wicked and he tucks them into his pocket. “Safekeeping,” he says, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind your ear. The movement is so tender that it stops you in your tracks, a shimmering thread of something more than simple desire stringing between you. His eyes glitter, and you know he feels it too. Then, long fingers start to work at the buttons of your blouse. “I want to see all of you,” Spencer says, bending his head to kiss your lace-clad breast as your shirt falls open.

His hand skates up your thigh, oh-so close to where you need it. “Please,” you breathe. “Please, sir. I need you.” Spencer draws his hand away and you whine pathetically, your bare thighs suddenly impossibly cold.

“Be patient, sweet girl,” he says, low and almost dangerous. A thrill skitters up your spine as he sinks to his knees, gazing intently at your dripping wet core. “Beautiful,” he mutters, so quietly you don’t even think he’s talking to you. His hands slide up to your thighs again, spreading them apart gently. “Are you gonna let me taste you, beautiful?”

You nod frantically, cunt fluttering at his words. He kisses the inside of your knee, works his way down your thigh. A brief, bright spark of pain flickers through you as Spencer sucks a bruise into your skin and you moan. A rush of incredibly gratifying heat washes over you when you realise he’s marking you; a hidden little secret lying just beneath your polished exterior. Spencer won’t be able to see anything else when he looks at you. 

He pulls away from his assault on your thighs to look up at you, doe-eyed. “Tell me you want this. Please. I need to hear you say it.” You shudder, closing your thighs around his head and threading a hand into his curls so he can’t drag himself any further away.

“Spencer,” you moan. His eyes blow wide at the sound of his name from your lips. “Please. I need you,” you breathe. “Need you to make me cum, sir, please. Haven’t I been good for you? Don’t I deserve it?” You bite your lip to muffle a scream when Spencer leans in, licks a broad, flat stripe along your soaked core.

He’s methodical, at first, and you know somehow that he’s carefully cataloguing your responses. His tongue flicks over your clit, slow at first and then faster, pressure mounting between your thighs. Spencer moans into you, shifts his hips, and you realise: he’s getting off on this. A jolt of arousal so strong you literally pulse against his mouth rips through you, and you feel his lips curve into a smirk.

Big, soft hands dig hard into your thighs, pulling you flush against him like he could bury himself in you. “You taste so good, baby,” he whines, pressing his tongue flat against your hole as you grind your hips forward. Pleasure curls under your skin, swelling and pressing against your organs, crowding your mind until you can’t think, can’t feel anything but him. Your toes curl in your shoes, stomach clenching as your orgasm builds and builds. Breaking away, Spencer presses tender little kisses to your inner thighs, licks soothingly over his bite mark. 

Just as you’re starting to whine at the loss, he wraps his lips around your swollen clit. Sudden, electric ecstasy shoots through your body when he sucks on your sensitive nerves and it’s all you can do not to scream his name for the entire campus to hear. “Oh, fuck,” you whine instead, rocking your hips in a frantic, desperate rhythm. “M’so close, sir, please— You gotta let me— fuck!” you gasp, cunt clenching as he slides two fingers into you. You’re so wet that it’s easy, a slick slide as he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Look how well you take me,” he says, staring openly at the point his fingers disappear into your body, your greedy cunt parted around them as wet, obscene noises fill the room. He kisses your clit softly and your legs kick out. “You’re gonna look so pretty taking my dick, hm?”

Your mind goes blank, pleasure thudding sickly in your throat, humming in your ears. “I want it,” you whine. “God, I want you to fucking— mmm— bend me over this desk ‘n— fuck— make me all stupid for you. Oh, God, Spencer, m’so close!” you cry, tugging at his hair and writhing helplessly.

“Go on, pretty girl,” Spencer says, softly urging. “Cum for me.” He pumps his fingers, licks at your clit, gently coaxes you over the edge. Your hands white-knuckle the edge of the desk as pure pleasure washes over you. Your body slumps, weak and powerless against the weight of your orgasm ripping through you. Spencer doesn’t let up, smiling into you as you write above him, murmuring soft praises that fade into a low buzz against your pulse hammering in your ears.

Spencer’s lips and chin glisten with your arousal, still kneeling between your legs as you struggle back to your body. “That was… Shit, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand,” you giggle, testing your weight as you shuffle off his desk. Spencer leans down to kiss you, and the taste of yourself on his lips is dizzying. Pouting, you glance up at the clock hanging over his door. “I have class.”

As much as he wants to, Spencer won’t tell you to cut class, and you both know it. “Would you like to, uh…” He clears his throat, adjusts his tie, and just like that, he’s back to the sweet, nervous academic you’re used to. “Continue this discussion later? I’ll— I’ll be here all day.”

Your lips stretch wide in a saccharine smile as you slowly button your shirt. “Why, Doctor Reid, are you asking me to meet you after hours? How scandalous,” you giggle, pressing a soft, near-chaste kiss against his lips. “I’ll be back at six.”

[quarterlifekitty]

can you write out or create the hardest fuck konig has ever given reader when they first move in together???

❤️❤️❤️

make it nasty if possible, thank you so much for everything you put out 🫶

so I started this about a million years ago, and it's not really what I'd call done, but I just wanted to get it posted lol

König loves coming home knowing that you’re already there. It just makes him feel so warm inside— to turn onto the street and see the lights on already. Sometimes he waits at the door for a moment before coming in because he likes to hear the tap of your footsteps coming his way— he knows you listen for his car, you like to come to meet him at the door. When he does open the door, he barely crosses the threshold before you’re jumping into his arms. 

“Happy that I’m home, honigbiene?” He can feel you nod, lifting his hood to kiss his neck. He finally sets you down so he can take a look at you. He’s pleased to find you freshly showered, sweet-smelling, and wearing one of his shirts as a nightie. “And what did my darling do all day today?”

“I waited for you to come home.” And suddenly you’re back in his arms, being swept away to your room upstairs. He’s almost trembling with how much he needs you. 

“Do you have any idea what it does to a man? To hear his woman say things like that, schatz?” He’s almost panting, his heart in his throat from how raw and scorching your words make him feel. He thinks about tossing you onto the bed for just a moment, but he decides he doesn’t want to be separated from your warmth for even that long, and neither would you. 

He wrenches his hood off so he can kiss you like he’s trying to eat you alive, his tongue stroking into your mouth. He wants you so bad he doesn’t even care to be self conscious about all of his scars on display. 

König pulls at his belt, though he’s tempted to just rip everything down and deal with the chafe later. He lays you down and parts just enough to push your shirt up, moaning at the sight of your cunt getting your panties so wet that they’re almost see through. He’ll pull those off— but leave his shirt on you. He can swear he sees strings of your wetness clinging to the cotton. 

“How long have you been wet like this, meine liebe? Since I came through the door?” He doesn’t pause his motions for you to answer, pulling his cock free and smacking it against your mound. 

“I dunno… maybe.” The smile on your face isn’t quite temptuous, but it certainly isn’t innocent either. He leans down to kiss it clean off of your face.

[elryuse]

ANTHEM pt.3

MULTIPLE FEMALE IDOLS X MALE READER

TAGS : MULTIPLE FEMALE LOVE INTEREST, HAREM, KISSING

WORDS : 3,981 Words

This is Part 3 of The Anthem Series. For The Other Anthem Series, Please Kindly Check over Here.

Y/n stretched lazily in his bed, the cold morning air nipping at his exposed skin. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the heater struggling to keep up with the winter chill. He blinked away the remnants of sleep, turning his head slightly to find Wonyoung nestled close beside him, her face peaceful and serene. She was wearing her signature oversized black t-shirt, the fabric pooling around her delicate frame. Her dark hair fanned out across the pillow, catching the faint light streaming through the curtains.

She looks like a princess, Y/n thought, his heart softening as he watched her. He didn’t want to disturb her, but he knew they couldn’t stay like this forever. Carefully, he shifted the blanket that covered them both, lifting it slowly so as not to wake her.

But Wonyoung stirred almost immediately, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked up at him, her lips forming a pout before she even fully registered what was happening. “Why are you leaving me?” she complained, her voice thick with sleep but tinged with mock indignation.

Y/n chuckled softly, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Good morning to you too,” he said, earning a small groan from her as she swatted his hand away half-heartedly.

“Don’t mess up my hair,” she grumbled, though her pout softened into a smile. She rolled onto her back, stretching her arms above her head, the hem of her shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of smooth skin. Y/n’s eyes lingered a moment too long, and when Wonyoung caught him staring, her grin turned mischievous.

“What’s wrong, oppa? Never seen a girl wake up before?” she teased, propping herself up on one elbow. Her voice was light, playful, but there was something underneath it—something that made Y/n’s stomach tighten.

He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “You should head back to your room. Yujin’s probably wondering where you are.”

Wonyoung shook her head, her expression stubborn. “No. I like it here. Your bed is warmer than mine.” She scooted closer to him, her body heat radiating against his side. “And you’re warmer too,” she added, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Y/n sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Wonyoung, you know we can’t—”

“Can’t what?” she interrupted, tilting her head innocently. “It’s not like anyone will notice. Everyone’s still asleep.”

Yeji’s probably already awake, Y/n thought but didn’t say. He didn’t want to argue with her, especially not when she was looking at him like that—her big doe eyes filled with a mix of innocence and something far more dangerous.

“Fine,” he conceded, leaning back against the pillows. “But only for a little while.”

Wonyoung smiled triumphantly, settling back down beside him. She tucked her head against his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. For a moment, they lay there in silence, the rhythm of their breathing syncing naturally. But then Wonyoung shifted slightly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest through his thin t-shirt.

“Oppa,” she murmured after a while, her voice barely audible. “Do you ever think about… us?”

Y/n froze, his heart skipping a beat. “Us?” he repeated, his voice cautious.

Wonyoung pulled back slightly to look at him, her expression serious now. “Yeah. You know… how we spend so much time together. How I always end up in your bed. Don’t you think that means something?”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Y/n opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Wonyoung leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. “I think you like having me here,” she whispered, her breath sending shivers down his spine. “Maybe even more than you want to admit.”

Y/n swallowed hard, his mind racing. He wanted to deny it, to tell her she was just imagining things. But the truth was, he did like having her there. More than he should. And the way she was looking at him now, her eyes dark with something he couldn’t quite name, made it impossible to think clearly.

“Wonyoung…” he began, but she cut him off again, this time by pressing her lips to his in a soft, tentative kiss. His brain short-circuited, his hands moving instinctively to her waist as he kissed her back. It was brief, chaste even, but it left his heart pounding.

When she pulled away, her cheeks were flushed, but her smile was triumphant. “See?” she said, her voice smug. “You do like me.”

Y/n groaned, running a hand over his face. “This is such a bad idea,” he muttered, though he made no move to push her away.

Wonyoung giggled, her fingers trailing down his arm. “Since when have we ever had good ideas?” she countered, her tone light but her gaze intense. “Besides, I promise I won’t tell anyone. Not even Yujin.”

The mention of Yujin made Y/n’s stomach twist. He knew he was playing with fire, but the way Wonyoung was looking at him—like he was the only thing that mattered—made it impossible to care.

Before he could stop himself, he cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he said quietly, leaning in to kiss her again.

This time, there was nothing soft or tentative about it. Wonyoung responded eagerly, her hands tangling in his hair as she deepened the kiss. Y/n’s grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. Every rational thought fled his mind, replaced by the overwhelming need to touch her, to feel her, to lose himself in her.

Their kisses grew more desperate, more urgent, until Wonyoung finally pulled back, panting slightly. Her eyes were dark with desire, her lips swollen and glistening. “Oppa,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I want you.”

The words sent a jolt of electricity through him, his resolve crumbling completely. He didn’t speak, didn’t trust himself to form coherent thoughts anymore. Instead, he leaned in again, capturing her lips in another searing kiss as his hands roamed lower, exploring every inch of her soft, warm skin.

Wonyoung gasped, arching into his touch. “Y/n,” she whispered against his mouth, her voice breaking on his name. “Please…”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a low growl, he flipped them over, pinning her beneath him as his kisses trailed down her neck to the collar of her oversized shirt. Wonyoung let out a soft moan, her nails digging into his shoulders as he tugged the fabric aside, exposing more of her bare skin.

But just as his lips brushed against her collarbone, a sharp knock on the door shattered the moment. They froze, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they stared at each other, wide-eyed.

“Y/n?” Yujin’s voice called from the other side of the door, sounding way too cheerful for the situation. “Are you awake? We need to talk about practice today!”

Y/n swore under his breath, pulling away from Wonyoung reluctantly. “One second!” he called back, his voice strained.

Wonyoung bit her lip, trying to stifle a laugh as she sat up, fixing her shirt. “Well, that’s unfortunate timing,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/n shot her a glare, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the flush staining his cheeks. “You need to hide,” he hissed, gesturing toward the closet.

Wonyoung rolled her eyes but complied, slipping out of bed and padding silently across the room. She paused at the closet door, glancing back at him with a smirk. “We’re not done, oppa,” she said softly before disappearing inside.

Y/n took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before opening the door. Yujin stood there, grinning broadly, completely oblivious to what she’d just interrupted.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” she chirped, stepping past him into the room. “I brought coffee. Thought you might need it after last night.”

As she set the tray down on his desk, Y/n glanced nervously at the closet, wondering how long Wonyoung would be able to stay hidden—and what fresh chaos was waiting to unfold.

Yujin’s cheerful expression faltered as she stepped further into the room, her nose wrinkling slightly. She tilted her head, sniffing the air like a curious kitten. “Hmm… what’s that smell?” she mused, her voice light but carrying an edge of suspicion. Her gaze flicked around the room before landing on Y/n, who was standing stiffly by the door, trying to act natural.

“What smell?” Y/n asked, his voice a little too high-pitched. He cleared his throat, crossing his arms casually over his chest, though his heart was pounding. She couldn’t possibly know, he thought, even as beads of sweat threatened to form at his temples.

Yujin wandered closer to him, her eyes narrowing playfully but with a hint of something sharper beneath the surface. She leaned in, sniffing dramatically near his shoulder. “It smells like… Wonyoung’s perfume. The one she always wears.” She straightened up, hands on her hips, and fixed him with a knowing look. “Strawberries and vanilla. Very distinctive.”

Y/n froze, his mind racing for an excuse. Think, think, think. Before he could respond, the closet door creaked ever so slightly, drawing Yujin’s attention. Her head snapped toward it, and she took a step forward. “Is someone in there?” she asked, her tone shifting from playful to accusatory.

“No!” Y/n said quickly, stepping between her and the closet. “I mean… probably just the wind or something. Old building, you know? Drafty.” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. Sweat was definitely forming now.

Yujin raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. She crossed her arms, tilting her head as she studied him. “Y/n-oppa,” she began, her voice sweet but laced with mischief, “are you hiding something from me?”

Before he could answer, the closet door burst open, and Wonyoung stepped out, her hair slightly disheveled but her expression defiant. “Yes, he is,” she declared, folding her arms over her chest. “And before you get all worked up, Yujin-unnie, it’s not what you think.”

Yujin’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening as she looked between Wonyoung and Y/n. “Excuse me? Not what I think?” she repeated, her voice rising. “You were in his closet, smelling like his bedsheets, and—”

“Enough!” Y/n interrupted, raising both hands to silence them. His voice carried a firmness that surprised even himself, and both girls stopped mid-sentence, staring at him. He took a deep breath, lowering his voice. “Look, this isn’t helping anyone. We’re a team, right? So let’s not turn this into some dramatic scene.”

Wonyoung pouted, her lower lip jutting out as she glanced at Yujin. “She started it,” she muttered under her breath.

Yujin scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I started it? You’re the one who—”

“Stop,” Y/n said again, softer this time but no less commanding. He stepped between them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “Listen. I… I care about both of you. A lot. And if we’re going to make this work, we need to be honest with each other. No secrets, no jealousy. Just… trust.”

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of their breathing. Then, Yujin let out a small huff, her lips curving into a reluctant smile. “Fine,” she said, though her eyes still flashed with a hint of challenge. “But you owe me coffee after this.”

Wonyoung rolled her eyes but nodded. “And me too,” she added, smirking at Y/n. “Maybe even breakfast.”

Y/n let out a relieved laugh, feeling some of the tension drain from his shoulders. “Deal,” he said, grinning despite himself. If only it could always be this easy, he thought, though he knew better than to hope for smooth sailing.

Later that afternoon, the group gathered in the practice room for another grueling session. Winter had been unusually quiet throughout the day, her sharp eyes watching Y/n with an intensity that made him uneasy. She sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through her phone, but every so often, her gaze would flicker up to meet his, holding it for just a second too long before she looked away.

Karina clapped her hands, calling everyone to attention. “Alright, let’s run through the choreography one more time. Focus on the transitions—they’re still a bit messy.”

The music started, and Y/n threw himself into the routine, trying to ignore the way Winter’s eyes seemed to burn into his back. By the time they finished, his muscles were screaming in protest, and his shirt clung to his skin with sweat. He collapsed onto the floor, leaning against the mirrored wall as he caught his breath.

Just as he closed his eyes, he felt a presence beside him. He opened them to find Wonyoung crouching down, her face glowing with exertion but her smile bright. “Oppa,” she said, her voice soft, “will you come shopping with me later? I need to pick up some clothes for everyone, and I could use your opinion.”

Y/n hesitated, glancing around the room. Karina was deep in conversation with Chaewon, and Yujin was stretching nearby, her eyes darting toward them periodically. Winter was still watching him, her expression unreadable. “Sure,” he said finally, forcing a smile. “Let me just clean up first.”

As he stood, he caught Yujin’s eye. She gave him a small nod, though her lips were pressed into a thin line. He could tell she wasn’t happy about it, but she didn’t say anything. One problem at a time, he told himself.

An hour later, Y/n found himself in Wonyoung’s room, sitting awkwardly on the edge of her bed as she rummaged through her closet. “So, what do you think of this?” she asked, holding up a vibrant pink dress that shimmered under the light.

“It’s… um, nice,” Y/n said, unsure of how else to respond. “Very… eye-catching.”

Wonyoung giggled, setting the dress aside and turning to face him. Her expression softened, her eyes locking onto his. “You’re really cute when you’re nervous,” she said, taking a step closer.

Before he could react, she was straddling him, her hands gripping his shoulders as she pressed her lips to his. Y/n’s brain short-circuited, his body instinctively responding as her tongue slipped into his mouth. He reached up, tangling his fingers in her hair as she deepened the kiss, her nails digging into his skin.

“W-Wonyoung,” he gasped when she broke away to trail kisses down his neck, her teeth grazing his collarbone. “We shouldn’t—”

“Shh,” she whispered, her voice husky with desire. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

Her hands moved to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head before tossing it aside. His breath hitched as she ran her fingers over his chest, her touch sending sparks through his body. She leaned down, nipping at his skin before licking away the sting, her movements deliberate and slow.

“Wonyoung,” he moaned, his hands gripping her waist as she shifted above him. She smirked, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra, letting it fall to the floor before grabbing his hands and placing them on her bare skin. “Touch me,” she breathed, grinding against him.

He obeyed, his fingers tracing the curve of her hips before sliding up to cup her breasts. She let out a breathy sigh, arching into his touch as she rolled her hips against his growing hardness. “You’re mine right now,” she murmured, her voice dripping with possessiveness as she leaned down to claim his lips once more.

Her fingers fumbled with the button of his pants, yanking them down along with his boxers. She pulled back just enough to kick off her own shorts and panties, her eyes dark with hunger as she positioned herself above him. “Ready?” she teased, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Y/n nodded, his breath coming in shallow gasps as she lowered herself onto him, her tight warmth engulfing him completely. She let out a low moan, her nails raking down his chest as she began to move, her pace slow and deliberate at first, then increasingly frantic. Her head fell back, her hair cascading over her shoulders as she rode him, her cries of pleasure echoing through the room.

“Faster,” she begged, her voice breaking as she gripped his shoulders for leverage. Y/n obliged, thrusting upward to meet her movements, their rhythm falling into sync as the heat between them built to a fever pitch. Wonyoung’s moans grew louder, more desperate, until she shuddered above him, her body tightening as waves of pleasure overtook her.

Y/n followed soon after, his release spilling inside her as she collapsed onto his chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, they lay there, tangled together and soaked in sweat, the world outside forgotten.

“Well,” Wonyoung said after a while, her voice teasing as she propped herself up to look at him, “that was fun.”

Y/n blinked up at her, his mind still reeling. “Yeah,” he managed, his voice hoarse. “Fun.”

Wonyoung’s lips curved into a sly smile as she leaned down, her breath warm against his ear. “You think we’re done?” she whispered, her voice dripping with mischief. Her fingers traced lazy circles on his chest, sending shivers down his spine. “I’m just getting started.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, but before he could respond, Wonyoung shifted her weight, straddling him again. Her hands slid down his torso, nails lightly scratching his skin, and he hissed at the sensation. She laughed softly, her voice low and sultry. “Don’t tell me you’re already tired, Y/n. I thought you had more stamina than this.”

His body tensed under her teasing, a mix of exhaustion and desire warring within him. But the way she looked at him—her dark eyes glinting with playful challenge—was enough to reignite the fire in his veins. He reached up, tangling his fingers in her hair, and pulled her closer until their lips were almost touching. “Careful what you wish for,” he murmured, his voice rough.

Wonyoung smirked, clearly enjoying the game. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” she purred before capturing his mouth in another deep kiss. Her hips rolled against his, and he groaned into her mouth, his hands gripping her waist tightly. The heat between them was undeniable, their bodies moving together with a rhythm that felt both natural and desperate.

Their second round was slower but no less intense, each touch and movement deliberate. Wonyoung’s moans were softer now, more intimate, as if she was savoring every moment. Y/n’s hands explored every inch of her, memorizing the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and yet not enough. They clung to each other, chasing the high of their connection, unwilling to let go.

When they finally collapsed onto the bed, breathless and sweaty, Wonyoung let out a contented sigh. “Okay,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I underestimated you.”

Y/n chuckled, though it came out more like a groan. “Glad to hear it.”

They lay there for a while, catching their breath, until Wonyoung sat up, stretching languidly. “We should probably get dressed,” she said, glancing around the room. “Before someone else decides to barge in unannounced.”

Y/n nodded, reluctantly sitting up as well. They gathered their clothes, the air between them still charged with the remnants of what had just happened. As they dressed, Wonyoung shot him a mischievous grin. “Just so you know, this doesn’t mean I’m going to stop teasing you.”

He raised an eyebrow, half amused, half wary. “Noted.”

By the time they emerged from her room, the rest of the group was bustling about, preparing for the day ahead. Karina was the first to notice them, her sharp eyes flickering between Y/n and Wonyoung as they approached. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it, instead offering a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Thanks for helping Wonyoung with… whatever it was you two were doing,” Winter chimed in, her tone light but her gaze piercing. She stepped closer to Y/n, her hand brushing against his cheek in a gesture that felt far too familiar. “You’re always so… accommodating.”

Y/n stiffened, acutely aware of Karina watching them. But before he could respond, Wonyoung cut in, her voice sweet but laced with subtle warning. “Isn’t he just? We’re lucky to have him.”

Winter smirked, clearly enjoying the tension she was creating. “Indeed.”

The conversation shifted to mundane topics after that, but the underlying unease lingered. Y/n felt Karina’s eyes on him throughout, her gaze soft yet tinged with something deeper—something he couldn’t quite place. When she finally approached him, her touch was tentative as she took his arm, her fingers gently caressing his bicep.

“Thank you, Y/n,” she said quietly, her voice filled with warmth. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the room. “For everything.”

Her words were simple, but the emotion behind them was anything but. Y/n’s heart ached with guilt and longing, but he forced himself to smile. “Of course. You don’t have to thank me.”

Karina hesitated, as if she wanted to say more, but then she seemed to catch herself. She coughed lightly, stepping back and breaking the spell. “Right. Well, we should all get ready. There’s still a lot to do today.”

The others nodded, exchanging glances that hinted at things left unsaid. Winter lingered for a moment longer, her fingers trailing along Y/n’s jawline before she finally turned away. “See you later,” she called over her shoulder, her tone dripping with promise.

As the group dispersed, Y/n exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of their collective attention pressing down on him. He needed a moment to breathe, to clear his head. A shower sounded perfect—just the thing to wash away the sweat and tension clinging to his skin.

He made his way to the bathroom, stripping off his clothes as soon as the door closed behind him. The water was hot, almost scalding, but it felt good against his skin. He stood under the spray, letting it wash away the lingering echoes of the morning’s events.

But just as he began to relax, he heard it—a soft, melodic humming coming from outside the bathroom door. His heart skipped a beat, and he quickly turned off the water, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. “Hello?” he called out, his voice hesitant.

The humming stopped, replaced by the sound of the doorknob turning. Before he could react, the door swung open, and Yujin stepped inside, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the sight of him—dripping wet, bare-chested, and very much naked from the waist down aside from the hastily wrapped towel.

“Y/n?!” she squeaked, her face turning bright red as she immediately spun around, covering her eyes with her hands. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t—”

Y/n froze, his mind racing as he tried to process what had just happened. “Yujin, wait—”

But she was already backing out of the bathroom, stumbling over her own feet in her haste to escape. “I-I’ll just—uh—”

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving Y/n standing there, stunned and utterly exposed. He stared at the closed door, his heart pounding in his chest as the reality of the situation sank in. This was not how he expected his day to go.

From the other side of the door, he could hear Yujin’s muffled voice, though her words were too faint to make out. Y/n groaned, running a hand through his wet hair. What was he supposed to do now?

The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable, until Y/n finally mustered the courage to call out, “Yujin?”

There was no response. He waited a few moments, then sighed. “I’m really sorry about that,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was apologizing to—her or himself.

[ptergwen]

hiii

so this might me dirty but hear me out

It has gotten to me that mans come can meddle w the woman’s dna

so with this as an inspiration, and I know it’s kinda cliche but

stark!reader suddenly having spider senses or smh (not pregnancy)

oh and it’s for Tom Holland spider man

have an amazing dayy

a parker thing

ask box  |  taglist  |  blurb masterlist  |  main masterlist

w/c: ?

warnings: smut (p in v unprotected, lowkey dom!peter and reader), swearing

a/n: jump scare if you didn't see my post lmao i'm back y'all! i missed u guys and missed writing lots so i’ll be here from time to time again :) i had so much fun with this req thank you for the idea! much love to u all <3

you catch yourself dozing off and jerk your head up instinctively. one short, loud snore passes your lips as you do so, eyes opening wide. you blink your tired eyes a few times as you readjust to the harsh lighting.

ugh, you fell asleep in the lab, something you always chastise peter and your dad for doing. they're notorious for their long hours spent messing around with stark tech. you've lost count of how many times you've woken up to an empty spot in bed where your boyfriend should be, instead finding him fast asleep surrounded by cups of coffee and a delirious tony still on the grind.

tonight, you're the stark who's in the lab past their bedtime. you had the day to yourself and decided to use your free time to upgrade your suit. it had had a few hiccups during the team's last mission, so you wanted to work on it before the next one. what was supposed to be a few minor tweaks turned into a whole day of tweaking.

you scoff at yourself and wipe some drool that crusted onto your chin. oddly enough, you almost instantly refocus on the screen in front of you. it's been like this for most of the day. you're way more concentrated than usual for some reason, more aware. you figure it's because peter has been out on patrol and couldn't distract you.

"are you finished for the night, boss? you aren't usually here this late."

"i know, but i’m gonna stay a little longer. i’ll be done soon...i think."

friday dims the lights directly overhead so they aren't as harsh. you smile.

"thanks, fri."

you sit up in your seat, scooting in closer to the screen displaying your suit. you carefully look over the prototype and pick up a pen to write yourself some notes. when you go to put down the pen, it sticks to your palm. you shake your hand to try to get it off. it stays stuck.

"huh."

you use your other hand to pry the pen off of you.

"weird."

first you have heightened senses, now you're sticky. if you didn't have ordinary stark dna, you'd think you were part arachnid like peter.

you're not sure why, but you suddenly stand up and turn towards the main doors to the lab. they slide open a few seconds later. peter walks inside, spider suit on and mask off. he pads over to you with a soft smile.

"there you are. friday said i could find you down here."

peter pecks your lips and envelopes you in a hug. you sign contentedly, face nuzzled into his neck and arms winding around him.

"yeah, she's probably sick of me. i've been down here all day."

"you're really locked in, huh? how's the suit coming along?"

peter's fingers rub up and down your back ever so lightly. just the small touch practically sends shivers down your spine.

"good. fixed everything and double checked, then triple checked. started adding some new stuff, too."

"new features? like what?"

"you know the one i was telling you about..."

you trail off as peter's hands slide down to your ass. he pulls you in closer to himself, letting his hands rest there. you peek up at him, heart speeding up.

"go on, i’m listening."

peter gives your ass a gentle squeeze. it's an innocent gesture, really, but your senses are going crazy right now and you can't help but to get turned on. you always tease peter about how easily he's turned on. if this is what it feels like for him, now you understand.

"hm, i'm bored of talking about the suit. tell me about patrol."

"it was good! got a lot of action today. i mean, i guess that's not good 'cause that means there's more crime and stuff, but y'know. anyway..."

you stare at peter's lips, but don't listen to a word he's saying. it's the first time today you can't focus. he's pressed right up against you in his damned tight spider suit, and his hands are still on your ass, and you're so hypersensitive and hyper aware. all you can think about is how bad you need him.

"y/n? you okay?"

peter must have noticed you spacing out.

your gaze flicks between his eyes and lips before your own lips wordlessly capture his in a searing kiss. peter lets out a breathy chuckle, caught a bit off guard by your abruptness. he deepens the kiss for a moment, then pulls back with a look of amusement. you bite back a cheeky smile.

"horny."

peter's features form a smirk.

"i got you, baby."

he kisses you again. his tongue tangles with yours, a sigh passing your lips. peter lifts you up, grip becoming firmer on your ass. you wrap your legs around his waist. he kisses down your neck until he finds a spot he wants to mark. you tilt your head to the side so he has more access. peter's lips suck roughly on your skin, teeth nipping at it playfully. you let out a shaky breath.

peter presses one last kiss to what's sure to become a hickey to soothe it. you tilt his chin up towards you again, lips smashing into his, holding him in place by the back of his head. he carries you to the nearest table while your intertwined lips move desperately against each other's. you sneak a hand down to the bulge in his suit, earning a groan.

"one sec, lemme get this off."

peter sets you down on the table and quickly strips off his spider suit. you take your own clothes off and toss them aside, left only in your bra and panties. peter comes to stand between your legs. he slips your panties to the side, middle finger collecting your wetness as he kisses you again. his finger slides into you with ease and begins to pump. you moan into the kiss, tugging at his hair.

"already so wet, baby. don't even have to get you warmed up."

peter's finger curls inside you, cockiness evident in his tone and on his features. you tug on some hair at the nape of his neck.

"stop teasing, parker."

"can't take it when the roles are reversed, stark?"

something takes over you in that moment, the same something that's been coursing through your veins all day. you grab both of peter's hands and hold them in place above his head. your grip is tight around his wrists, too tight for him to break free of it. a noise almost like a growl escapes you.

"shut up and fuck me, or i’ll fuck you."

peter meets your wild eyes, his pupils equally as dilated.

"do it."

you promptly pull peter up to the table with you. you push him back so he lies down, pinning his arms down at his sides. his chest rises and falls, breathless.

"woah, what's gotten into you today? not that i’m complaining, but, woah."

"i know, right? i thought you were supposed to have super strength."

peter grabs you by your hips and sits up, seating you in his lap. you wiggle your hips in his grasp, but he digs his fingers into your sides so you can't move. peter's voice drops low.

"what was that?"

you breathe out a low laugh.

"nothing."

you dip your head down to press your forehead to peter's. he smiles, satisfied with your answer. you wrap your hand around his hard cock and stroke him. peter's lips ghost over yours, his breathing heavy.

"wanna feel you, y/n/n."

peter slides his hands up to your waist so you can move again. you smile knowingly. you slip off your panties before you reposition yourself, your legs on either side of him. you line up peter's cock with your entrance.

"wanna feel you too, pete."

you lower yourself down onto peter. you both let out little sighs and moans as he fills you up.

he always feels so good inside you, but this time is even better, even more intense.

you arch your back to find the right angle, shifting backwards a bit. once you're both comfortable, you begin to roll your hips. peter exhales a breath he was holding, lifting his hips up to help you out. your movements are slow, fluid. peter supports you by the small of your back, eyes hooded and lips parted for air.

"fuck, i'm not gonna last long."

"me neither."

he kisses you, softly but with so much passion. you let your eyes flutter closed and kiss back. you place your feet flat on the table for more stability and straighten your back, starting to bounce on his cock.

"y/n..."

peter's voice comes out almost like a whine. you chuckle at that.

"i know."

you grab onto peter's shoulders for more support as you move, up and down, back and forth. peter leaves sloppy kisses along the side of your neck. the once quiet lab is now filled with both of your moans and the sounds of your wetness every time his cock thrusts into you. you're both so close, and you can hardly hold out any longer.

peter grabs your hips to stop your movements. he takes over, thrusting up into you at the same delicious pace, only he's the one in control. you let out a series of short, high pitched moans, head thrown back as peter's cock hits the right spot in you over and over again.

"that's it, y/n/n. sound so pretty, baby."

peter half speaks and half groans. you reply with your own noise of content, squeezing yourself around his cock as you reach your high. peter is close to his.

"god, fuck."

he's panting. his thrusts speed up a bit until his hips stop moving altogether. he pushes deeper into you with one final moan, his cum filling you up, making you feel warm inside. you both recently agreed he could finish in you; it's a new level of intimacy.

"fuck, baby. woah."

you bury your face in peter's neck in response. you try to catch your breath, falling forward into his arms.

"oh my god, pete. that was..."

"yeah."

peter hugs your waist. he slowly pulls out of you, making you wince at the new emptiness.

"sorry."

he peppers tender kisses to the side of your head. you remove your face from his neck.

"it's okay."

you ruffle peter's hair with a tired smile. he kisses your cheek, smiling back. you give him another peck on his lips. you yawn, today's and tonight's activities catching up with you once again.

"aw, you tired?"

"mhm. you must be, too, spidey."

"exhausted. let's get cleaned up, then we'll go to bed?"

"sounds perfect."

peter helps you down from the table. you quickly step into your panties in case any cum leaks out of you. he picks his suit up off the floor.

"okay, that was insanely good. i mean, it always is, but something was different. i wonder what it was."

peter shimmies into his suit so his lower half is covered. you're putting on the rest of your clothes.

"i don't know, i’ve just been super on my shit today. really focused and stuff."

"explains why you were so locked in on your suit."

"that might just be a stark thing. actually, it's a parker thing too."

you poke peter's chest playfully. you collect some of your things from your work area, some miscellaneous supplies sticking to your palms as you do.

"why does this keep happening?"

peter watches curiously as you huff and shake paper clips off your palms.

"funny, that reminds me of when i first got my powers. took me a while to figure out how to control it, being sticky."

"uh huh. did you spill web fluid last time you were down here or something?"

"i don't think so, but it would have dissolved by now if i did. i haven't been in the lab for a couple days."

"oh. maybe it was someone else."

peter quirks a brow.

"i don't see any web fluid over there, y/n/n."

you turn to face peter.

"so why am i sticky?"

between this, your strength, and your heightened senses, peter puts it together. you have powers.

his spider powers.

"that might also be a parker thing. more specifically, a spider-man thing."

"you don't mean... no."

if peter is saying what you think he's saying, that confirms what you had thought earlier.

"uh, yeah."

peter crosses over to you. your eyebrows knit together.

"we must share some dna."

"but how? that wouldn't be possible unless we were, like, related... ew! please don't tell me we're fucking related!"

"baby, baby." peter laughs softly, taking one of your hands in his. "stop freaking out."

"you should be freaking out too! you were just inside me, peter, fucking me raw! you came in me!"

"exactly."

peter's voice is way too calm for your liking.

"exactly? what do you mean 'exactly'?"

"think about it. sperm is made up of dna."

"so what?"

"well, i wasn't born with this dna. it got mutated by the spider bite. so no, we're definitely not related."

you tentatively soften your gaze, allowing peter to lace his fingers through yours.

"since i got my powers from the mutation, i guess you got them too when i started finishing in you."

you gasp, a playful smile pulling at your lips.

"you mean you mutated my dna? you have radioactive cum?"

"something like that. you're not mad?"

you toy with peter's fingers, looping an arm around his neck.

"nah, it's kind of cool now that i know what it is. you're gonna have to teach me how to use the powers, though."

"of course." peter returns your smile. "now that you've got new powers, you gotta rebrand. maybe you could call yourself spider-woman."

"you'd like that, wouldn't you? come up with something more original."

peter's arms wrap around your middle, smile growing into a toothy grin.

"you could also use mrs. parker. it's gonna be your name someday, anyways."

you put your other arm around peter's neck with a laugh.

"mrs. parker, i like that."

(too lazy to use tags lmao)

[anastasia12]

lower your inhibitions

lower your inhibitions ; simon “ghost” riley.

You love Simon, you really do.

How could you not? How could you not fall for him? He’s the one who rescued you from a fate worse than death, the one who washes your body for you even though the both of you know that you’re fully capable of showering alone (he loves you so much, he’s constantly craving to touch you in any way he can), the one who took apart one of his honorary medals for his services and melted it down so it could be manipulated and turned into the band on your engagement ring.

(Did you know that the medal he used is the one he got from the mission where you two first met, the fateful mission where he both saved and changed your whole entire life?)

And you know that Simon would do absolutely anything for you. He whispers it to you in the dead of night, holding you so close to his chest like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. He lets you be the one who removes his mask, and if he can do something so intimately vulnerable, then you suppose you can do this for him.

This is giving into one of his latest fantasies, one that he’s been hinting at for quite some time now.

You know that his line of work is difficult at best and life-threatening all the time. You know that he bears a heavy burden on his shoulders — it’s not just his weaponry and equipment that weighs him down, but the fact that so many lives are resting in his hands. You do your best to relieve him of any stress when he gets home: a warm meal waiting for him, fresh clothes set out for him to change into, long nights where you spend all your time and energy determined to give him the reward he deserves for being a hero.

He mentions it in passing, usually when you’re so far gone in the throes of pleasure that you don’t even consciously acknowledge his little comments. Sneaky bastard; he’s been making sure it stays ingrained in your subconscious, though.

Baby, I could spend forever here. You’re certain that’s what he was groaning out the last time you had spread your legs for him and allowed him to eagerly lap at your pussy. You’re not entirely too sure, though — the only thing you can clearly remember through the foggy haze of intense passion was the feeling of him pleasuring you with just his mouth and bringing you to climax on his tongue at least twice that night.

You can only imagine what he must have planned for you tonight.

You’re sure that Simon has an insane amount of stamina as a result of his work. The only thing keeping you, his little soon-to-be housewife, still alive from all of these little entanglements is the fact that you love him enough to do anything he asks of you. So when he tells you that the only thing that’ll help him take his mind off of his latest assignment is to have you sitting on his face, you oblige.

According to him, this is a foolproof plan because only an idiot would be thinking about something else when he’s got the prettiest pussy in the world on top of him.

You could feel your face heating up at his vulgar compliment, but you’re not entirely innocent. The heat was building up towards the lower half of your body after that comment, too.

And now you find yourself nervously straddling your fiance, looking into his eyes.

“You know where you need to be, pretty girl,” His voice is already thick with arousal, and you recognize that hungry glint in his eyes. You pray to anyone out there who’s listening to pretty please give you the strength to survive tonight.

“B-but Simon—” You’re whispering, even though this house is the only residence in the area. (Thank God for that; if the two of you had neighbors, they surely would have filed a noise complaint.)

“Yes, my love?” You can recognize the teasing tone in his voice, and you can hear the smirk he must be wearing on his face.

“How am I supposed to… You know, get on your face and let you do what you want when your mask is still on?”

His infamous balaclava with the skull design etched onto the fabric seems to taunt you. It doesn’t scare you, especially since you’re well aware of who the man behind the mask truly is, but you can’t quite figure out why he hasn’t taken it off yet.

“Oh. I didn’t tell you yet?” He has to be smiling underneath the mask because your reaction to his next words is enough to have him chuckling.

“I’m not eating you out ‘til you’re so wet for me that I can feel you dripping through the mask.”

You immediately freeze up, wondering if he truly means what he just said.

(It’s Simon; of course, he meant every word of it.)

“Sweetheart, I thought you were going to be a good girl for me tonight.” The disapproval he douses his words with isn’t real — you know he’s just trying to tease you because it’s what he loves to do. Still, you find yourself nodding your head and slowly but surely making your way up his resting body before you find yourself hovering uncertainly above his face.

You let out an adorable little yelp of surprise as he suddenly grips the back of your thighs and forces you down on his mask-covered face. For a man his size, the strength isn’t surprising, but it’s his stealth and dexterity that always catches you off guard.

“Can’t wait to taste you.” His voice sounds muffled now due to the pressure being applied to his mouth, and you can feel the slight movements of his mouth despite the thick fabric of his balaclava acting as a barrier between you and him. His eyes are already deepening with desire, and you swallow hard, knowing that it’ll please him if you truly give it your all. You’ve known him for what feels like forever, and you’re engaged to the man. There’s no more room for shyness to take root in this relationship.

It’s time for you to lower your inhibitions.

Your first movements are a bit uncertain, but his groan of appreciation acts as reassurance. You move back and forth slowly, carefully grinding against the mask, and occasionally, your clit will brush against the covered tip of his nose, only adding to your pleasure and allowing you to give into your depravity without worry.

“Just like that, love. You’re doing so well for me.” You can barely make out the words he’s saying, but you give him a shaky smile as you continue to grind against him, your hands finding purchase on the pillow he’s resting his head on. You grip it, trying to hold yourself steady as you continue to buck against him, your arousal practically leaking out of you, a constant stream of juices that is soaking through the fabric, leaving a distinct wet stain on the front of it.

Simon grins at a mission successfully accomplished. Not only can he feel your arousal through the mask, but you’re so soaked for him that he’s certain he can taste you already, too.

One strong hand grips your waist, pausing your jerky movements, and you look down, blinking and trying to ground yourself into reality. You watch as he uses his other hand to tear off the balaclava, tossing it somewhere on the floor of your shared bedroom.

His chin and lips are already shining just the slightest — just how wet for him are you? He gives you a cheeky grin, and you’re still so close to him that when he speaks, his lips brush against your slick folds.

“Don’t stop now, darling. You promised you’d sit on my face.”

He’s so close to helping you get rid of the ache in between your legs, and you find yourself lowering yourself fully, your soft thighs encasing his head, and your soaking cunt landing right on his mouth. You’re already leaking all the way down to his chin, and his groans of pleasure only serve to make you even wetter.

He can’t speak right now; not when he’s too occupied with the meal you’ve so generously decided to grace him with. The room is filled with the obscene sounds of him lapping up everything you’re spilling out.

His tongue slides through your entrance with ease, and you moan in ecstasy, throwing your head back as you start to instinctually buck against his face, practically riding his tongue.

He’s sucking up your arousal, eager to please you but also insanely happy at the position he’s finally in. This is exactly what he needed: pure, unadulterated access to your pussy. Your thighs are surrounding him, and he uses both hands to squeeze harshly at your ass. The slight pain only makes you squeal and jerk up just the slightest, but he growls before forcing you back down on his face, right where you belong.

The ministrations of his tongue are entirely too much. The noises the two of you are making sounds as if the two of you are filming a porno, and you know you can’t last much longer.

Using both of your hands, your fingers curl into the thick locks of his hair, tugging just enough to him groan against your pussy, and you mewl out his name as you cum all over his face.

Your body feels like jelly; this isn’t the first time that Simon has fucked you boneless before, but this orgasm was intense. You think you can still feel some aftershocks of it, and you moan out weakly as you struggle to remain in your seated position on his face.

He’s still lapping everything up, his tongue still exploring every centimeter of yourself you have to offer him. After that climax, your poor pussy is feeling too sensitive, and every time he slightly moves his head, his nose continues to bump against your clit. You’re ultra-aware of every movement of his, extra susceptible to every flick of his tongue and the pleasure is only painfully heightened. You’re too weak to fight him off and while giving in will surely leave you unable to leave the bed all day tomorrow, you can’t find it in yourself to ask him to stop.

“Si-mon.” You whine out his name, but it comes out garbled and broken. Your mind doesn’t know how to react to the constant pleasure he’s inflicting on you and your sensitive little cunt. Your body, though, is eager to receive more of what he has to offer. It’s evident in the way your hole starts to clench around nothing every time he teasingly withdraws his tongue to force you to beg him for more. Even though you feel like you’re unable to move, you still find enough strength left in you to grind against him, rubbing your pussy and spreading your slick all over his face before you cum once again, this one leaving you all the more disorientated.

His visage is a sight to behold: cheeks are flushed red, eyes wild and dark with desire, the lower half of his face stained with your cum and arousal. You should be embarrassed at what a mess you’ve made of your fiance, but he only licks his lips. His eyes almost roll back as he realizes the taste of you will forever be on his tastebuds.

“Taste so good, love.” He gasps out. His hair is messy from the way you’ve shamelessly tugged at his locks. “I need more. You gonna give it to me?”

You’re nodding, but he doesn’t even wait for your affirmation before forcing you down onto his mouth once again.

He wasn’t lying when he made the claim that he could live in between your legs forever. After tonight, you know you’re never going to deny him the chance to prove it, though.

comment if you want your @ in heree

[alm0ndm1lk1]

Truth or Dare

Jinx x F! Reader

Warning: NSFW Minor DNI, Smoking, Freaky deaky stuff, Truth or Dare

Summary: You and Jinx are having a sleepover while there has been tension building between you both with friendly game of Truth or Dare.

Author note: This was heavily proofread so I hope you all enjoy ⭐️ #RunningoffofRedbulls

˚₊‧ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

“Can you Roll?” You asked Jinx, showing her the bag of “goodies” you received from Ekko.

“Yea, I can. Just go to my desk and grab my kit,” She tells you. You and Jinx planned to have a sleepover over at Jinx’s place. It’s turned into a normal routine between the two of you since Jinx enjoys your presence and vice versa. Isha is over at Sevika’s for the night so you and Jinx have the place to themselves - after a while of not having one on one time.

As you are searching Jinx’s desk, you couldn’t find her kit, which had you checking inside each of her drawers. In the second drawer, you open you find something quite… interesting.

“Jinx, can you come over here,” You choke out. Jinx walks over and find you looking at her blue and black strap designed with light blue accents. “Shit, I should’ve told you my kit’s in the third drawer,” She chuckled at your embarrassed expression.

Jinx moves over your body and opens the third drawer open where she pulls out her metal kit that has her rolling paper and tray, a lighter, and a grinder. “Is everything okay toots?” She whispers in your ear, moving her hand to your waist as she rest her head on your shoulder. Your breath hitches from her cold hands, “Yeah, I’m fine. I just never knew you owned one of those,” You manage to get out, “So spill. Who is it for?”

Jinx moves from behind you sliding her kit in her hand as she hums, “Dunno. Just decided to have it, that’s it. Or it might be for someone who commissioned me. You think I’m some pervert?” She then raises her eyebrow, “…or do you want me to test it out on you?” She says in a teasing tone.

You quickly respond, “Hmm I don’t know, what if you had Violet test it with Caitlyn?” The air between you two goes dead silent for a beat, and Jinx’s face twitches slightly—caught off guard by your complete lack of awareness.

Her grin falls as she processes what you just said, and then, with a laugh that feels more like a snort, she opens her rolling kit while in mock exasperation. "Oh, sweetie," she says, her voice dripping with playful amusement, "I was totally not talking about that." She gives you a sideways glance, her smile returning, but now there’s a glimmer of something more devilish in her eyes.

You stare at her, blinking in confusion, and she can’t help but laugh again.

“Alright, alright, God you are so innocent when you wanna be,” she finally says. She starts rolling the blunt shaking her head. “I’ll just… leave it to your wild imagination.”

You change the conversation and make plans about later with Jinx until she finishes rolling the blunt and glances up at you, her blue eyes glinting with mischief. "All done," she says, holding the freshly rolled blunt up between her fingers. “You can have the first hit since you rolled it,” You say, with a dismissive hand gesture.

Without missing a beat, Jinx pops the blunt into her mouth, pulls out her lighter, and with a flick she ignites the end. She takes a long drag, her chest rising as she inhales deeply, savoring the taste. After a moment, she exhales a thick plume of smoke and then looks at you with a mischievous grin.

"Come over here, toots," she says, her voice low.

You blink, not thinking twice, and crawl over to where Jinx is lounging on the couch. Your movements are casual, but to Jinx, they feel like slow, deliberate torture. She watches you with narrowed eyes, a spark of something dangerous flickering in her gaze. “How does she not know?” Jinx thinks to herself, a sense of confusion in her chest. She's been around you enough to know how comfortable you are with her—how you’ve never judged her, always accepting her for who she really is.

Bur despite all that, Jinx finds herself fighting the urge to close the distance between you two in a way that goes beyond friendly banter. You don’t even realize how you drive her mad. “How can she be so oblivious?” she thinks with a mix of frustration and desire. She’s always been protective of you, but it goes beyond just friendship. She’d never admit it out loud, but the way you look at her—so trusting, so pure. You’re so precious to her, and the idea of anyone harming you—of anyone taking advantage of that innocence— she would destroy anyone who dared hurt you, without a second thought.

Jinx’s chest tightens as she watches you settle closer to her, unaware of the storm swirling inside her. You’ve shown her kindness when others only saw her chaos, and she wants to keep you safe from all the bad people in the world who would take advantage of your trusting nature. She wishes she could protect you from everything, from all the hurt and heartbreak that life could throw your way. And, deep down, she knows she’d do whatever it takes to keep you from ever feeling that pain.

Jinx breaks out of her thoughts when she hears you whining looking up at her, “Jinx, can I take a hit?” Your lips are so pouty and cheeks are so flushed, Jinx just wants to have fun with you a bit. “Hmm, I don’t know if I want to share.”

You furrow your eyebrows, hopping in her lap and straddling her thigh— you bury your face into her shoulder and cry into her. “I was the one who got these. You’re so unfair,” You protest as Jinx takes another puff, exhaling softly. “I’m not sure you deserve it… convince me.”

You look down and grip her shoulders slowly bouncing on her thigh, “Please Jinx, I will make it up to you and we can do whatever you want for the rest of the night,” Your voice dips slightly, and though you might not realize it, the quiet sincerity behind your words only adds to the tension between you two. Jinx feels her pulse quicken, but she hides it behind a playful smirk. “Okay fine, here.” She pops the blunt into your mouth and you take a hit, blowing out a big ball of smoke. You hug Jinx, saying happily, “Thank youuu!”

Time passes and you both of y’all take hits off the blunt until it was all gone. Afterwards, you both decided to take your showers and put on your pajamas. Jinx has on a white tank top with her Cookie Monster pajama pants, while you had on a baby pink and black nightgown that cupped your soft breast as it fell to your upper thigh.

Jinx is sitting on the couch, her eyes following you as you move around the room. The moment you step into view, she takes her time looking you up and down. Her gaze lingers longer than usual, her lips curling into a playful smirk. "Hmm, cute," she murmurs, her voice low, but playful. She walks over to you and gently cups your chin in her hand, her touch soft but sending a spark of electricity through you. There’s a shift in the air, and Jinx seems to sense it, her eyes darkening slightly as her fingers traces your jaw.

She giggles, teasing, "So," she starts, her voice low, “what was that promise you were going to make up to me?” Her eyebrow raises, her playful tone mixing with something more calculating as she takes a small step closer.

You, completely oblivious to the shift in atmosphere, smile brightly, hopping up in excitement. “Oh, I’m so glad you asked!” You rush to the kitchen, “I got your favorite!” you call out over your shoulder, grabbing the tub of vanilla ice cream from the freezer and rushing back to the counter. You grab the toppings from your bag — whipped cream, chocolate syrup, and a jar of cherries. You're not aware of how Jinx's eyes never leaving you as you move.

You assemble the perfect bowl—two scoops of vanilla ice cream, topped with a mountain of whipped cream, a drizzle of chocolate syrup, and a cherry on top. You carry the bowl to the couch, setting it down between you both. You hand Jinx a spoon, smiling brightly. “Here, hope you enjoy!”

Jinx takes the spoon, and as she digs into the ice cream, she savors the flavor slowly, clearly enjoying it more than she lets on. She nods approvingly, but there’s a certain glint in her eyes that you don’t pick up on. “This is so delicious, sweetness,” she chirps, her voice teasing but also carrying a note of something else. You don’t notice the way she says sweetness, how the word rolls off her tongue, hinting at something deeper.

As you both continue eating, the ice cream quickly disappearing, Jinx suddenly breaks the silence. Her voice drops a little, but it’s still playful. “Do you wanna play a game?” she asks, her words laced with a subtle tension that you completely miss.

You hum in response, turning to her with a smile. “Sure, what are we playing?”

Jinx scoots closer, her body language shifting. She leans in, her breath warm against your ear as she whispers, “Truth or Dare.” Her voice is thick with mischief, but your brain processes it as nothing more than the next fun game for the night. You blink, tilting your head, completely unaware of the weight behind her words. “Oh, okay! Sounds fun,” you say, your tone bright and excited.

˚₊‧ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

At first, the game seemed harmless—questions like “Tell an embarrassing story,” “Have you ever broken a law?”, and “Send a random person a crazy text.” But as the night wore on, the questions grew more personal, more daring. “What’s your non-sexual turn on?” “Give me a hickey”, “Show me your favorite sex position.”

Now here you are on top of Jinx, and your head’s dizzy. Your whole body is feeling hot as you’re whining in Jinx’s lap. Jinx is groaning under you, her hand traveling up and gripping your hip to move your body against her clothed crotch. She rasps in your ear, “I would’ve never knew someone this innocent would do this with other girls... you dirty girl.” She quickly travels her hand under your nightgown to your ass, giving it a light smack and making you silently squeal into her chest. “How many girls had you do this to them? Huh? I bet there are many people that want a piece of you. You’re so cute, so innocent, ‘m almost sure I can make you do whatever I want because deep down you will chase that pleasure like a needy slut.”

You cry into Jinx’s shoulder gripping onto her blue locks for dear life, grinding your body harder and faster against Jinx. You look up to Jinx, cupping her face, looking deep into her eyes. Both of your lips are inches apart from each other. Before you can kiss her, Jinx puts her pink fingernail against your plump lips, “Nuh-uh toots.. your time is up.” She pats the side of your thigh signaling you to get off. You move off of Jinx, crawling back to your spot across from her while Jinx flashes a look at your ass. You sit in your spot looking down, while your hands trap between your legs to lessen the dull hum you’re feeling between your thighs.

“Dare,” Jinx practically purrs, giving you a devilish smile. You meekly ask, “Kiss me.”Jinx moves over to you, holding your chin in her hand as she caresses your soft skin. Her thumb toys with your bottom lip, slowly moving her lips to yours teasingly. “Please Jinx…” You whine softly, and Jinx closes the gap between you both, giving you a sweet but hungry kiss. You moan softly into the kiss. You needed her so bad.

Jinx pushes you back on the couch, needing to feel more of you as her mouth travels down your neck, creating more marks along with the ones she decorated your neck with before. Suddenly, she stops and moves back to her spot. Flashing you a sickly sweet grin, she looks at you. “So, what’ll it be, Truth or Dare?” At this point, you were so desperate and wanted to feel her more. You didn’t even think about what possible outcome could come out— “Dare,” You answered, absolutely certain with your choice.

“Grab the whipped cream from the fridge and hand it to me.” You scurried over to the fridge, grabbing the whipped cream… you had no clue what she was planning in that head of hers. That was one thing about Jinx, you never knew her next move. You walk over to her, waiting for what scheme she had planned. “Take off your nightgown but keep your panties on,” she demands. You slide the thin straps of the shoulder of your nightgown, it falling to the floor. The cold air hits your skin and as you stand in front of her, you can’t help but feel vulnerable especially since you’re almost nude while she is still fully clothed. Jinx guides you to lay down back flat on the cushion of the couch. “W-What are you going to do?” You manage to choke out. Jinx hums, looking down at your body, “Oh, you’ll see.” She darkly chuckles against you.

Jinx puts the nozzle of the whipped cream against your nipples, making you shudder from the cold hard plastic against your sensitive chest. She presses down and the white cream spreads on your breasts. You whine from the new sensation as the sweet treat is making a mess on your chest, down the valley between your breasts and onto your stomach. Once she finishes her masterpiece, she takes a minute to take It in… you looked so delicious she had to take a mental photograph to refer back to. “I wish you could see yourself right now. Can’t even believe I’m seeing this right now,” She giggles and dips her head down to your chest and starts attacking your nipple, taking it into her mouth. You shriek from the feeling of her tongue and her sucking hard on your poor chest. “J-Jinx please be gentl- ah!” You cry out loudly. Jinx completely ignores your request, going to the other side giving the same treatment. Her free hand grips your chest, teasing and pinching your nipple.

You feel your bottom half of your body tingle and you didn’t know what to do. All you can do is babble and moan from her mouth latching onto your over-sensitive chest. Once Jinx is finished with you, she lifts you up and all you both can do is giggle. “Sounds like you had a lot of fun,” She teases you. Your head is so hazy from the pleasure. To tease her back, you pick up her sticky hand and put her middle and ring finger in your mouth, sucking the lingering whipped cream off. All Jinx could do was just look at you hungrily as she spreads her slender fingers in your mouth, as your tongue is dancing between them, slightly gagging on her digits. You take your mouth off her fingers as a string of saliva comes off her fingers and onto your chin.

You sigh softly, looking into her eyes with nothing but desire. Jinx then takes a deep breath, “You know what… fuck it.” That’s all she says. She grips your hand and drags you into her room, closing the door for whatever the night has in store. You both knew for sure, you both will take your time with each other.

˚₊‧ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Part 2 coming soon !! Hope you enjoyed

- Angel 💋

[seungfl0wer]

*𝐵𝒶𝓇 𝐵𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝓎*

Pairing: Biker!Minho x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, Oral (M), Outdoors Sex, Unprotected, Pull out game (wow not a Creampie? What is this?) think that’s it. Sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings

-🖤

Minho was a regular at your bar, he always came in sitting away from everyone. He kept to himself however always flirted with you. It was cute, he was cute. However you were in a relationship.

“So gonna let me take you for a ride beautiful?” He’d ask.

“I don’t know, let me ask my boyfriend” you’d tease back.

This is how it always went, he never pressured you. Never did anything to make it feel weird. He was always respectful. Today when he came in he asked you like normal but when you responded he was taken back.

“So you ready for that ride today?” He’d said wiggling his eyebrows.

“I get off in 30” you said smiling but acting like you were cleaning the counter.

He looked at you puzzled for a second “wait really?” He asked.

“Yeah, unless you’re to chicken now since I said yes” you’d teased.

“What about your boyfriend?” He asked.

You pointed to a booth, a man who was tongue deep with a woman. “Looks like I don’t have one anymore” you shrugged.

His eyes went wide “I’ll kick his ass that little-“ he started as he got up.

“Don’t bother, he’s not even worth it. He’s dumb enough to come here. Out of all places” you laughed.

Minho was almost confused on how much you didn’t care. Maybe it was something that was coming for a long time. Or maybe it was the fact after seeing this you lost any feeling you had for him when you saw him cheating. Either way Minho wasn’t gonna waste the opportunity. Not when he’s found you attractive for so long.

He stayed at the bar like normal staring at you a little harder than he normally did. When your shift was up he handed you his helmet telling you he’d rather have you protected than him. When you walked out with him your ex got up realizing you were here today. “Y/n!” He yelled. He ran outside after the two of you as you got on the back of Minhos bike.

“What the hell are you doing!” He said walking towards you.

“Sorry I don’t date cheaters” you say with a wave as Minho revved his engine. You wrapped your arms around him giving him butterflies. Before you knew it he was speeding off. It felt freeing. You’d missed so many opportunities to do this and for what? A cheater?

You held onto Minho tightly as he tuned to pull off into a gas station. He tapped your head to take off the helmet. “I gotta give you a little run down real quick.” When you nodded he continued. “So turns you gotta move your body with mine ok? Gotta move the weight with the bike. You can hold onto the small handles on the back too. Also if you keep squeezing me like that we are gonna have a problem” he said his tone teasing with that last part.

You blushed a bit but everything right now felt exciting. You were definitely gonna test the waters. When you got back in the road you let your hands slip lower. Letting them rest on thighs. You felt his body tense a bit before relaxing into your touch. You took it as a sign moving them up more until they were inches away from his crotch.

You couldn’t hear anything but he let out a sigh his cock growing harder by the minute. He saw a sign for a hiking trail turning onto the road knowing no one would be there at this time. When he pulled in you were a bit confused taking off your helmet to look at him. “You gonna murder me out here?” You joked.

“Oh totally, definitely didn’t pull off cause of someone’s hands.” He teased back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you said innocently.

He turned your body on the bike making sure you wouldn’t fall. Putting the stand down before pulling your body to his. You could feel how hard he was against you. “I told you we’d have a problem didn’t I?” He said with a smirk.

He put his hand under your chin your faces inches away from one another’s. Neither of you moved for a few seconds before you broke the silence “you gonna kiss me or just keep staring” you said. The smirk that spread across his face was enough to make you wet. God was he ever so hot. He wrapped your legs around him as he kissed you deeply. His lips were as soft as they looked, they felt like little pillows. He tasted like the alcohol he was drinking with a hint of mint from his gum.

His hand came down to your waist as he grinned his cock into you. You let out a soft moan into the kiss letting his tongue slide in. He kissed you with such need before pulling away slightly “god I’ve wanted you for so long” he said almost desperately.

“I’ve actually had a- recurring dream of you” you admitted.

“Yeah? Tell me”

“You sat on your bike while use my mouth” you said a bit shyly.

He stared at you like you just said the hottest thing in the world to him “let’s make it a reality then” he said moving away from you to get into position. He slipped his pants down a small bit letting his painfully hard cock finally spring forward. Your mouth almost watered at the sight of him.

You inched yourself closer to him kissing the tip of his cock. Slowly licking it before taking him back your throat. His hands gripped at your head before pushing back as far as he could. “Gonna let me use this pretty mouth of yours?” He asked. You nodded looking up at him with soft eyes. Ugh how were you so fucking hot he thought to himself. He fucked your mouth slowly quickly getting lost in the feeling. “Fuck you’re taking me so well beautiful” he groaned. He was using your mouth like a flesh light. Fucking into it a little rougher now “fuck- fuck-“ he moaned pulling himself from you.

“Come here” he said positioning you on his bike. He had you bent over the seat. He slipped your pants down just enough. Before moving the tip of his cock up and down your now soaked folds. “All this for me?”

“Yes- all for you” you groaned.

He wasted no time before slowly pushing into you. His body almost trembled at the feeling of your warm walls sucking him in. He gripped at your thighs as he pushed into you fully cock hitting your most sensitive spots. “Y/n fuck- you- ah- feel so good” he moaned out.

You gripped at the bike as he pounded into you the sounds of sex and moans filing the woods that surrounded you. His hand left your hip coming around to play with your clit. He rubbed circles around it, it was like he knew your body already. “Beautiful I’m sorry- I’m not gonna last- ah- fuck-“ he moaned out.

“It’s ok- ah- I’m- I’m close too” you moaned back.

“Cum with me- please- shit I’m- I’m so close” he said his thrust becoming sloppier and sloppier.

His fingers found your weak spot moving over it making your body shake. “I’m- cumming!” You screamed your orgasm creeping up on you faster than expected. Your walls tightened as you came making him pull out cumming on the ground below him. “Fuck- fuck-“ he moaned.

He pulled your body to his holding you tightly against him. “Are you ok?” He asked breathily.

“Mhm. Just. A little cold” you said back.

With no hesitation he took off his leather jacket wrapping it around you. “How about we go back to my place? We can.. cuddle” he said with a shy smile.

“That sounds perfect”

After that day Minho came to pick you up from work every night. Finally making it official after a week. He even scared your ex away that tried showing up at the bar after you blocked him. You wished you did this way sooner but he was finally yours now and he wouldn’t let you go even if you wanted.

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💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget

[ohmygodryan]

Scars | Astarion x Dark Urge Reader

Summary: Astarion goes to comfort you after finding you’ve wandered from camp.

Pre-confession. Takes place in Act 1. Dark Urge trauma. Hurt/comfort.

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Two things constantly swarmed Astarion’s mind—fear and, of course, eternal hunger. The innate bloodlust that came with vampirism was manageable to a degree. His nightly hunt in the woods was enough to keep him sated, at least for a certain amount of time. 

It was the fear that truly plagued him. He had been thrown from a life of enslavement to a life of uncertainty. Even with the newly found amenities the parasite had brought him, he felt he was doomed no matter what. He wanted to believe it could bring him salvation but around every corner, another danger seemed to emerge. He had never been accustomed to trusting others. Yet there was one person he felt himself growing more attached to every moment. 

You, of all people, had shown him nothing but kindness. You, who clawed through bodies with a tantalizing ambition, always turned a soft gaze to him. It wasn’t your spells of primal violence that frightened him—that part was actually quite delightful, it was that through all of that, you still seemed to care. 

You had let him feed on you, which was the first time he’d ever drank from something other than lowly vermin or unfortunate animals. You had protected him from the clutches of the monster hunter who Cazador had sent after him. You even allowed him to slaughter the Gir without question. You were understanding and even more so exciting. It almost made him feel bad for manipulating you so brazenly.

The thought was beginning to trouble him to such a degree he’d taken to hunting more frequently than usual. On tonight's menu was an unlucky deer. It had been fast, but he was always faster. Although this was a waste of his talents, he much preferred to feed on you. Usually, you were quick to offer. But there had been something troubling you for the last couple of days. More so than the usual brain fog.

He had settled to make his way back to camp for the night. As he stalked through the foliage back to the comfort of his tent, he noticed a familiar figure sulking next to the lake. 

~

Nightfall had become a loathsome burden for you. Your companions welcomed the comfort of their bedrolls at the end of a long day of searching for a cure for your shared affliction. However, you had begun to dread the nightly ritual of tossing and turning. 

You were plagued with growing visions and fantasies of your gory nature. The Urge inside you was growing more impatient by the day. There may have been a time when darkness was an exciting veil that created a playground for your violence to lavish in. Even if that was the case, reminiscing wasn’t a luxury you were afforded. 

Ever since you had ruthlessly savaged that innocent Bard, Alfira, your urges had begun to fester like an open wound. The guilt was eating you away. You hadn’t wanted this. Sure, the occasional violence was necessary and you couldn’t deny that each foe you fell was like the pleasures of a healing spell. However, she wasn’t deserving of your blade. She had offered to join your cause, you had even helped her finish her song in honor of her dead teacher. 

Yet it was not to be. Because you are a monster. 

You gazed at your reflection in the water below. You had wandered from camp in hopes of distracting yourself from another wave of horrible thoughts. Although it was proving fruitless. 

Your face was the only familiar thing about yourself. You didn’t know your own mind or your past. Now, even your reflection was growing foreign. You had been pondering the long scar that stretched from your chin across your cheek. The tissue was mangled, whatever wound you endured was deep. How you procured it was another mystery to you.

As you were about to look away, you saw another image appear next to yours. He had been the only one to notice you were gone. Or maybe you had somehow disturbed his nightly hunt. 

“Darling, what are you doing away from your bedroll?” His flirtatious drawl snapped you out of your stupor. 

You hesitated to answer. The last thing you wanted to do was burden him with your depravity. Although it was likely he didn’t want to listen to you prattle anyway. 

“I couldn’t rest.” You responded simply, “I came out here to clear my thoughts.”

He was uncharacteristically quiet as he considered your slumped form. He had never seen you so dejected before. Usually, you carried yourself with an intimidating—if not a little unhinged form. But in the cover of darkness, you looked almost scared.

“Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but it doesn’t seem very effective. You look a little, how do I say this…lost? A bit more desperate than usual.” He garnished his words with a little smirk. 

You scoffed at his typical attitude. He never turned a nose to an opportunity to comment on you or your companions. Although, he seemed to enjoy a reaction from you in particular. However this time, you thought you could hear a tinge of concern, or perhaps curiosity, in his tone.

“I just have a lot on my mind.” You replied.

You knew Astarion all too well. He likely wanted something from you. He had his charms and usually you humored his antics. You couldn’t deny you were the most fond of him out of all your companions. Right now, however, you weren’t in the mood for any flirty banter. 

To your surprise, he didn’t respond with any snarky remarks. Instead, he took a seat next to you on the grassy bank. You turned your head quizzically, regarding his pale form. His hair was tousled from the night's hunt, only slightly disturbed from its usually pristine form. The silver lighting framed the fang indents on his neck, a crude reminder of his vampiric curse. 

“What troubles you, my dear?” He asked, eyeing you with his ruby gaze.

You surveyed him, trying to clock any deception on his features. You were all too aware of how practiced he was at enthralling others. He had an uncannily silver tongue. 

He maintained his usual flirty smile, although there was a softness to his gaze. You shifted uneasily in your spot. You hated when he gave you that look. The Urge laced your consciousness with visions of his demise with every sweet feeling you perceived him with. You cast your gaze back to the lake, holding your tongue fast. Your throat ached to spill what had been ailing you, but your fear was a far greater master. 

“Why do you care?” You questioned, distracting yourself with the steady ripples of the water.

He chuckled at your harshness. You weren’t usually so brash. It only served to further pique his curiosity.

“Well we can’t have our fearless leader out of commission, can we? Don’t tell me the worm is besting you now?” He pushed.

You gritted your teeth in hopes of killing the feeling sputtering inside you. He was right. With how you’ve been acting, the group would never make progress in removing the tadpoles.

“The parasite isn’t the one scrambling my brain. My head is a mess.” You confessed, refusing to make eye contact.

He paused, joining you in looking out at the landscape. He wasn’t a fool. He had noticed your episodes of flitting between selves. After all, you had executed a poor innocent squirrel unprovoked. 

“You are referring to your mysterious past, correct?” He didn’t wait for you to reply, “It is quite obvious you’ve got something besides the tadpole swimming in that lovely little head of yours.”

You frowned at his words. What little of your memories remained could only be recalled in a painful fog. They were like mismatched puzzle pieces, entirely incomprehensible. 

“If I could remember something, maybe I could figure out what is wrong with me.” You declared hopelessly.

Your mind raced across the weeks before. From crashing to invading goblin camps, you were still no closer to knowing who you were. 

He took in your words with careful thought. He hadn’t entirely expected you to open up as it was.

“Well if there’s one thing I’ve learned from this peculiar adventure of ours is that anything can happen. If I can walk in the sun again, who’s to say you can’t you can figure out who you were?” He expressed, looking at you from the corner of his eye. 

He wasn’t wrong. You knew his entire life changed from your group’s capture. Although, you hesitated to want to know the truth of who you were before the crash. It could be a horrific truth that you were a depraved being who deserved to die on that nautiloid. 

“Sometimes I get a brief inkling of recalling something and then… nothing. Maybe if I could remember I would know how to stop these urges.” You thought out loud. 

His attentive expression willed you to voice your confliction. You pressed on, uneasy at the prospect of being so honest.

“It’s like there's a sea of thrashing tides when they come over me. I can’t be sure what will set them off. Just when I think I will be able to resist them….” You trailed off, refusing to put into words what you’d done.

A grim silence surrounded you. For a moment, you feared you had shared too much. He may very well be considering his place in the party, probably debating whether or not it was worth being around such instability.

“I know what you did.” He said finally.

You tensed at his words. Images of the fiendish entity that claimed to be your butler pranced in your head. He had even given you a prize for your macabre achievement. 

“I know it was no rabid boar that killed that bard from the grove. You may have convinced the others but I could see it in your eyes. I recognize the remnants of repressed savagery.” Astarion looked back at you, but instead of an accusatory gaze, you saw understanding.

“I do not blame you for it.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows. He had knowingly slept in the same camp as you for all this time, even seeing how you gored Alfira beyond recognition. You felt your stomach swirl in unease.

“Why didn’t you tell everyone?” You questioned.

His expression hardened into one of bitter sympathy, “Because, I know better than anyone what it’s like to not have control over your own body. Whatever compulsion plagues you isn’t really who you are.”

Your face fell at the mention. You clenched your hands together, the memories of what he’d shared with you about his previous life flooding back. He was a vampire spawn, he wasn’t afforded such basic rights such as free will.

“Cazador…” You spoke the name of his old master hesitantly. 

He nodded grimly, “It never mattered what I wanted. I had to bend to his every whim.”

You watched as his eyes danced with the painful memories. His delicate lips pulled into a deep frown as if the very thought filled his mouth with a foul taste. 

“But I have been made anew. The tadpole gave me a chance to become more than just his slave.” He looked at you determinedly, “You too have been given an opportunity and I suggest you don’t let it slip away.”

You felt a flicker of optimism in your chest. But even so, it seemed your past was following you. You knew finding a cure for your parasite wouldn’t be the end of your problems

“Do you really think this will help me remember my past?” You said with uncertainty.

“Maybe. We’ve seen more things than I thought possible on our little misadventure. Even so, you at least have a chance to figure out what's causing these urges of yours. You said you have been able to recall a few memories, right?” He replied with a gentle conviction. 

His words seemed to soothe you and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You looked back to your reflection as if examining your face would retrace your steps through the fog of your mind. 

You scoffed as you stared at yourself, “It’s not like they are much help. I can’t even remember how I got this scar.”

You gestured to the obvious laceration on your face. He surveyed you thoughtfully, taking in your exhausted expression. The moonlight cast a serene glow on you, painting you in a haunting beauty. Whatever had done that to you hadn’t done much to tarnish your allure. 

“It seems like both of us have scars we don’t know the meaning of.” He mused.

You held his gaze sorrowfully. You recalled him basking in the sunlight after the night you’d spent together. The strange marks carved into his back by Cazador sparked in your memory. 

“I’m sure there’s someone out there who can tell you what they say.” You offered him a hesitant smile.

He returned it, his expression looking more genuine than you’d ever seen it before. He leaned back and rested his weight on his palms. He stared up at the stars, allowing himself to relish in the comfort of understanding.

“Perhaps you’re right.” He let out a peaceful breath, “‘We can figure it out together,’ I think you said that to me once?”

You nodded and he continued with a smile, “Well it’s true. We can solve our mysteries one step at a time.” 

You joined him in looking up at the sky. For the first time in countless days, the urges didn’t tug at the back of your mind. It was just you and him in this moment. It was like you were invisibly bound together by what you had shared. Even in the silence, you savored in each other's company. 

You didn’t care if his coming to comfort you had been sincere or not. He had given you hope, that’s all that mattered. 

That night you would partake in something you hadn’t in quite some time. A tranquil rest.

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Let me know if anyone would be interested in more bg3 content or a full series. This game is my bread and butter.