#just imagine a deep guttural sigh

[inthehystericalrealm]

‘blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff’

𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

You begin to have intimate dreams about your roommate, Spencer. [9k]

c: pining roommates, dreams, tipsy non-confessions, spencer being a sweetheart. fem!reader. this fic was requested! 

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

i. a dreamt bruise 

“What are you doing?” 

Your chest lists slightly forward as a body warms your back. Arms wrap around you, solid but gentle, arms you’ve been held by a thousand times. 

You cover them with one of your own. “What does it look like I’m doing?” you feel yourself ask. 

The room is golden, gaussian, better now he’s behind you.

“I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked.” His voice is soft in your ear. His hair presses to the side of your face as he hugs you —you’ve never felt love like this. It’s palpable. It’s in his hands. 

Nobody’s called you dove before, but he is, he has. It might feel strange if it weren’t for how softly he said it, affection in the very marrow of the word, warmth of it kissing your cheek as he holds you. He says ‘dove’, and it feels like he loves you. Feels like you’ve done something beautiful to earn it, but that’s the beauty of it: you didn’t do anything. 

The room turns narrow, sunlight on the dining room table of your apartment. A table usually crowded thickly with books, or your work. A space has been cleared away and filled with pieces of a jigsaw. 

“I thought you were going to do this with me,” you say, dragging a piece across the table with your fingertip. 

“Maybe later.” 

“You can’t stand there all night.” 

Are you sure? you think he says, but things are hazy, and he’s turning you toward him suddenly, you’re standing, the puzzle forgotten. “How’s your bruise?” 

“What?” you ask, almost sleeping as a big, kind hand drags up the front of your shirt, holding it to the underside of your breast. 

“Does it still hurt?” 

His thumb brushes over your contusion, skin on your side, your back. It’s tender. Any breath is lost, any sense of breathing at all. You’re not a girl so much as something being touched with care, warm joy and love and a contrasting ache wedged under your heart as he draws a circles into your skin. 

He hums sympathetically, the weight of him ebbing as he leans away, letting your shirt fall back into place. 

The dream stretches on for a lifetime, the two of you standing in your living room, dining table behind you, couch and TV opposite. Your life in one room, his life, his books, his furniture, but your home. You know it all well, just, in the light, you can’t see the stitching. 

He takes your face into his hand. Nobody’s ever touched you like, turned your face up like they were moving through honey, staring at you with eyes that shade of brown. Brown, brown… so big. So melting. 

Spencer holds your face gently. 

His nose touches yours. He tips his forehead into yours, his breath skimming lips he’d just warmed as he says, “Don’t worry, alright? You’ll be okay. Just take it easy,” he says, the last of his pleading lost to your mouth. 

You wake up with a caught breath. 

Your eyes are glued together, eyelashes threaded, gummy. You turn into the pillow beside you, slightly deflated and cold where you’d turned away in the night. 

The room is dark when you manage to pry your eyes open. You close them just as quickly, begging your body to sleep, to plunge back into the dream. Just five more minutes of golden colour, hugging your pillow, love in somebody’s hand, in Spencer’s hand… five more minutes…

Your eyes open again. 

Spencer’s hand on your cheek, guiding you carefully upwards for a kiss. 

You raise your hand, feeling along the swell of your bottom lip with your thumb and index finger. They tremble with the weakness of having just woken up. With having something torn away from you. 

What was that? you think, the hook of sleep lodged in your throat as you struggle to sit up. Your face tips forwards heavily, but your back doesn’t hurt like it tends to in the early mornings before work. There’s no ache there —your body slept well. You use your hands as anchors and drag yourself foot first from the bed. Your sheets fall to the floor with a quiet shush. 

It felt so real that for a moment you’re wondering where Spencer went. 

He was touching you, he was caressing your waist. You rush to the door of your room, every night left ajar, pushing it open and beelining for the bathroom. You flick on the light and stop in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, wondering if you’re foolish enough to do this, before peeling your shirt from your stomach to analyse your bruise. 

It’s not there. 

You turn and contort yourself to catch the light. Maybe it was further back? But no… there’s no bruise, nothing for Spencer to check. Your torso is a stretch of unharmed skin to run your hand down without pain. 

Your head whirs. 

From somewhere in the apartment, Spencer puts down a mug. You flush with heat at the realisation that he’s home, and panic flares when his footsteps move in your direction. Your bedrooms are on opposite sides of the apartment, and there are two bathrooms —the bath and toilet near your room, and the en-suite to his room— meaning Spencer’s coming to see you specifically. 

“Hey, Y/N?” he says. 

It’s been a few days since he was home, and you aren’t just roommates, Spencer’s your friend. He sounds happy that you’re awake, pausing at your bedroom door. 

“I’m in the bathroom!” you say, your dry throat turning your voice to fractures. 

“I just wanted you to know I’m home. Are you working?” 

“It’s Saturday.”

He laughs. “Oh. I know, I forgot. Well, can I make you breakfast? I was gonna have oats and sliced bananas and stuff.” 

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “I’ll be right there.” 

“Sorry,” he says, like he’s just remembered where you are. “This is harassment. I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

You wash your face and brush your teeth. You head back into your room to change from your pyjamas into loungewear that’s just as soft. The flavour of your dream follows you around, you’d like to call it sweetness, saccharinity, but it doesn’t fit the bill. The feeling you’d woken with wasn’t a sugar high but contentedness, like a warm evening meal. You’d felt utterly sated, your arms reaching out for a body that wasn’t there. 

A heaviness takes your heart. Suffocating longing, you carry it to the kitchen with you to find Spencer’s already made you a cup of your tea. He’s warming oatmeal on the stove, blueberries and bananas on the countertop. You sit at the island. You should hug him. If you hadn’t dreamt of his hands on your waist what felt like mere moments ago, you would’ve. 

“Did you go shopping?” 

“I did, I went to Leaven last night. You were already sleeping at ten.” He peeks at you from over his shoulder. “Long day yesterday?” 

“I get too tired by Friday,” you say, averting your gaze to stare down into your mug, steam twirling up to kiss your chin. 

“No, I get it. Me too. Are you feeling any better today?” 

You were sick when he left. “I’m fine.” 

“Okay, good. I’m gonna put the blueberries in with the oatmeal, is that okay?” 

“Sure.” 

“Okay.” Spencer’s gaze lingers on you. He turns back to the counter. 

He cuts two bananas. You realise he has strawberries, too, watching as he cuts them, wetness leaking from their punnets where he must’ve rinsed them in the sink. He slices out the stems and cuts the strawberries in clean halves like hearts. 

“I missed you,” he says. 

You can’t read his tone, but you aren’t cruel, even feeling shy as you are. “I missed you too. How was the case? Everyone made it home in one piece, right?” 

“Everyone’s fine. Emily got into a car accident and it was pretty bad, but she’s okay now. Recovering from her concussion at home with Sergei.” 

That’s good. You’ve met Spencer’s boss, Agent Hotchner (very scary), and Emily, JJ, and Penelope (who aren’t scary at all). You’re glad to hear they’re all okay, because they’re good people, and they risk a lot to keep others safe. You forget sometimes how much Spencer puts on the line whenever he leaves. 

You poke at him for details of the case, though legally there are things he has to keep from you, and you don’t mind either way. Nothing personal can crop up while talking of murder, and for now you’d like the conversation to stay far away from you and your bed and your sudden dream. 

You assume you’re safe, but then Spencer mentions the bruise one of the sergeants got from their weapon’s kickback and you’re flushing nervously all over again. 

Spencer grabs two bowls from the cabinet, dark brown ceramics he got from Koreatown, the perfect size for each helping of oatmeal. The purple from the insides of the blueberries bleed into the oats as he pours.

He lays each bowl with a curve of banana slices, strawberries, and covers half with a drizzle of dark fudge sauce. “Salt?” he asks. 

“Yes, please.” 

Spencer grabs two spoons from the cutlery drawer. He grins when he finally turns, bowls held aloft, making his way to the stool beside you. He puts his own down first, then the cutlery, standing ever so slightly behind you as he lays your breakfast down in front of you. “What have you been doing while I was away?” he asks softly. 

You can’t look at him. Can’t think. 

What are you doing? 

What does it look like I’m doing? 

I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked. 

You lean away from his presence, desperate to have him follow, and ashamed. Spencer’s a friend, a good one, he’s kind and loving and handsome beyond description, but you’ve never thought of him like that. Each time your mind slips wondering what he might be like in love, you’ve let the thought go. But now... 

You shrug, grabbing your spoon. “Not much, Spencer. This looks amazing, it’s really pretty. Thank you for cooking.” 

“No problem. Are you sure you’re feeling better? You don’t look so good.” 

You take a quick bite of oatmeal, the spoon scalding your tongue, “Ah,” you say, breathing harshly around it, “I’m fine. Woke up a little wrong, that’s all.” 

Spencer sits in the seat next to you with a soft smile. “Good. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” 

Oh, no, you think, reading way too much into how he says it. No, no, no.

—

ii facts 

We should explore the city, Spencer declares after breakfast, before we forget what it’s like to be outside!

You were outside yesterday before you got home, and everything sucked as much as it usually did —it’s the weekend, and the point of it is to stay home resting and or lazing, but you wouldn’t usually say no to Spencer so you can’t now. He can’t ever know about your dream, so he can’t know how you’re feeling, so you have to be the friends you’ve always been. 

Spencer analyses people for a reason, but you have practice. You’ve successfully hidden what it was that morning that made you feel cagey and tender. He knows something is wrong regardless. He attempts to fix it the best way he knows how: Spencer talks. 

“Cheese production globally outshadows coffee, tea, tobacco, and chocolate, over twenty two million metric tons of it every year, with almost half of that made in Europe alone, which is only a half million metric ton more than what’s being eaten. The average American eats forty two pounds of cheese a year, but I don’t really like cheese that much? So I’m bringing the average down. Besides, every time I eat cheese I get strange dreams.  There’s actually a chemical in cheese called tyramine which is linked to nightmares. Hey, you okay?” 

“Cheese gives you weird dreams?” 

“Why, have you been eating a lot of it lately?” 

“No,” you say resolutely. “I hate cheese. I’ve never eaten cheese before.” 

“That’s a lie.” 

“Let’s get donuts.”

Spencer is easily swayed. You glance around the square for the McDonald’s and follow that to the street with the bakery, landmark to landmark, until the smell of sugar and oil is strong enough to follow. “Do you wanna know something about donuts?” he asks, crushing in behind you as you pass through the heavy wooden door of the bakery and join the line. 

“Sure.” 

“They were first called oily cakes.” 

“I knew that,” you say, “you’ve told me that, Spencer. That’s the first fact anybody thinks of.” 

“Okay, don’t be rude,” he says, giving you a playful poke in the ribs, right into the bruise that isn’t a bruise. 

You look over your shoulder at him, catching his eye. You share a long look that’s daunted on your part and confused on his, brown eyelashes tangling in the corners the longer he looks at you. “What?” he asks, squinting. 

”Nothing.” 

“Okay,” he says, his voice lowering, quiet to match the hush of the bakery and its humming fridges, “don’t tell me. I’ll work it out eventually.” 

“Dude!” 

“What?” he asks with a laugh. 

“Boundaries!” you laugh back. “Stop trying to figure me out.” 

“But there’s something to figure out?” 

He’s evil when he smiles like that. His pride is adorable, giving his sweet face an even fresher look. You’d pinch his cheeks if they weren’t already pinking in the October cold. His scarf hasn’t saved him, his coat buttoned tightly no match for the winds. Not to say it’s a bad day. The weather is fine if you keep your fingers in your pockets and your nose in the depths of your coat. 

“What do we want?” you ask rather than answer. 

They have white icing, chocolate with sprinkles, jelly middles, smiley faces. They have donut holes by the bag. “Hazelnut spread,” you say, pointing at the side of the case. “That looks good.” 

He enters in conspiratorial whispers with you. “Apple cider doughnuts with cinnamon sugar,” he says, pointing at the row below. “What about a double chocolate chunk cookie? They look good. Hey, there’s cake in the fridge.” 

You let him lean into your side. His hair kisses your cheek.  

“Pick whatever you want, okay?” he asks, offering a smaller smile than before. “I’m buying.”

“You can’t, Spencer Reid, I want so many things.” 

“It’s fine, I missed you, I dragged you out when you wanted to stay in bed.” He stares at you. “Let me,” he mouths. 

You ignore the hot twist of your stomach and nod. Okay. 

Spencer buys the baked goods you’d admitted to wanting and the three others you’d eyed, as well as a cookie and two fat slices of red velvet cake. He asks you to carry the box while he pays. The woman behind the counter gives you a knowing look and a flick of her head, as if to say, Lucky you. You can’t quite smile back, distracted by the insinuation. You haven’t thought of it before, but you and Spencer, naturally, look like a couple. You could easily be one. And the idea that she thinks so fills you with a shocking amount of smugness. 

You and Spencer head home before dinner. On the walk back, he pulls the cookie apart and offers you half. 

—

What if, when you fall asleep tonight, you dream of Spencer again? 

You lay on your back with your hand on your chest, drawing circles. The cold of the evening is explained by the rain lashing your window, distant winds coming forceful now. A thunderstorm. You tap the middle of your chest in an attempt to be idle, rather than restless. 

It isn’t a dream you’d like to have again, you decide. Spencer had been soft. You’d been familiar with each other. 

What would it really feel like to have him touch you like that? Is Spencer confident, when he’s comfortable? Is he imposing? 

My stomach, you think slowly, is never going to stop spinning. 

“Y/N?” Spencer asks. 

You can hear him all the way from the kitchen. 

“Yeah?” you ask, raising your voice so it carries. 

“Can I come and sit with you?”

It’s an odd request. You know Spencer’s like you, no social butterfly, quiet and content to spend time by oneself because being with others hasn’t always been an option. He isn’t timid, however, and his asking shouldn’t shock you, but it does. “Sure,” you say, shifting onto one side of the bed. 

Spencer arrives at the ajar door and lets himself in. He carries two bottles of water and a heat pack, which he likes to use when the weather allows it. A creature comfort, you assume. Something soothing and constant, like the sound of a fan at night, or rain on a window. 

“I can’t sleep,” he says, “which doesn’t make much sense.” Spencer sits on the empty side of the bed, his lips pulled into a grimace. “I like the rain.” 

He’s more handsome when he’s smiling, but there’s a charm to him as he passes you a bottle of water and crosses his legs. The plaid slacks he’s wearing are rough with age, dark blues that seem black in the low lighting. 

“Maybe it’s because of work,” you say. 

“Maybe, but I’m pretty used to getting woken up.” 

“Right. It’s not easy, though, the stuff you do. It would keep me up at night if I did your job.” 

“I think sometimes doing my job is the only reason I can sleep.” 

“It's hard. Sounds hard, Spence.” You relax into your pillow, turning to see him. Spencer’s eyes run along your hip for a millisecond, just long enough to remind you that he’s a boy, that he could see you in a different light. 

“It’s okay,” he says. 

“Was it hard, this time?” you ask. 

“No,” he whispers. “I don’t know, it was bad when Emily got hurt, but she’s so stubborn. If Morgan didn’t strap her down she would’ve kept going like nothing happened.” 

You and Spencer have lived together for so long that you remember a time before he even knew Emily. You answered his ad in the paper —you hadn’t realised people still put ads in the paper— looking for a roommate. His apartment was already furnished and he didn’t want to change much, but the second bedroom was spacious and the bathroom could be monopolised. As a girl, you’d been a little dubious reading about a single male looking for any gender, but his self-description was inviting. Twenty-two, just finished a doctorate, working for the FBI and expected to be away from the state at least once a month. 

You’d met Spencer and felt even less intimidated. He was awkward and dorky but friendly, too, with his glasses he apparently didn’t want to wear, but would eventually give in (before choosing contacts), and his big red sweater fit for a grandpa. “I can make more room for you but I can’t get rid of the books,” he said, “so I don’t expect you to pay a neat half.” 

How could you pass it up? 

“I can’t believe I’ve never met them,” you say. 

“Do you want to?” 

He sounds so surprised. “They’re your friends. I’m your… friend.” 

“You’re my best friend. I’ll arrange something, or try to. It’s hard to get us all in one room when that room isn’t the conference room,” he says. 

“You look nice in a t-shirt,” you say, not thinking as the words come out. 

Spencer leans in to whisper, “Thanks. You like this one?” 

His t-shirt says, I may be NErDy, but only periodically. The NErDy is made up of elements from the periodic table. It’s a bad pun. 

“I love it.” 

He reaches for you. Tentative, he squeezes your elbow. “Is there something wrong? All day it’s like… I don’t know, did something happen when I was gone?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“But…” 

“Please,” you say, as he catches the last bit of light from the hallway, every eyelash illuminated for the counting. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Spencer. But thank you.” 

He, in a move that’s almost uncharacteristic, pushes your arm into the mattress and leans over you. “I wanna be the first one to know when you do wanna talk,” he says firmly, holding your gaze. 

How’s your bruise? 

You nod mechanically. Spencer recedes. “Okay, good,” he says, grinning. 

“Good,” you echo, thinking of Spencer in the dream, his hand on your hip and climbing up your sore ribs. “Let’s watch TV.” 

—

iii. scared of snow 

“You’re being weird.” 

“I’m not,” you refute. 

“You are.” 

Spencer frowns at you, a show full downturn of the lips. A dusting of snow lands in his hair and you both look up to catch it, a drift of it from the marquee as you pass. You don’t remember when it started snowing, but it feels like it’s been coming down for days. It’s in his eyelashes. Your sleeves are wet with it. 

“The snow’s making you strange.”

You hold out your hand with fingers parted, feeling his laugh travelling down his arm and into yours as he takes it, intertwining your fingers tightly. He doesn’t feel cold. 

“It’s making you strange,” you mumble. 

You and Spencer walk down a cobbled road. Snow crunches under your shoes, turned to slush in the high traffic spots by vendors booths left curiously empty of shopkeepers, though their festive wares still line the insides, carved cuckoo birds and metal ornaments, glass balls made to be personalised for mantles. You can smell orange oil and chocolate fudge, crepe carts and churros and cinnamon, and then suddenly any hint of your olfactory sense is gone. 

“It’s so quiet.” 

“It’s the snow,” he says, pulling your arm against his chest as you walk and walk, your footsteps the only sound. “It acts as a sound absorber when it’s fluffy like this. The sound waves get caught.” 

Caught. You think, or say, not sure if it makes it out of your mouth. 

“Like you,” he says, stopping in the middle of the road. 

“What?” you ask. 

Snow lands in his eyelashes. “You’re caught,” he says. 

You wake up thinking his hand is on your cheek. Like a nightmare, you start, still picturing his lips moving around the words. Caught, you think again, heart a hummingbird in your chest. Your mouth is dry. The heat is up —Spencer must be home again. 

You suck in a deep breath and sit up, curling over yourself protectively. 

You dream about Spencer more often than ever, and half the time they’re normal dreams, which is to say, they follow no rhyme or reason, with no discernible plot. Spencer loses all his teeth, or he takes you to the movies to see one of his long Swedish films, or he’s an afterthought, a bystander. The main plot of your dream doesn’t involve him at all. 

But the other half of the time is ruining your life. You dream of Spencer holding your hand like you had been, or touching your shoulder. Never again do you dream of that tender bruise, but Spencer lifts your shirt in other scenarios. He pulls your pyjamas off, his hand inching between your legs but never touching, or he helps you out of your bra. And every time you think, why is this happening to me? Perhaps a sex dream could be explained away by want and Spencer’s proximity, but all these constant intimacies weigh heavy in your head. 

You head to the shower and picture Spencer helping you out of your bra, and all of you goes hot, so you turn the water to lukewarm and stand until you’re cold to the point of misery. You clamber out and shiver into a towel, then your robe. 

Spencer’s humming in the kitchen. 

You honestly wish that the dreams made you like him less, that the sound of him might send you running back into your room, but you poke your head out of the bathroom and wait until he enters the living room. He sees you waiting, his face splitting into a smile. “Hey, good morning, did you sleep better?” 

You can’t explain the discombobulation of your dreams. Spencer had become convinced you have insomnia. You may have let him assume. 

“Slept fine,” you croak. 

“Okay, well get dressed and I’ll make you some coffee.” 

“‘Kay.” Your stomach pangs with nerves seeing him, reminded of tonight’s big event. “Are we still, uh, on, for tonight?” 

“Nervous?” he asks. 

You feel like you're about to be a fish in a pool of sharks. “Of course not.” 

 “Yeah, still on, even JJ.” 

Awesome. Spencer turns around to make you your cup of coffee and you go to your room, dressing quickly, two pairs of socks. You tone your face and moisturise, fanning yourself slowly. You don’t hurry to the living room, but you aren’t slow, and it’s not Spencer, you tell yourself. Not Spencer. You’re just craving the warmth of a cup of coffee. 

You spend the morning together on the couch. Spencer reads and occasionally chats to you about whatever tome it is that specific half an hour. You make sandwiches at lunch time, he showers in the early evening. You get dressed and primped while he’s gone, and at 6PM, Spencer knocks your bedroom door to ask if you’re ready to go. 

“Could I fake an illness?” you joke nervously. 

Spencer’s hand falls on your handle. The door is ajar as usual, but he doesn’t tread any further inside. 

“Come in,” you say. 

Spencer takes a single step inside before stopping. He looks you up and down without the hunger you crave from him, a more clement, familiar appreciation to him as he says, “You look pretty.” He traces your arm, leaving the skin tingly in his wake. “Really pretty.” 

“Thank you. I didn’t want to overdress.” 

“It’s perfect, don’t worry. And no, you couldn’t fake an illness. They all know when I’m lying, especially Hotch. And Emily, actually.” 

You squeeze your hands together tightly at your stomach. “I don’t know why I’m sooo nervous.” You lick your lips. “I feel like I can’t stop fidgeting.” 

“They’re used to it, I promise. They know that they’re gonna make you nervous, but they’ve sworn to be on their best behaviour, and besides, you’re not the only plus one. JJ’s bringing Will, and Morgan’s bringing his sister, I’ve only met her once. The focus won’t be all on you.” He lowers his voice. “After two drinks they forget they’re supposed to be scary.” 

“What if I say something extremely stupid to your boss and get you in trouble?” 

“What are you going to get me in trouble for?” 

“I don’t know. What if I accidentally tell him that that sick day you took a few weeks ago was to help me make brownies?”

“Everyone lies about sick days.” He deliberates. “Maybe not Hotch. But I’m pretty sure he knew I was lying, and it’s explainable. I felt… irate.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “What?” 

“Staying home with you made me feel better. Which made me a better worker the next day, it’s fine.” His phone rings from somewhere in the apartment. “That’ll be JJ. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Yeah?” He grins. “Okay. You’re wearing a coat, right? It’s cold. The forecast says snow. It’s thirty degrees out.” 

You layer a coat onto your jacket and a scarf to make him happy. You and Spencer get a taxi, black leather gritless under your hands, though you squeeze the seat like it’s gonna stop the car the whole time. Spencer doesn’t talk much, but he looks at you unapologetically, and he smiles, and the quiet is as severe as it was in your dream that morning. If this were a dream he’d be leaning over to cradle your ear. He’d ask in whispers if you were alright, and he’d let his hand rest kindly on your knee. 

“What?” you whisper. 

His lips part like he might answer. The car comes to a crunching stop outside the bar, and whatever it was he was going to say is kept for later. “I’ll tell you after,” he says. 

He pays for the taxi before you can work it out and you say thank you to the driver. The sidewalk is clean, broad, and glowing with the last bit of light. The sun sets behind you. The bar beckons in front. 

Your fear is daunting. 

You have years of practice fooling Spencer. You know that he knows your tells, so you’ve changed them, and Spencer cares about you enough to ignore obvious truths if he thinks you might not want to share. His colleagues, FBI agents trained to detect deception, are going to take one good look at you and know you’re lying about… this. 

You’re plagued by dreams of Spencer, but nothing can touch the real thing. 

You feel the space between you like it’s aflame. Spencer checks you’re with him and opens the door. 

The bar is busy even for a Saturday. You aren’t expecting the volume, the boisterousness of the patrons already slumped together over tables and waiting at the bar to get their drinks. It’s smaller than you’d pictured too, but its size is made up for with a patio at the back, smokers haunting the door, wary of the cold. 

You know what his friends look like already, yet seeing them in person is odd. Hotch is taller than you’d thought, Emily more startlingly pretty. JJ’s frowning, and her partner Will looks like he’s about to fall asleep despite a lazy grin. 

Hotch notices you first. He taps Emily on the elbow, who pauses in a thought to follow his gaze. Her face breaks into a smile, and if you weren’t in love with Spencer Reid, you might take a tumble for his pale coworker. 

“Hello,” Spencer says, ushering you to the table with an arm behind your back. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“He-llo,” Emily says, leaning into the table, a strand of her hair dangerously close to a short glass of juice. “I can’t believe we’re finally seeing you in person. I’m Emily.” 

“Y/N,” you say. 

“Aaron,” Hotch adds. (Aaron! He’s far more intimidating casually than as a boss, it seems.)

“Derek was just here,” JJ says in way of greeting, while Will drawls from over her shoulder, “I’m Will, it’s nice to meet you.” 

Spencer pulls out a chair for you and promptly sits in the one beside Emily. “Sorry we’re late. I forgot my wallet and we had to go back up to the apartment and the cab I called got so angry about it that he left.” 

You slide between the table and your chair, looking to Spencer for guidance, but he’s distracted taking his coat off and you have to look at Aaron instead. 

His smile is immediately knowing. Read for filth in seconds. “We don't bite.”

“Not so early in the evening,” Emily says. 

You take a shuddering breath, thankful they can’t hear it over the sounds of the bar. 

—

“I’m caught!” you exclaim. 

Spencer hugs you under the arms. “I know,” he says gently. 

“Caught!” 

He holds back a laugh as your arms react, practically flung behind his head in a hug that threatens to cut off the oxygen supply to his brain. “I think you’ve caught me, instead,” he says. 

You laugh in his ear. There’s gin on your breath and the sweeter smell of orange juice. It’s not bad, but weird to know it’s from your mouth. Or not weird. It gives Spencer a feeling like seeing the soft curve of your hip when you’re lying on your side. Like watching you bite your bottom lip when you’re distracted by the TV and worrying to yourself, which you do more often than not lately. They’re private things that Spencer shouldn’t know about. 

“I’m not trying to,” you say, and Spencer can smell the shot of vodka you did too, which is less pleasant. “Not trying to catch you. Not… I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“It’s hard to explain.” 

Over your shoulder, Spencer spots Hotch’s entertained gaze. All the team has done since you sat down together was pick on Spencer and his obviousness. Boyfriend? they’d asked you. Looking? Sights set on someone? All while JJ nudged him under the table. 

Things are falling apart now. JJ’d departed to hold Emily’s hair back, and Will with her. Hotch caught the eye of a woman across the way, and they sit chatting amicably at the bar with more peanuts than drinks. Derek, when he did appear, stayed for an hour with Desiree, recounting to you his most embarrassing stories of which Spencer had taken care to shield you from, and laughed at his subsequent blush. 

He never wanted you to know about his run in with anthrax, and he especially didn’t want you to know he’d been stripped nude afterwards and hosed off like a muddy dog. 

You’d turned to him with wide, worried eyes. “You were poisoned?” you’d asked. 

It’s stuff like that that makes this difficult. 

“I don’t know if you know this,” he says now, rubbing your back, “but I’m good with difficult concepts.”

“I did not mean to be like this.” 

“You didn’t eat much.” Spencer helps you stand on your own two feet. “They kitchen’s still open. I can get you food, how about a burger? Or we can go find you something.“

“What kind of burger?” you ask, poorly concealing your excitement. 

Spencer gets you back to the table. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Wait, don’t go.” 

“I’m gonna get food. Do you want fries?” 

“Spencer, what if I throw up?” 

Spencer shrugs. “I can rub your back?” 

“I don’t want to throw up.” 

“Then drink that,” he says, sliding his glass of coke toward you. “Alcohol irritates the lining of your stomach and increases the production of stomach acid. If you drink,” —he flinches as you knock the cup back— “slowly you can dilute your stomach contents without upsetting it. Slowly,” he says, squeezing your hand, “I’ll order food.”

“No, wait.” You drop the glass and grab him. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to throw up by myself.” 

“You won’t throw up.”

“Please,” you say, holding his wrist in both hands, your eyes shiny. “Spencer, don’t go.” 

“I won’t.” He doesn’t know how true it is and then suddenly he’s sat down. He won’t go. He wouldn’t leave your side ever again if that’s what you asked of him. 

He puts your chairs together, entertaining your tipsy thoughts with light conversation and the occasional slight of hand. You have an aura about you, like Spencer’s doing more than close-up magic, hanging on his every word. Your nervousness had you gasping like a fish, not so subtly downing one drink, then another, but now that you’re feeling the effects of them (and a few extras), the tightness you’d held in your fingers is gone. You’re leaning against the back of the chair with all the ease of you on the couch at home, but the easy fondness you’d usually wear while he speaks is replaced by a bright and shining awe. A sweetness like he’s remarkable. The soft line of your lips and your widened eyes. 

You’re not the sort of drunk that leaves you listless and ready for bed. This is giggly and fun, and so long as you don’t push it you’ll be alright. It wasn’t enough alcohol to leave you inebriated all night, anyhow. In a few hours the giddiness will wear away, leaving you with a headache and a deep longing for your missed dinner. 

“I’m glad you didn’t let me fake food poisoning,” you say. 

“Is that what you were thinking? That’s a terrible excuse. You need something with sudden onset symptoms, like an asthma attack, or pneumonia. An acute illness.” 

You take his hand. “I love that you know that stuff.”

Feeling as in love with you as ever, and sorry for you drunken state —he could’ve stopped you, he just didn’t think— he folds your hands together, both of his, rubbing the hills of your knuckles with his thumb. Your hands look right together. 

That’s what Spencer likes to think, anyway. 

You slow like you’re tired, hand lax in his grips. Your mouth opens but nothing follows, no sigh or gripe or conversation. 

“You okay?” he asks softly. 

“I think I’m having one of those dreams again.” 

“You’re awake,” he says. 

“I don’t know about that. They’re all like this.” 

He hums, smoothing his thumb down the back of your hand. “If this were a dream, you wouldn't have control over what you’re doing. Why don’t you do something you wouldn’t do in a dream?” 

“Like what?” you ask. 

“There’s a ton of stuff you can’t do in dreams. People find they have a poor memory, but I can’t ask you to recall anything. You might not remember regardless. How about temperature?” he suggests. “Most people can’t feel warm or cold in their dreams. Do you want to feel something cold?”

You watch him for a few seconds, your eyebrows pulled together unhappily. “Your hands are warm,” you say. 

“Right.” He suspects they’ll feel warmer in just a few seconds when the hot flush in his face manages to work its way down. “I’m warm. So are you.” 

“Sometimes I feel like you’re warm in the dream, though. You make me feel warm.” 

“It’s remembered, maybe.” 

You don’t look any happier. “Sometimes I wish I could stop having them, but…” You duck your head. “Sorry, Spencer.” 

“What are you sorry for?” 

Your head ducks lower. With a start to his chest, your shoulders shake, like you're inhaling the first half of a sob. 

“Hey, hey,” he says, reaching for your cheek, ducking his own head to see you, “what’s wrong? It’s okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for!” he whispers emphatically. “You have nothing to be sorry for, why would you think that?” 

“I keep having these dreams, all the time, and– and I– I’ll mess everything up. Everything we have, I’m going to–” You hiccup, eyes turned glassy, imploring him to forgive you for something you haven’t done. “I don’t feel good.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says, his hand sliding back to your ear, down to your neck, “you’re just drunk. You’re confused.” 

“But the dreams–”

“What dreams?” he asks gently. 

You blow out a daunted breath. “Where you love me.” 

“I do love you.” 

“But more than this. You love me more than this,” you say, shaking your head. “I really don’t feel okay… Do you think we could go home?” 

You’re so sorry and frowny that Spencer would attempt, in all his unfitness, to climb Mount Everest for you should you ask. “Yeah, we can go home,” he says, rubbing your arm up and down and up again, a line of affection from shoulder to wrist. “I’ll take you home. It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to be upset, I shouldn’t have asked.” 

He’s not sure what he asked, really, but the answer upset you. His heart’s racing like he just sprinted the length of the bar and you’re close to tears, this strange weepy sullenness about you as you say, “It’s okay. Let’s just go.” 

—

It’s cold to be sitting out by yourself, though the snow stayed its hand another night while the temperature fell again. Your coat poses a weak defence against the chill, nipping at your nose, burning the insides of every breath, and your feet are stiff like ice in your shoes. Yet, the idea of returning to the apartment is a leaden stone in your stomach. 

Spencer could barely look at you that morning. You hadn’t given him much of a chance, slipping out of the apartment with little more than a call to say you’d be back later. Your groceries freeze in a paper bag by your feet. 

You’re not too embarrassed about getting tipsy. It was drinks with Spencer and his friends, not dinner. Emily had been twice as drunk, and Derek had encouraged you to drink with a round on him. You’re mortified, however, by what you’d said. Your memory is clear enough to know you’d told Spencer about your dreams. 

He’d been confused at the time, but he’s a smart boy. He’ll figure it out. 

“This headache,” you mumble, tipping your head into your hand morosely. You rub your brow, fingers against the ache, the cold getting worse. 

Why did it take a dream for you to realise you had feelings for Spencer? And why did you have to realise at all? If you’d never had that dream, never had that phantom bruise, his hands careful and caring and touching up to the band of your bra, you wouldn’t know now what it is to want him. The dream gave you a bruise, and Spencer presses against it real or otherwise every time he looks at you. You were wrong thinking that it never happened; it’s still there, a purple lash against your ribs. 

Every time he makes you breakfast, or he texts you from a different state, or he sits down on the couch just to talk to you. Every time he says something smart, or he tilts his head back as he laughs, or he draws a smiley face on the mirror by the door–

“About those dreams?” 

You rub your eyes hard. Of course he’d come to find you. “Please don’t.” 

“Please,” he says. You see him through your fingers. His thick scarf is unravelled at his neck, his hair ragged around his face like he’s been raking it repeatedly behind his ears. 

You straighten. 

“I don’t get it,” he says, “you’ve been dreaming about me? Why is that such a big deal?” 

“It’s embarrassing.” 

“I dream about you all the time,” he says. “We’re in each other's lives, we live together, it makes sense that your hippocampus would use me. You have a lot of memories with me.” Spencer crosses his arms in front of you. “It’s freezing.” 

“I’ll be home in a bit.”

“I’m not gonna go back without you,” he says, like that’s a given. 

You move across the bench to make room for him. Spencer sits. 

You settle. The occasional bus trundles past, a limited rota for an early Sunday morning. Spencer shoves his hands into his pockets. His lips are already turning blue. 

“I know you know what I mean,” you say. 

Spencer presses his knees together. “Even romantic dreams where I’m… where we’re together, it’s all easily explained away by brain science. You can’t control what you dream, and I’m not going to hold you to it.” 

Silence, silence. You tip your head back to see a horrible grey cloud closing in on you both, the sun a white and gauzy memory behind it. Spencer’s right about control, but he doesn’t get that you like them. It’s not fair to him that you’ve somehow rallied a second life when you’re sleeping, where he’s your mind’s puppet, hugging and holding you, pressing his cheek to the side of your face. Saying things you wish he’d tell you now. 

“Well, I like you.” 

“What?” you ask, coughing. 

“Not to make things awkward or anything, but I like you. Romantically.” Spencer’s voice takes a sharp veer into high-pitched freneticism. “Does that help at all?” 

“What?” 

“It’s far more embarrassing that I like you on purpose than your accidental dreams, right?” He thumbs at the inside of his wrist. “You don’t have to say anything, or think anything, and I’m not going to change, but I have feelings for you.”  

You feel like you’re standing at the top of a very tall building. “Oh?” 

“I kind of thought you knew.” 

“How could I know that?” you ask, cringing as a cold gust of air bites at your face. 

Spencer takes his scarf off and pushes it into your hands. “I don’t know. I guess we know less about each other than we thought.”

The way he says it. 

Spencer wraps his scarf around you when it’s clear you aren’t going to do it yourself, and he touches your cheek briefly, a brush of his fingers like he thinks he’s doing something he shouldn’t be allowed to. 

“I dream about you all the time,” he says quietly. 

A bus passes by and shines headlights at your feet. The wind blows, your ears roar, and just above you, in a cold front to mark the season, snow begins to fall. 

You look up simultaneously. A snowflake gets caught in Spencer’s eyelashes. 

Just one. 

“This is so weird,” you mumble. 

Spencer wipes at his eye. “Could you tell me why?” 

“I had a dream just like this.” 

He laughs warmly. “Of course you did. Forget all reason, then. You’re prophetic.” 

“I don’t think I could’ve predicted this.” 

“Why? It’s only snow. Virginia gets an inch of snow most Decembers.” 

You laugh. In a dream, this is where you and Spencer would kiss or hold hands, or rest your cheek on the other’s shoulder, but neither of you are brave enough. And, as the snow turns to a sleet below freezing, you can’t ignore the cold. 

—

iv. the end 

The longest anyone has ever slept in recorded human history is eleven days. Two hundred and sixty four hours, or nearly sixteen thousand minutes, just shy of one million seconds of sleep. 

The first pillow was invented in Mesopotamia more than nine thousand years ago, in a time where the amount of pillows a person had directly correlated their personal riches. The history of pillows is tumultuous and eclectic. Headrests made of wood, stone, or jade. Curved neck holders worn soft with use. 

And, of all Spencer’s gifted facts, you find yourself circling back to the same one as you wait for him to wake: most dreams are no longer than twenty minutes. However, it’s important to note that the longest dream ever officially observed was in 1994, when a man managed to be in REM for just over three hours. You’ve had dreams that felt like they lasted for hours, but likely took place for just twenty minutes. If you could dream for three hours a night, you could live an entire life of longing in a pocket of time. 

Thankfully, you have no need to hide from reality anymore. Spencer sleeps beside you and you don’t want to sleep, you just want him to wake up. 

“Good morning,” you whisper, drawing your fingertip across his cheek to encourage the hair that’s fallen there back in line. 

He doesn’t stir. It’s alright, you hadn’t meant to wake him. 

“I love you,” you whisper, shuffling across the sheets to feel the heat and weight of his body against your own. He doesn’t move for a while, snoring gently, his breath kissing the top of your head as you burrow into the slip of space under his chin. Then, as if he were awake, he wraps his arm around you and drags you in further. His face angles down and his nose finds your forehead, and a hum of what you’d personally say is content kisses your brow. 

You tuck your hand behind his back and rub a circle. 

Spencer didn’t last long after the initial realisation of requited feelings. In a day he’d asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend (vaguely apologetic, still worried about scaring you, though you’d already come clean about wanting him as you’d warmed your cold hands by the stove). A week later he kissed you on a date outside of the cosiest Indian restaurant in Washington, D.C, and things have been nothing but smooth sailing from there. 

Now, when he’s feeling romantic, he brings home butter chicken and turns your face up for kissing, fork in hand. Every night before bed, he tells you to have good dreams, a self-satisfaction in his eyes that you dearly love. 

You knew he was a dork and you liked him because of it, but the sheer increase in him is amazing. Yesterday he sent you Close to You by Carpenters over text claiming they wrote it about you. When he got home, he tried to make you dance with him in the living room. After two or three kisses, you’d let him pull you to your feet. 

Spencer has turned loving one another into an everyday spectacularity, and not some mystical dream you ached for. 

He squeezes the skin of your shoulder as he wakes. Heavy in the hands of sleep, Spencer rubs the tip of his nose to yours, nudging your face up, and waiting there with your lips a few millimetres apart as he finds his bearings. You don’t open your eyes. There’s no need. 

“Time?” he mumbles.

“I don’t,” —you clear your hoarse voice, his hand flattening protectively behind you— “know, um. Maybe seven. The sun was rising…” 

“You could have woken me up,” he says, and kisses you slowly. It’s almost gluttonous, how he does it. Not chaste at all. His hair falls into your face and tickles your cheeks, his nose smushes your own with his easy depth. 

You hold his face and kiss him twice, following a line under his chin, where you pause, smelling yesterday's cologne on his skin. “I was hoping I’d fall asleep again,” you confess. 

“Oh, no, don’t do that.” He scoops you against him and turns onto his back as you laugh. “Angel. Let’s stay up now. Let’s just… stay here.” 

If you stay here he’s going to waylay you with a smattering of his voracious kisses, and he’s going to turn you on your back and kiss your neck. He’ll touch that place on your ribs where you’d once dreamt a bruise. It’s a secret you couldn’t keep. He likes to kiss you there when he remembers, but most of the time his hands run along it without mention. A slow caressing. 

You push your face against his shoulder and sigh as his arms close in around you. With a little effort, you get your arms around him in turn, and you hug him for as long as you can stand the pins and needles in your fingers. 

“You smell so good,” you mumble.

He pats your back absentmindedly. 

Today, you’re going to make Spencer oatmeal with banana and chocolate. You’re going to shower, maybe together if the small space can handle it, laughing at the soap in his eyebrows and the way he squeals when you touch his hips. You’re going to drape yourself across his lap as he reads, and he’ll lean down to kiss the tip of your nose or some other strange part of you unused to affection. The top of your ear, the palm of your hand, maybe the crook of your elbow. He’ll ramble through dinner or creep up behind you to sniff your shoulder, and it’ll all be choices you’ve made. Nothing left to want or wanting, but being in love while wide awake. 

“Are you tired?” you ask him. 

He takes a deep breath of your hair. “No,” he says, drawing a light line up your side, “I’m okay. There are worse faces to wake up to.”

You try not to fluster noticeably. He’s always been a good roommate. You’re still getting used to the boyfriend part, the intimacy of being complimented, but Spencer seems to have slipped into the part easily.

“Sorry, that was mean. There’s nothing I’d rather wake up to.” 

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

You’re tired, suddenly. The minutes pass in heavy blinks —you don’t want to sleep now that he’s awake, but being here with him is warming you from the inside out.  You doze and wake and Spencer doesn’t say a word. His breaths come evenly against your cheek. 

Eventually, he clears his throat, asksing, “Did you dream at all?” His voice is hewn. He rubs your chest, right over your heart.

”I’m not so sure that this isn’t one,” you say, your heartbeat a crawl under his touch.

“That’s corny.” 

“Mm, the Spencer in my dreams is usually kinder.” 

“Does he ever get to hold you like this?” he asks, letting his hand fall from your chest to wrap it back around you again. 

You take a sleepy breath in. “No,” you say slowly, “he doesn’t.”

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

thank youuuu for reading!! please like comment or reblog if you enjoyed!! thank you❤️

this fic was requested! I usually link to the request I was sent at the top, but I lost the post for this one, but this is what the request said: 

“hi angel! i have a request for roommate!spencer where r has a very romantic dream about him and starts avoiding him because she's really embarrassed but spencer is so confused as to why his roommate suddenly can't even look him in the eye. maybe one of them realizes their feelings aren't entirely platonic in the end? love you!!!”

thank you original requester! 

[simpjaes]

Have you already answered how you think hyung line sounds in bed? If not, who moans, whines, grunts, etc? You can also add jungwon to this if you want!

☆ jay:

directed moans for the most part but there may be an occasional whimper. It's not really a needy whimper but more of a "it feels so good I can't control the sounds I make" type of whimper. I like to think he's very in control of his thoughts for the most part [not always], to the point he moans intentionally to praise you for how good you feel. But when he's focused on the feeling and not on you specifically, Jay grunts, holds his breath, lets out long and exhausted sounding sighs when he feels good. And honestly they'd sound so good that I think they'd leave a pit in your stomach that urges you to pull more out of him. He's sensual whether he's subbing, domming, bottoming, or topping. Always with the need to take care of someone else...to the point he probably doesn't give his own horny sounds much attention. But mannnnnnn, jay would absolutely be panting and whining if you praise him for how good he feels and sounds. idk, i like to think you'd both get off on the sounds, and make more of them just to gain praise. like you'd lose your fucking minds together.

★ jake:

whining, panting, drooling, choking, stuttering. i do see jake as a dom for the most part for very particular reasons but i don't think he is able to control himself when it comes to getting his dick wet. he can be pathetic, of course, but he will always sound pathetic whether he's acting the part or not. you will always be covered in his saliva and cum because of how he is, and how badly he wants to get off on/in/to you. jake loses his goddamn mind every time, no matter how quick or small an intimate situation may be. fr, he looks just as fucked out being edged for 6 hours as he would just getting a quick hand job under a dinner table at a restaurant. rest assured though, you know he wants you not only with the way he fucking begs even if he's choking you, but with the way he moves his body just as desperately. In other words, jake is desperate for power but has no idea what to do with it, so he cries.

☆ sunghoon:

mostly holding his breath, letting out deep, guttural groans and choked out sounds that can only be heard when he's right against your ear. always whispers and gentle touches despite the way his hips fuck painfully. Sunghoon is definitely the type to keep himself under control and intentionally try to have you babbling and mumbling incoherently in his ear. he does not want to drown out your pleasure with his own. still, he'd know how much you love his sounds, so when he notices you relaxing too much, or enjoying yourself too much, he will be sure to tense your body right back up so he can feel that pussy squeeze him so tight just because he breathed a little too deeply in your ear. he's very sensual, makes every fuck feel like he's making love where sounds and words are barely comprehended because you're so in the moment with him. half of the time you don't even notice his moans because his eyes are so dark yet shining while he looks at you mid-fuck. additionally, he buries himself deep, it's hard to imagine you think at all when he's fucking you.

★ heeseung:

all the sounds, all the dirty talk, everything. I'd like to say though, that if heeseung whimpers, it's solely to get your attention and not at all because he's pleading for you to clench that pussy around him. every sound is a tease, and he'd definitely hold it against you. why? can't let pretty girl know how good he's feeling, right? after all, if you feel like you need to work harder to make him release sounds, you'll only end up fucking harder, harder, harder, until your legs are shaking and he can take full control and replace all those fake ass sounds with the real ones. deep guttural words of how lost you are on him, little praises disguised as dirty words and mockings of your behavior. his sounds are to make you chase and nothing more, up until he fills you up and you're nearly crying and begging for praise. he'd give in only to genuine moans when you're so far gone you barely can hear him.

[marvelstan0905]

"Good luck Charm"

Kenji Sato X S/O!Fem!READER [Smut Scenario]

TW :blowjobs/almost being caught/public setting/mixed POV/idk what else/petnames

-Hi guys. My requests will be open starting 26 June at 5PM [MT ] up until 28th June 1PM [MT]. I'm putting these dates because I don't want to get overwhelmed and end up burned out! Also, May you guys help me out with differentiating between scenarios/headcannons/imagines/oneshots/etc. Thank you so much for the love and support.❤

©all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

Gif credit @soranatus

Kenji needed a little incentive, a little energy boost in order to get his head in the game. He was frustrated with the way games had been going so far. What's better way to relieve his stress and frustration than with his girl's help.

Here the two of you were in the locker room, the two of you were alone and your boyfriend was leaning against the door, his pants undone and his hair disheveled. There you were ,on your knees and his cock in your mouth.

"There we go, you're so pretty on your knees for me, princess" Kenji groaned as his hands tossed through your hair. He stared down at you with hazy, half lidded eyes which were beyond dilated. His hips bucked up into your mouth causing you to whimper slightly. "Shh b-babygirl. You don't want us to be caught ,hmm?"

I nodded and took him deeper into my mouth. With a deep breath I relaxed my gag reflex in order to take him down my throat. A guttural groan and small whimper fell from Kenji's lips.

"T-Thats it my love. You're taking it so well" Kenji breathed heavily as his head fell back against the door and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. I bobbed my head and hallowed my cheeks, hoping to get him there quicker. I glanced at the clock on the wall, noticing we had about 5 minutes before my boyfriend needed to go. I sucked on his cock a lot harder and with more fervor. My tongue ran against the veins on his beautiful cock. My boyfriend almost jolted from the added pressure. "F-Fuxk..I'm so close."

We froze when we heard a knock at the door. "Hey Sato! We're about to go on! Are you almost done changing?" One of Kenji's teammates shouted from outside the door. I didn't stop and kept going. Kenji's breath hitched and he cleared his throat.

"Y-Yeah...be out there soon!" Kenji called out sounding like he just ran a marathon. I hummed holding in my giggles. My boyfriend cursed from the vibrations.

"Okay? Well be quick! We're almost starting!" The player called out. Kenji sighed and grabbed a hold of the back of my head before thrusting into my mouth.

"I'm s-sorry baby, but I need to be quick but I a-also need my little goodluck charm" Kenji panted. I felt his cock throb into my mouth and in the knick of time, he came. His cock was deep into my throat as I swallowed all of his release. Kenji groaned, his face twisted with beautiful pleasure as his hips rut into my mouth. Calming down from his high, He panted."T-Thank you, sweetcheeks"

He breathed a sigh of relief and satisfaction. Kenji gently pulled his soft cock out of my mouth and kissed my head. "Open for me" My boyfriend ordered and I opened my mouth. He smirked in satisfaction, happy that I swallowed all of it.

"What a good girl. Thank you, my love." Kenji smiled and gently tucked himself back into his pants. I stood up and made sure he looking fine.

"Go get em, honey! You can do it!" You encouraged him enthusiastically whiles gently pecking his lips. Kenji chuckled and kissed me once more. I was still a little breathless from our little activity.

"With that kinda of encouragement, I'm scoring home runs left and right" Kenji smirked and gave you a teasing wink. With a playful eye roll and a slight flush on your cheeks, you ushered him out the door.

"Get out of here" I giggled. Kenji laughed and kissed my cheek.

"I'm going. I'm going." Kenji spoke playfully raising his hands in surrender. He jogged off and I was confused when he jogged back to give me another kiss on the lips "I love you"

Kenji pulled away with an affectionate smile and jogged to the stadium with a pep in his step. I chuckled. "I love you too"

"Hey! What are you doing in here!?"

Uh oh

[covenofagatha]

But you're my stepmom! (Chapter 10)

Word count: 2600+

Warnings: oral, bathroom sex, strap-on, smut, mommy kink, little bit of angst at first

Author's note: so sorry this took so long to post lol things have been crazy

Taglist (hope I didn't miss anyone, and if I did, I'm so sorry!): @stayevildarling@i-just-cannot@hazey-g@buttercandy16@320viada@evilangels-stuff@rmaximoff@morganismspam23@aboutcustardcreams@sasheemo@rigglemethat@walkethisway@mommywandas@r-3-becca@harknessshi@ihaveawifebutwerenotmarriedyet@polaris-likethestar@ahintofchaos @dorabledewdroop @toomanylesbiancouples @accidentally-made-a-sideblog @chiar4anna @lonelyhalfwitch

When you had found out your dad was cheating on your mom two years ago, you could feel the numbness seeping into every crack and crevice in your body. You remember looking at his phone while you two were watching a tv show and seeing the dirty texts he sent to a woman he used to work with. He was never very subtle about texting her, and you just had a feeling. Deep down, you knew what you were going to find. 

That didn’t mean it still didn't hurt. 

The betrayal, the anger, the sadness. They all rushed over you but you’re still not really sure if you actually felt any of it. You were in a daze for the rest of the day, the need to scream building in your throat gradually. 

You finally couldn’t take it anymore and you went for a run the next day, which is something you never would usually do. The thumping of your feet against the pavement sounded like why? why? why? Why would he do this? Why would he choose her over his family? You ran until it felt like your legs were on fire and your lungs were about to burst until you finally doubled over, bit down on your hand, and let the guttural scream claw its way out of you. Your teeth had broken your skin and you could still see the small white scar if you flexed your hand just right. 

After that, you locked the pain somewhere deep down inside you. You hadn’t even gotten to really confront him about it.

But when Agatha says that your dad is having an affair, you feel your stomach drop and somewhere, the buried feelings start begging to get free, rattling on the bars of their enclosure. 

“What?” You ask quietly, a lump growing in your throat as you crane your head up to look at her. Your hand on her stomach stalls. She has a distant look in her eyes. 

“Monday night after you left, your dad couldn’t find his phone so we were looking for it. I found it on the kitchen table while he was looking in his office and he had just gotten a text. I glanced at it and it was from a woman.” Agatha doesn’t continue, but you can only imagine what the text said. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, the lump getting bigger. You remember making that mean comment to her the first night you got dinner about him cheating again. 

She laughs ironically. “I guess I can’t be mad. I mean, look at us.”  

You glance up at her to meet her sardonic eyes. “Yeah, but look at who you cheated on versus who he did. I’m sure this other woman isn’t even half as hot as you are.” 

She softly smiles and then leans down to peck your lips with hers. “That’s sweet of you to say, honey.” 

“So what are you going to do?” 

She sighs deeply and starts gently tugging on the ends of your hair. “I don’t know. Confront him? Get a divorce? I’ve spent the last two days just trying to figure something out.” 

Her cold silence makes sense now. So does the way she fucked you earlier. 

You turn your head and press a kiss to her bare shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, because what else is there to say? “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Her fingers tighten in your hair and they pull to tilt your head so you’re looking right at her. “I can think of something,” she says, a teasing lilt in her voice. 

“Oh, yeah?” Your eyebrow raises and she smirks with a daring nod. “Anything for my step-mother.” 

You kiss down her stomach, making sure to sink your teeth into her delectable abs and suck hard. She moans and arches her back off the bed. Soon enough, her midsection is littered with red marks and fuck, it’s hot. 

If your dad is too much of a fucking idiot to appreciate this woman, you’ll just have to take matters into your own hands. 

You settle between her thighs on the bed and slowly drag your tongue up the inside of her right thigh. A noise slips out from her lips and you do the same thing on the other side to hear it again. 

“Stop teasing, baby,” she warns in a low voice. She’s glistening. 

You chuckle and then lick up through her folds. She groans and raises her hips so you can get in closer. Your tongue swirls around her clit. 

“Fuck,” she swears under her breath. You begin to lap at her, heat growing between your own legs at the way her breath stutters and her thighs begin to shake. 

“Did he ever make you feel like this?” You ask, words garbled since your mouth is full of her cunt. But she rolls her hips on her face seemingly involuntarily, so you know she understood. 

“Never,” she says breathlessly and you pick up the pace, swirling and sucking, wanting her to feel good. 

She cums quickly and then she pulls you up into a deep kiss, tongue moving over yours to taste herself. 

“What does this mean for us?” You wonder aloud after she cleans your face and you both are cuddling again. If Agatha and your father get divorced, will this affair end? Will it become more?

“What do you want it to mean?” 

“I don’t know,” you say, because you don’t. “I like this, though.” 

She kisses your forehead and you can feel her smiling against you. “I do, too.” 

***

Dinner tonight with Agatha and I? is what your dad texts you the next day while you’re at school. You frown and quickly shoot Agatha a text about it. The two of you hadn’t spoken any more about what she was going to do about your father’s infidelity so you just want to be aware if you’re walking into a trap. You’re not sure you can take another dinner where your dad sits you down and tells you that he’s getting a divorce. 

Agatha responds that she hasn’t talked to him yet. You did know that he was away on business – although, that could just be code for having an affair – so he hasn’t been home. And you don’t think Agatha would be one to confront him over the phone. 

You text your dad back that you’ll be there. You’re curious to see what it’s about. 

The rest of the day passes quickly while you worry about what dinner could bring. You take a quick shower when you get home from school and put on a casual black dress. You don’t really care about looking nice for whatever restaurant you go to, you just want to look good for Agatha. Your mouth almost waters at the thought of whatever she will wear. She always manages to look ethereal. 

Your phone buzzes with a message from Agatha. Your father is meeting us at the restaurant. I’m outside. 

You can sense the tension radiating off the older woman the moment you step outside. She tersely watches you walk over to her car and slide into the passenger seat. Agatha’s wearing pants with a silky button down shirt and she looks hot. 

“Hey, baby,” she says, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek. 

“You okay?” 

She grimaces and puts her sunglasses on. “I’ve barely talked to him since he left on his trip. He just asked if the three of us could get dinner.” 

Your brow furrows. “Are you going to say anything tonight?” 

Agatha purses her lips and reaches over to pat your leg. “I wouldn’t do that with you there. I’m not putting you in the middle of this.” 

Your heart warms because your mother did not hesitate to put you in the middle of her problems with your dad. She had broken almost every boundary and turned you into her therapist, and it now fills you with immense gratitude that Agatha won’t do that. 

Even though you are very much in the middle of it, with you and her having sex and all. 

“Thank you.” 

You both launch into small talk until you pull into the restaurant parking lot, where you see your dad waiting out front. Your stomach begins to sink just at the sight of him. 

You can’t believe he did it again. 

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Agatha asks, voice tight with worry. She must see how you’re looking at him through the window. You’ve never opened up about your parents with her, but you can tell that she at least partly knows how you must be feeling. 

You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. “I’m good.” 

You try to not get angry when your dad’s face lights up at the sight of the two of you. 

“My favorite girls!” He booms and pulls you both into a hug. You can feel how tense Agatha is and you’re sure you feel the same. “How are we?”

“Good,” you mutter and Agatha says something along the lines of that as well. 

He made a reservation so you’re immediately led to a booth tucked in the back of the restaurant. You sit opposite your dad and Agatha doesn’t hesitate before sliding in next to you. 

“How was your trip?” Agatha asks, tone laced with something sharp like she’s trying to catch him in an act. 

Before he can answer, the waitress comes over. She looks a few years older than you, with brown hair and pretty blue eyes. Almost like a younger version of Agatha, you think. She takes your drink orders, her gaze lingering a bit too long on you as you ask for a sprite. 

You can see Agatha scowling at her out of the corner of your eye. 

Your dad starts talking about his work when she leaves but you suddenly lose all focus when Agatha slowly moves her hand to your thigh and grips it possessively. 

She clearly does not like the waitress, who comes back a few minutes later with your drinks. Fully aware of this, you reach out to take your sprite from the waitress and your fingers brush right in front of Agatha’s face.

Her nails dig into your leg and you subtly smirk at her. Her eyes have completely darkened. 

After everyone orders food, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. You’ve started throbbing from the tight hold Agatha has on you – both literally and figuratively – and you’re not sure you’ll last another minute without some relief. 

Just as you push open the door, someone grabs your wrist and shoves you inside. You gasp and whirl around, fear clenching your heart, only to find that it’s Agatha. 

She closes the door behind her and locks it. You’re so thankful it’s a single-person bathroom. 

Agatha advances and you step back until you hit the sink. 

“I know what you’re doing,” she hisses, trapping you against it by putting her hands on either side of you. 

“What do you mean, mommy?” You ask innocently, enjoying the way her dark eyes flash. Her hand comes up to wrap around your throat and a thrill runs through you. You’re sure you’re absolutely dripping now. 

“You were making eyes at that dirty waitress,” she accuses. “Looks like you need a reminder of who you belong to.” 

Before you can ask what she means, she flips you over so the sink is cutting into your hip bones and you can see the reflection of you both in the mirror. You look like a mess. And she looks like she is enjoying every bit of it. 

And then she grinds her front against you and you feel something hard in her pants. You watch your mouth fall open in the mirror. 

“You-” You don’t even have the words and the ache inside you is only getting worse. A smug smile spreads across her face as she reaches down to unzip her pants. Her other hand moves your underwear to the side, not even bothering to take it off.

She drags her strap-on up and down your slit, laughing cruelly at the way your hips move to try to get her inside. 

“Please,” you whine, feeling empty. 

She leans down so she can whisper in your ear, “Who do you belong to?” 

“You, mommy,” you say desperately and you let out a loud moan when she finally pushes into you.

“Be quiet,” she jeers and spanks you hard. You bite down on your lip to keep from moaning, but also to keep from telling her that spanking makes noise, too.

She sets a rough pace from the beginning, grabbing onto your hips with bruising force. You let out little gasps as she thrusts into you, over and over, already bringing you close to the edge. She reaches around you with one hand and starts rubbing your clit and your head falls forward in pleasure. 

Agatha pauses for a second so she can yank you back up by your hair. “Look at yourself,” she says, forcing you to watch yourself in the mirror. She resumes her fast pace. “Look at how well you’re taking my cock for me. Look at how much of a slut you are for me.” When she calls you a slut, you physically can’t stop the sound that comes out of your mouth. 

“Mommy, please,” you pant, your entire body feeling like a livewire. “Wanna cum.”

“Do you think a brat like you deserves to cum after making mommy jealous like that?” 

“M’sorry, mommy, I’ll be good,” you practically cry. You meet every thrust, eyes rolling back in your head from how perfect she feels. Your body is on edge from all the effort it’s taking to not cum. “Need to, so close.”

“Who do you belong to?” 

“You, only you,” you sob. 

“Good girl,” she says, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “Cum for me, sweetheart.” 

Two more thrusts and a rub of your clit and you cum all over her cock. It’s explosive and you bite on your lip so hard that you taste blood. She begins to slow down as you come back down to earth and you rest your head against the mirror to recover. 

Someone knocks on the door and you freeze since your step-mother is buried to the hilt inside of you at this current moment. 

But she just sweetly calls, “Occupied!” and you can’t help but laugh breathlessly. She pulls out of you and you wince. 

“Wow,” you say as she helps you clean up. “You know I wasn’t flirting with the waitress, right?” 

She smirks and pulls you in for a deep kiss. “I know, baby. I just couldn’t spend another minute listening to your dad talk.”

“Join the club.” 

You feel like everyone is watching the two of you as you make your way back to the table, but in reality, they’re not. Your dad is on his phone texting someone – you think you see a woman’s name at the top – but he quickly swipes out of it when he notices that you both have come back. You glance at Agatha just in time to see her eye twitching. 

“There you ladies are! I thought you had gotten lost. Everything okay?” He asks. You think you’re just imagining the condescending tone, but Agatha stiffens next to you so maybe not. 

“Actually yeah,” she says. “I’m filing for divorce.” You gape at her as she spins on her heel and walks away. 

You turn your head back to your dad, who looks back at you, dumbfounded. 

“Sweet pea-” he starts but you hold up your hand to cut him off. 

“No. Fuck you. You don’t deserve anyone.” 

And then you leave to follow Agatha, feeling suddenly like the weight inside you has finally lifted. 

[lionizingheathen]

J.P. - Use your words

love ur writing!! can I request riding james potter plssss - Request

I'm bored and ill and somehow remembered my password to this account so enjoy.

Smut under cut

James Potter x fem!reader - cock riding, teasing, smut, oral, throat fucking, established relationship, orgasm, unprotected sex, one instance of biting... Maybe two, I can't remember.

James Potter could easily be a model, that was something that you had been sure of long before the two of you started dating, even back in your days at Hogwarts... He was that classic sort of handsome, the kind that had people stopping on the street... And he was all yours.

You were lucky enough to have his heart, to get to lay in his bed as he stroked your hair, reading a book with his shirt riding up slightly, showing his waistband, his happy trail...

Fuck... The outline of his cock... you slid your hand over it, hearing him clear his throat.

Hello.

"What're you doing?" He mumbled, his voice croaking out like he'd forgotten how to speak in the moments of silence between the two of you. You bit back a grin, slipping your hand over his clothed cock again as you squeezed your thighs together, imagining just how good he would feel inside you... James always made you feel good with whatever he was doing, be it his fingers, his tongue, his cock...

Fuck, you needed him. You needed him like you needed air. You looked up at him, breath catching in your throat at the way that he had his glasses low on his nose, his book held up with one hand as he continued to stroke through your hair with the other. The only thing you could think of was pulling his pants down and slipping his cock deep inside you.

"Isn't it obvious?" You asked, hoping that that would be enough to make him cast his book aside, but no. Instead he chuckled and shook his head, flicking to another page even as you slipped your hand under his waistband to grip him through his boxers, your mouth watering.... Wrapping your mouth around him would surely make him get the picture, right?

Right?

"Of course it is, love... But I wanna hear you say it." He insisted, and you sighed, shaking your head. "You know how much I love when you use your words." You leaned up to kiss him as you slipped your hand into his boxers, gripping his cock with a sigh.

God, that was gonna feel good inside you.

"Well?" You asked when you broke apart and he sighed, shaking his head.

"Words, love." He insisted, and you sighed, jerking your hand up and down his cock as you slipped on top of his legs, watching as he sat up to toss his shirt off, revealing his firm, muscular body.

"Doesn't that count?" You asked, hoping against hope that he would say yes... Sometimes he was desperate enough that it would work, but tonight he seemed to be content on waiting it out until you broke and finally spoke, much to your dismay.

You wanted to feel him inside you now, not later.

"You're so cute... Of course not." He said, running his fingers through your hair as he arched his hips, letting you slip his pants and boxers down his legs. Your eyes were drawn to his hard cock as you bent your head, dragging your tongue over the shaft before you lifted it to take the tip in your mouth, pulling a guttural groan from his mouth. "Fuck... Love, tell me what you want, I'll give it to you." He murmured, looking down at you through hooded eyes as you let his cock slip into your mouth, running your tongue over his tip before you released it with a pop, grinning up at him.

"Can I ride you?" You asked, and he grinned, nodding as he folded his hands behind his head, a cocky position that always got you.

"Absolutely." You bent your head down again, taking his cock into your mouth with a moan, making his hips shoot up. Yes. Fuck my throat for a bit. Yes. "Shit, I thought you were... Riding me..." He grunted, biting on the back of his hand when you traced your tongue over the vein of his cock.

Fuck, he always tasted so good.

"Mmm." You looked up at him as you released his cock from your mouth, pressing lazy kisses to the tip. "Fuck my throat a bit first... It feels good." You said, seeing his eyes light up... He loved that even more than you did, you knew that.

"Shit... Oh my god, you're so good..." You swallowed him down your throat again, pulling a choked moan from him. Good boy. "Good girl..." God, you're hot. You choked around him as he gripped the back of his hair, fucking his cock harshly into your throat, making you squeeze your thighs together as you thought about how good that'd feel later.

Fuck. Breathe.

"Mmm..." You pulled back, coughing as you wiped under your eyes. God, you're big. "Ha..." James let out a grunt and gripped the back of your head as he sat up, pushing your mouth back onto his cock as you let out a surprised moan.

God, yes. Be rough.

"Don't stop." Okay. "Don't stop yet." He insisted, and you nodded, letting him fuck your throat hard as you reached between your own legs, slipping your hand into your shorts to work your swollen clit as you whimpered around him.

Finally-.

"Mmph-." He pulled you off then, leaving you confused as you watched him fall back against the bed, taking his glasses off so that he could rest his arm across his eyes.

Hi handsome.

"Okay. Okay..."

"I thought you told me not to stop." You said, and he nodded, letting out a sigh as he dropped his arm from his face, looking at you with such want that you could hardly contain yourself.

"That's enough." His gaze darkened. "I need to be inside you." Oh. You slid to your feet, doing your best not to listen to his quiet protest.

Gotta take my clothes off, relax.

"You need me, pretty boy?" You asked, slipping your shorts and panties down your hips before you pulled your shirt over your head, seeing the smile on his face grow as he wrapped his hand around his cock, jerking it lazily as he watched you come closer, letting you bat his hand away.

Mine.

"All the time... Now c'mere, take me." He insisted, and you nodded, taking the opportunity to grind up and down the shaft of his cock once, hearing him let out a low groan of your name as you did, his hands finding your waist.

"Yes sir." You said, lifting your hips as you gripped his cock, guiding him to your opening. You paused, reaching forward to grip his face so that you could look at him as you sunk down onto him.

"Fuck." He breathed, his jaw dropping as you let the head of his cock slip inside you.

Bliss.

"Ohmygod." You groaned, letting yourself slide fully down his cock, hanging your head as you panted, feeling full from him as his fingers dug into your hips, clearly fighting the urge to thrust up into you immediately.

"Let me know when you're adjusted, and I'll-." You shook your head, leaning back a bit as he groaned, his mouth hanging open from the change. So easy.

"No." Your voice shook, but he didn't fight you, all he did was raise an eyebrow.

"No?" No.

"No... I'm... Setting the pace, Jamie." You panted, face flushing from how hard it was to speak even now... The second he was inside you it was like your brain stopped fucking working, he had that affect on you.

It also happened when he smiled at you... Everything about James was like an instant factory reset in the best way possible... He was your refresh to the world.

His groan broke you from your thoughts, as did the needy look on his face.

"Shit..." "Do you know how hot it is when you say that?" He asked, and you chuckled, sliding all the way off of him as he let out a gasp of disappointment.

"I reckon... Pretty hot." You punctuated your statement by burying his cock inside you again. "God, you feel so good." You sighed, fucking yourself slowly on him, savoring the feeling of how he filled you up.

No one will ever be as good as you.

"So do you." He whined... You liked that about him, that he would whine for you, moan for you, scream for you, there was never a question of if James Potter was having a good time.

He would let you know.

"Mmm..." "Fuck... fuckfuckfuck." You groaned, moving faster, chasing your high even as he demanded your attention... What do you need, pretty boy?

"Kiss me." You leaned in, kissing him deeply as one of his hands left your waist, instead choosing to tug at your nipple and massage your breast before slipping back down to where it had been before.

"Mmmm..." You murmured against his lips, biting down on the lower one to pull it from his teeth before you let go, grinning down at him.

So handsome.

"God, go faster, please go faster..." He begged, and you chuckled, speeding your pace up just a bit as you looked down at him... He was always so hot like this, when he needed you... It was even better right when he woke up, still soft from sleep... But this would do too.

Clearly you weren't complaining.

"You're so cute when you beg for me-." His grip on your hips tightened as he thrust up hard, making you gasp as you pitched forward, resting your hands on his chest as he continued to thrust quickly into you. "Ah!" You gasped, mouth hanging open as your eyes rolled back at the delicious feeling of him fucking you... You'd been hoping he'd do this, it always felt so good when you were riding him.

"Can't help myself... Too good." He grunted, biting down on your bicep, sending the pleasant sting right down to your cunt, which clenched around him as you let out a high whine of his name.

James... Yes...

"JamesJamesJames." You mumbled, unable to stop his name from tumbling from your lips as he pistoned up into you. You reached down shakily, hoping to god that the one hand you had on him could stabilze you as you went to rub your aching clit.

"Not gonna last long." Fuck, if you'd thought that you were going to before, there was no way that you would be now, not with that high, whiny tone in his voice.

You needed him to cum.

"Cum. Cum inside me." You insisted, hearing him let out a low moan as his hot seed spilled inside, making you gasp. Oh my god, yes

"Oh... Oh fuck! Y/N!" He grunted, burying his face in your neck as he rode out his orgasm, pushing you quickly into your own.

"James!" You cried, your thighs trembling as you came around him, gasping and clawing at his chest before you fell limp, slipping off of him "Jesus..." You breathed, trying hard to catch your breath as he stood up, walking over to grab a washcloth from the bathroom so that he could clean you up.

"God, that was good, wasn't it?" He asked, carefully cleaning you as you struggled to find the words that were stuck in your throat. He set the cloth aside, settling in beside you. "Wasn't it?" He asked, tilting your face towards him as you chuckled, pushing him away a bit... He didn't have to worry, if you hadn't been having a good time, that would've been something that you brought up to him in the moment.

He was always good.

"I swear, you're like an overexcited dog, Potter." You groaned, but it made your heart flutter if you were being honest. You liked that he was still so worried about if you were having a good time, if you wanted to be with him. You knew of far too many of your friends who spent their time moaning about how their men had stopped caring for their needs long ago.

James was not one of those people.

"Oi! Don't lump me in with the dogs." He said, pouting as he did - a ridiculous thing for a grown man to do, but if his goal was to get an apologetic kiss, it worked wonders.

"I'm sorry, handsome." You murmured, kissing his lips softly before you pulled back, hearing him sigh. You ran your fingers through his hair as you looked down at him, glasses slightly crooked, still flushed from your earlier activities.

God, you're perfect. My perfect love.

"It's okay... This time." Ahhh, yeah because there was totally going to be a time where it wasn't okay, that was something that just made so much sense.

"I love you so much." You said, standing up to stretch as you spoke, enjoying the pop in your back.

"I love you too." He opened his arms to you as you slipped his discarded tshirt over your head. "C'mere." You sat on the edge of the bed, not moving closer nor further away... He'd been doing something before he was doing you.

"What about your book?" You asked, seeing a wide grin spread across his face as he looked over at you. Boyish charm, even all of these years later.

"I wasn't actually reading... I was seeing how long it'd take you to notice I was hard." He said, a wide grin on his face as you gasped, smacking his arm. There was no way that he'd pulled that just so that you'd sleep with him, right?

Like, you would've done it regardless... All he would've had to do was ask.

"You're such a dick." You sigh, curling into his side as he chuckled, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead, putting a smile on your face even as you tried to pretend like he was annoying you far more than he was.

"Funny, you didn't seem to mind it in the moment." He mumbled, which was fair, but he really didn't have to point it out. Wasn't the sex good enough for him to simply want to agree with you all the time?

"... Ugh. I hate it when you're right." Really, you could've said nothing, but sometimes you couldn't help yourself... James was just too sweet to be ignored.

"I know, love." He said, pressing one more soft kiss to your lips before you settled in against him for the night.

[whimsyvixen]

Brahms finding out about the mating press and pile driver and being feral about getting you in those positions to be as deep as he possibly can. Has to make sure you feel his cock hit your cervix and that you'll always remember you belong with him 💖

I'm screaming into my pillow from imagining this!

A'ight anon. You've given me a bit of inspiration to write a short for this~😘

And I've found the perfect gif as well 😩🫣 !

~

Disfrutando

The Boy Drabble

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Brahms Heelshire x Female Reader

WARNINGS/TAGS: NSFW, Dark smut, dubious consent, overstimulation, mating press, large cock, creampie, Brahms loves your pussy ) 🖤❤️

A mess of sweat and tears, you were too numb to feel the firm hands grabbing onto your ankles.

A grunt of displeasure left you when you were dragged near the edge of the bed, your hair spreading out like a halo on the dirty sheets and your arms splayed out on either side of you. You were so drained and everything ached. Keeping your eyes open was proving to be a difficult task as they kept fluttering closed due to your exhaustion.

The same hands that had pulled you then gripped the back of your thighs, spreading your legs apart to expose your thoroughly bred pussy to the man responsible for such a debauched display.

Cringing at the fluid leaking out of you, you tried to close your legs but groaned at the pain shooting throughout your body from the action. A calloused hand was quick to rub your flushed cheek, causing you to close your eyes and sigh from the comfort it provided.

Just as you started to doze off, Brahms shifted your position, your mind too clouded with post-sex bliss to register the tenseness of his body above yours. Your vision was foggy for a moment, the pleasure you were subjected to moments before blurring the image of the masked man on top of you. When your knees were suddenly pushed to your shoulders, you yelped at the painful ache in your muscles.

Your tongue felt like lead in your mouth, unable to formulate words to question what he was planning. When you felt the blunt tip of his cock press against you, your eyes flew open in alarm.

"B-Brahms! You-?!" Slapping your hands on his firm stomach, you pushed against him. There was no way you could go another round. The ache in your lower extremities left you with no desire to further bruise your swollen insides.

Brahms didn't budge in the slightest, merely tilting his head at your attempts to stop him. A gleam in his eyes shook you, panic settling in when he positioned himself in a squat position of top of you.

"We don't need to-!" Your words ended in a gasp, Brahms quickly ramming his thick cock inside your inflamed pussy before you could protest. The audible squelch of the penetration was absolutely filthy, your mind paying no mind to the sound as it was overtaken by the sensation of being split open once more.

A guttural groan left him, his head tilting back and body shuddering from the decadent pressure of your walls encasing his thick girth.

You could only babble out nonsense, the words lost to you as you felt the delicious stretch of your walls encompassing his thick dick. Brahms pulled out just a few inches, strings of arousal following his retreat, before viciously thrusting forward with an audible plap. Your moans fueled his drive, Brahms slamming his hips down with more force to have you screaming for him. You cried out sweetly at the rough pace he set, your nails digging into his forearms from the brutality of his dick fucking into you.

"I lo-lov…" Brahms stuttered out the words, eyes rolling back when you squeezed hard enough to make him delirious. "I love…ngh!..you!"

~

~

[libingan]

first post! gotta show my appreciation for my babygirl phillip graves :((((

just imagine graves coming home all exhausted and pent up! doesn’t even have it in him to take off his gear and wash away the dirt, grime, and scent of gunpowder on him before he crashes onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

luckily, he has you! sweet, perfect you who’s so eager to take care of him! you’re so gentle, shedding him off of his gear, carefully stripping him down to his boxers :(((

it’s not his fault if he gets hard at the sight of you tending to him! he’s so used to looking out for other people, specifically his shadows, and it’s not every day he gets to enjoy the luxury of having someone pamper him!

doesn’t take long for you to notice the slight tint of red dusting his cheeks, or the clear outline of his cock straining against his boxers, just begging to be freed.

so, like any good lover, you pepper kisses down graves’ body. from his cheek, to his jaw, then his neck, trailing your lips down his chest and belly before sinking to your knees, face to face with your man’s clothed dick.

“look at you, baby…” you softly coo, reaching out press a finger against where the tip would be, eliciting a groan from graves. “need me to take care of you, huh? make you feel good?”

how could graves deny such a gorgeous face?

“mmm… yeah, need you s’bad, doll,” he’d whisper, gently patting your head to encourage you.

and you don’t keep him waiting for another second, eagerly pulling down the piece of fabric and tossing it somewhere you couldn’t care less about.

graves’ cock sprang free, standing at full mast. you waste no time, planting a sweet kiss at the pink tip before enveloping his fat cockhead into your warm mouth, relishing in the shaky sigh that escapes your lover.

“fuck, darlin’, c’mon… you can take more, know ya can…” graves urges, lightly pushing your head down. in response, you swallow him deeper into your mouth, slurping up his dick with a hum. you keep your gaze on him the entire time, watching his face contort with pleasure, pleasure that he’s been craving for so long. those quick jerk off sessions to your pictures whenever he’s at work isn’t enough!

you take him as deep as you can go, using your hands to stroke whatever your mouth can’t reach. graves looks so pretty like this! brows furrowed, bottom lip caught in between his teeth, small, quiet pants escaping his lips as he shallowly bucks his hips into that warm, wet heat.

“s’fuckin’ good, doll… lemme fuck your pretty mouth, yeah? gon’ be real gentle, promise, just… fuck, just like that…” graves’ hands tighten around your locks, his moans growing louder in volume as he thrusts into your mouth, admiring the way your lips wrap around his cock, your eyes glossy and burning with desire.

it doesn’t take long for him to feel that familiar coiling in his gut, his orgasm fast approaching. how can he hold back when you look so good on your knees, so eager to relieve his stress? he can’t, he just can’t.

“gonna cum, baby,” he lets you know, hips stuttering as a guttural moan leaves him. graves’ pulls out of your mouth, stroking his dick as his thick, creamy semen splatters all over your face, staining your skin with his release.

it’s a little gross, and it feels sticky, but you don’t worry about that right now. not when graves’ falls back against the couch limply, eyes hazy and half-lidded as he takes in the sight of your pretty face painted with his cum.

he has half the mind to take a picture… just to keep the memory fresh.

so graves does exactly that, grabbing his phone and snapping a few photos of your messy face, cock resting heavy on your cheek.

“you look fuckin’ sexy like this, baby… lemme mess you up some more, okay?”

and mess you up some more he did.

[daisies-daydreams]

The Sweetest Fruit (Gyomei Himejima x F!Reader Drabble)

Pairing: Gyomei Himejima x F!Reader Category: Smut Tags: Face Riding, Oral Sex (F!Receiving), Clit Play, Slight Marking, Swearing, Male Moaning Word Count: 642 Adult Content Banner: @cafekitsune Summary: Gyomei enjoys a delicious meal. 😏 A/N: Another Gyomei drabble! I just know that he would be absolutely whipped when it comes to eating out his girl. 🤭 I hope you enjoy!

Your soft moans cascaded through the room as Gyomei tenderly swiped his long, warm tongue between your sticky folds. The large man grunted as your plush thighs squeezed around his head. He grinned as you rolled your hips forward, smearing your warm juices across his chin.

“G-Gyo, oh f-fuck,” you panted heavily as you continued to gently rock your hips against his face. His eyelids fluttered as he flicked his tongue over your swollen bundle of nerves, the light groan that fell from your lips sending a shiver down his spine.

Gods, he’s never tasted anything as sweet and delectable as you. Not even the finest sake could get him as intoxicated as your succulent, divine nectar.

A small smile crept over his features as he gently puckered his lips around your sensitive clit. The way your legs shook against his ears as he relaxed and tightened his lips around your bud made his half-hard cock twitch beneath the sweltering confines of his undergarments.

Gyomei groaned as he felt your delicate fingers snake through his messy hair, the slight sting of you tugging on his dark locks making his eyes roll back.

“A-Ah, yes,” you keened as your plush labia glided over his lower face, your slick pooling and oozing down his chin and painting the skin of his neck. Gyomei’s burly arms continued to pin your legs against his face as he swiped his head back and forth, his wide tongue lapping along your juicy slit.

Both of you moaned as a stream of slick gushed from your puckering entrance. Gyomei’s nostrils flared as he eagerly lapped up your honeyed juices, the heady taste of your delicious slick dancing over his famished tastebuds.

Gyomei’s calloused fingertips sank into the plush of your thighs as he moved his head a little faster, the soft cries of pleasure spilling through the bedroom making it even harder for him to hold back.

But no…he had to savor you, consume you with such gentle fervor that you would absolutely gush for him.

“Gyomei, mm, I-I’m so close,” your sweet voice filled his ears as you feverishly bucked your hips. Gyomei sighed deeply as he closed his eyes, his tongue swiftly painting bold stripes along your puffy folds.

A deep grunt rumbled through his chest as he dipped the tip of his tongue past the fluttering ring of muscle around your entrance. He could only imagine how you tilted your head back as he thrusted his thick muscle into the depths of your dripping heat, his cock straining against his clothing as you whined.

You mewled as he eagerly wrapped his mouth around your swollen folds as he dove his tongue into your velvety walls, each push of his muscle causing the vice of your cunt to grow tighter and tighter.

“G-Gyomei!” you moaned as your hips snapped forward. Gyomei groaned as your walls pulsed around his tongue, the feeling of your juices gushing around his wriggling muscle causing a guttural groan to seep past his lips.

He slowly slipped his tongue out before greedily lapping up every last drop of your warm, delectable nectar. Your sweetness coated his tastebuds and dribbled down his parched throat as you keened and shivered above him.

“Gyo,” you mewled his nickname as he flicked his tongue over your puffy hole.

Your love panted heavily before laying a soft, tender kiss against your labia. He sighed softly as your grip on his hair loosened, the residual sting melting into comfort as you rested your palms against his scalp. Gyomei heard you gasp as you tried to raise your hips, only for him to tighten his grip around your trembling thighs.

He gave you a hungry, pleading look as his mouth danced over your soaked lower lips.

“Just hold on, my sweet, delectable peach…I’m not finished with you yet”

————

Thank you for reading! ❤️

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[zweiginator]

sucking off sub!patrick and playing with his tip vvv much +him being a whining mess and cumming multiple times!!

if you don’t want to write is that’s ok!!! btw i love ur writing smmmm

🫒 anon

patrick, who usually is very dominant, doesn't think he can be submissive. but he more so thinks you cant be dominant. you shake your head, tell him that you definitely can. but he shrugs. you're so obedient to him. he can't imagine you not taking orders from him the second they tumble from his mouth.

and then one night you get a little tipsy and so does he. and you're feeling horny and bold. so you straddle him. pin his hands above his head.

"gonna let me be in charge tonight?" you whisper against his ear.

"sure." he giggles, but you're dead fucking serious. you use one of his ties to tie his wrists to the headboard.

"fuck, you're for real about this." he looks excited and you slap him.

"are you gonna be a good boy or not? you only cum if you're good."

patrick nods and he doesn't know what's in store because he's never given up control like this--but fuck he likes when you hover over him like this. when you slap him around. make him your bitch. he just won't admit it. yet.

you pull patrick's sweatpants down and his cock is heavy, straining against his briefs. you rub him slowly, up and down his shaft and he nods, his wrists pulling at the neckties holding him back.

"fuck--i'm so fucking hard."

"i see that. poor thing." you kiss him and lick him through his underwear, watching precum ooze through the fabric. it's warm and salty against your tongue. the open-mouthed kisses make him shudder and rut against your mouth and you can tell his heartbeat is speeding up because he wants to touch you.

guttural moans escape his mouth. lips bitten and red, blood rushing to the surface of them, his cheeks, his sweaty forehead. patrick's eyebrows furrow together and he begs you to take his cock out.

"it hurts--please take it out, please?"

you've never heard him beg like this. you've never seen tears sting the corners of his eyes.

when you take him out he breathes a sigh of relief, but it's all short-lived because you're not touching him and he needs to fucking be touched.

you know he likes to be deep in your throat, but you only suck the tip of him into your mouth, pushing him against the inside of your cheek, blowing messy spit bubbles over his slit. kitten licking and kissing him and moaning around him--just the tip.

he's teased you that way plenty of times. but he's never known the feeling.

"fuck--can you fucking deepthroat me? jesus--i need it."

you slap his cheek again.

"watch your mouth. dirty fucking mouth. you get what i give you."

it only takes a few more minutes of you suckling on his tip, your thumb rubbing against the crown of him, until he's cumming down your throat. <3

[reveluving]

Hii!

I was just thinking Price with a wife who is insecure about her body because of things like stretch marks or chub finally working up the courage to do something like lingerie or naughty photos as a surprise for him ;D

Hi!! OMG. SWEATING. As someone who has stretch marks and a little 'cushion' here and there, plus is also a big fan of this trope(?), this thot is CALLING me! 😩🤌🏻

Includes: soft dom!price, unprotected sex (p in v), finger-sucking, size difference, petnames ('pretty girl', 'sweetheart'), mentions of lap dance/strip tease

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

No matter which lingerie suits your fancy, just know it will give your husband a heart attack. 

Why wouldn’t it? He already loves you for who you are—you can do the most mundane things and he’ll stare. A lot. You could be wearing anything, even if you think it doesn’t suit you, and he’d have to fight the urge to just have you for himself, be it at home or in public.

So, you want to thank your husband for being the hunky sweetheart that he is. 

He wouldn’t be home until a few hours, giving you enough time to execute your plan.

Hiding the lingerie you bought days prior is one thing, posing for the camera is another. The thought of having your ass up, face down or the strap of your bra or babydoll fall off your shoulders in front of the lens just causes your body to heat up immensely, even if it's just you. Possibly because it’s your first time taking photos of yourself in such a deliciously scandalous manner, but it also could’ve been due to the fact that you know exactly how John is going to react to them.

Especially since you’re planning to gift these polaroids for when he needs to leave for work—with no way to have you with him except for these priceless photos, specifically made for his eyes and use only.

But three polaroids aren’t enough for him to survive the field without you. 

Because as soon as he comes home to find these photos on the table, placed under his hat for his next deployment in the near future, expect to hear heavy footsteps approaching the bedroom, where you’re likely waiting for him—being struck dumb to find you sitting prettily on the bed in your new piece. 

His eyes are blown out, and you can’t help but gulp when he closes the door behind him too calmly before walking over to you. The way he stalks over to you ever so slowly prompts you to crawl back. Not because you’re scared, but you had to admit, your heart’s beating wildly, even more so when he begins taking off his clothes without uttering a word.

Your nails dig into the sheets when you have nowhere to go, feeling the headboard against your back as he traps you from the front—resembling a predator hunting its prey. 

“John…” You mutter, letting out a shaky sigh as he slides his hand up your leg, biting his lip at the sight; the stockings/garter belt squeezing the plush of your thighs just enough to drive him wild. He doesn’t even give you a second to utter his name once again when he yanks you forward, with John on his knees as he holds you to sit on his thighs, forcing you to look down at him.

“S’a really nice piece, sweetheart,” He purrs, his voice telling you that he’s holding himself back from just fucking you. He licks on the deep cleavage, the small, thin material leaving little to his imagination as it barely covers your tits, all while maintaining eye contact as a guttural groan leaves his lips. One of his hands moves to your front, playing with the hem of your stocking/garter belt, pulling it back before releasing it. His lips part in delight, almost mirroring the way you gasp as the tight material slaps against you with a light smack, “Is this all f’me?”

You nodded with the tiniest whine, holding onto him like he was your lifeline. 

Ignoring the dampness of your panties was useless since you knew he could feel it against his thigh. His stare becomes too much for you, and you can’t do anything else other than rest your forehead against his, feeling his warm breath against you just as he feels yours and begging him to have you. 

And how can he say no to you?

Especially since you’ve been a good girl at posing for him as he takes countless photos of you on the polaroids—from the more ‘innocent ones’ like having you drool on his fingers (“Suck on them real good. That’s it, my pretty girl”) to the lewder displays, where he has you on your side, taking you from behind before taking a picture or two your pussy tightly gripping and leaking around the base of his cock.

Now he knows he won’t be alone in his next deployment.

Bonus: Him asking you for a lap dance or a strip tease for him as he sits all smug at the edge of the bed or the bedroom chair. He does this thing where he throws his head back and bucks his hips when you rub yourself against him. Yes.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[shiyorin]

#Horny Ferrus in your area 

#Ferrus Manus x F!Reader

#All is his delulu

#NSFW, Horny Heresy, Delulu, from poipiku...

Ferrus Manus sighed heavily as he facepalmed, the iron-hard plates of his hands making an echoing clang against his brow ridges. Once again, he found himself utterly consumed by the most disgraceful thoughts and impulses.

He cast a sidelong glance at the anatomically precise... accessory he had painstakingly crafted for his own indulgence. It lay before him, a rendered facsimile of your own intimate petals fashioned with the most advanced printing technologies the Imperium could provide. Every crease and fold, each subtlety of texture and suppleness meticulously recreated to serve as the most exquisite self-pleasuring aid imaginable.

Just the sight of it caused his already stiffening arousal to throb with need. He could so vividly envision hilting himself to the root within that snug, yielding embrace. Sheathing his aching length in the sumptuous slick heat, snugly enveloped... savoring every undulating flex and silken ripple as he drove relentlessly into the clinging depths...

A low, ragged growl vibrated from deep within his chest. Slowly, as if drawn by an irresistible current, he reached down to curl one iron fist around his rapidly engorging girth. Just a few rough strokes of his calloused grasp was all it took for him to thicken and harden to his fullest, most excruciatingly swollen state.

Molten lust blazed through his veins as the first pearly droplets welled forth from the cock. His jaw clenched as he finally surrendered to temptation, snatching up the lifelike 'toy' to hover the open, flushed entrance just a hairsbreadth away from his quivering tip.

A harsh sound caught between a grunt and a groan tore from his throat as he began to ease forward, breaching the sleek, dewy lips with his ponderous girth. They parted in a deliciously bloom to accept his invasion with eager welcome, flowery folds stretching taut as satin around his engorged crown.

Bolt after agonizing bolt of electric rapture speared up his spine as inch after delicious inch was slowly engulfed in heavenly, suctioning friction. He could feel every last microscopic detail wringing blissful sensation from him, the sumptuous swirl of rippling texture, the incredible heated clutch fluttering and convulsing with each shallow thrust...

Ferrus braced his stance and gripped the quivering toy with both hands before beginning to hammer forward in a blur of piston-like thrusts. The sharp crack of flesh meeting fake flesh punctuated each slick, squelching impact as he rapidly built up.

A guttural moan split the air as he surrendered to the slipstream of rapture, hips pistoning forward with pile-driver force. The graphic sounds of his own lusty despoilment washed over him in a tide of shameful bliss. Scorching jets of semen forth to slick his throbbing, plunging cock with every fresh vulgar thrust.

But... something was unmistakably, achingly absent. 

For all the craftsmanship, the exacting detail and attention lavished to create this sleek, perfect imitation... it remained merely a lewd copy of the true awaiting him. As skilled as his maker's touch had been in rendering it, the piece ultimately failed to capture that most crucial, most profoundly transcendent aspect he truly craved.

Those lithe, limbs that could coil about his bulk with tantalizing grace, beckoning and beseeching. Your soft hair to tangle his hand within as he hilted himself fully, plunging to the root through the untold bliss of your silken depths. Your serene, flushed countenance shattering with unconstrained rapture as moaning of pleasure rent the air while he claimed you with all the unchecked of his primarch stature.

Even as his own motions grew more frantic and the inexorable crest built within him, Ferrus knew the ultimate rapture eluded him. He imagined your voice in his mind, soft like smoky as you urged him on with cries of enraptured abandon. The idea alone of your surrender, of being the one to undo that imperturbable composure while you came undone beneath him drove him ever closer to the edge.

He arched his back and began to harder his hips with more force. It was so good, so sublime... but it was not enough. Never enough. It could never capture what he truly hungered for. Not mere flesh and texture and sensation... but the soul-rending, and primal ecstasy of truly becoming one.

With a harsh moaning, he finally crested release and felt the scalding flood erupt forth from his core. His hips snapped forward with brutal force, ramming to the root once, twice, three times more as pulse after pulse of hot, thick seed erupted in gushing torrents from his juddering cock.

As the final ebb washed over him, he slumped forward. A deep sound somewhere between a growl and a weary sigh gusted from his lips. His hips offered only shallow, weakening motions as he coasted through the aftershocks. Hot ropes dangled obscenely linking his pulsing erection with the dripping toy.

He glanced down to see his cock still remained at half-mast despite his recent exertions, flushed and heavy with the first smoldering embers of rekindled lust.

A harsh sound caught between a gutting and a groan tore from his throat as he ground one unyielding fist against the aching swell. It would not be long before the fever consumed him once more…

[eddiemunsons-missingnipple]

Warnings: oral (male receiving) some praising from Eddie. Terms, good girl, and baby are used. No use of y/n.

18+ minors dni

"You're so pretty like this." Eddie cooed as your mouth worked on his cock.

"That's it, sweetheart jus' how I showed you jus-just like that." He stammered, feeling you swallow around his length.

Eddie was on cloud nine right now, having you sitting on your knees before him. He's laid back on his couch legs sprawled out. He felt like he died and gone to heaven. A pretty little thing like you half naked in front of him. Tits on full display as he imagined them covered in his cum. Just for him. Your mascara smeared around your eyes. You looked so beautiful, he thought to himself. How did he manage to ever get so lucky? You were perfect. And you were his.

"Ooh! shit honey ya g'nna make me cum." He lets out a guttural moan that made your pussy flutter.

Drool spilling down your chin and on to his balls. The soft curls on his pelvis brushed your nose every time you took him back down your throat. Tears spring to your eyes when take his cock further down.

"So so pretty, baby." He's showering you with compliments knowing you can't shut them down when your mouth is too busy working on him.

You whined with embarrassment. "Ah ah, take my compliment."

He thrusts up, hitting the back of your throat just the way he likes it. "You're so good."

"I love you like this mouth full of me, and I can call you my pretty girl with no disagreements."

He thrusts up again , letting out a long deep sigh. You moan around him, bringing your hand up to massage his balls. You choke a little on him. "Fuuck!, breath baby. There you go."

He's getting close. Your mouth is so wet and warm. You take him so well now after he taught you how. You pull him all the way out, slapping his leaking tip on your tongue, tasting the saltiness of his precum. You spit on his cock bringing your other hand up to work on his shaft. His precum mixed with your spit working as lubricant. Your pussy soaking through your panties, as they're becoming sheer from your slick. Licking and sucking his tip, watching him struggling from above you.

"God, you're so perfect." Eddie groans, feeling you sink your mouth back down, taking all of him in. "You're such a good girl."

"g'nna have you feelin' so special in a bit." He promised, bringing a hand to smooth down your face. "You'd like that, huh?"

You hum in response.

"You deserve it baby you're so good for me." He lets his head fall back, enjoying the feeling of your throat wrapping around his cock. Eddie won't doesn't stop giving you praise after praise, relishing in how you can't disagree. "I love you so fucking much."

[weareallstoriesintheend]

Caught (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Matt finds you ✨engrossed✨ in watching CCTV footage from Daredevils latest fight and he can't help but notice how much you like it.

Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, fingering, talk of violence

Commissions are now open on Etsy!

It wasn’t often that you googled Daredevil.

Last night Matt had been out longer than usual and he had kept all too quiet about it this morning so you decided it was time to change that.

You’d heard him sneak in through the bedroom window at around 4am, the slip of suit fabric from his skin was louder cause your ears pricked up to it in your half-asleep state. In the dark you imagined what each tap and bump was before he slipped under the covers beside you. You could picture him in your mind, kicking his heavy boots under the dresser and flicking the cumbersome suit over the back of the chair that sat against your oak vanity and placing his helmet next to your hairbrush on the side.

The dip of the mattress fully stirred you, the heat of another body joining you under the grey silk sheets.

You hoped he wasn’t aware you were awake but you turned over, sleepily nuzzling into his shoulder as he lay on his back. Your worry before bed had made your sleep restless so, as usual, you gravitated to him the second you knew he was safe. You chanced a peak and his eyes were unfocused towards the end of the bed but his chin was tilted down in your direction.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, eyebrows pulling down regretfully.

“How did you know?” your voice sounded groggy through the heaviness of sleep.

Matt smiled softly, kissing the top of your head, “Your breathing changed.”

“You scare me,” You joked before yawning, nestling yourself against his arm and closing your eyes once again.

---------

Come the morning he was not forthcoming with where he’d been, “I just went further than usual, didn’t realize and it took longer to get back is all.”

Matt tried to play it off with a joke in his tone as he fiddled with his tie, opening his mouth so you could slide a piece of buttered toast between his teeth.

“Matt, you didn’t answer me. Where did you go so late?”

He shrugged, picking up his jacket and grasping the slice of toast between two fingers, “Nowhere special,” he mumbled between chews and he headed out to the office. Your sigh of defeat was punctured by the slam of the door.

---------

After work, in a quiet apartment, you sat down on the bed, laptop perched on your crossed legs, as you set about googling him. It wasn’t something you liked to do, choosing to stay as far away from his double life as possible.

Immediately a new article popped up, posted 6 hours ago.

‘Daredevil is Suspect in Mass Brawl’

The first thing that popped up before the article even began was a video. Clearly CCTV footage from the grainy, black and white image.

For some reason the thought of watching this felt wrong, a part of him he didn’t want you to see. But you were suddenly, unexplainably curious.

Matt was sweet, complicated but sweet, so there was a part of you that couldn’t imagine that level of violence you’d heard Daredevil had been involved in.

You’d seen him do things before, on the news, prior to your knowledge it was him. But here, alone in your apartment, something deep within you encouraged you on to press play.

At first you flinched, listening to the guttural sound of pain and violence. When whoever had acquired the video edited it to zoom in you questioned yourself on how you’d never know Daredevil was Matt before he told you, the recognizable sharpness of his jaw and the baring of his teeth that you’d seen in very different circumstances.

The call back to more intimate times made a dangerous connection in your mind. A pathway formed as your eyes took in blow after blow of his fist. Heat pooled low in your stomach and your spine straightened.

Something about his ease to violence scared you but his clear ability to revel in his effortless capabilities made you shudder with pleasure. His body was so strong and lithe, he took blows as often has he landed them but they only seemed to spur him on.

The line of his back distracted you, bringing strong shoulders down to slender hips, and once again you wondered how you never knew.

You chewed your lip harshly, as you became entranced the video suddenly stopped. Without thinking you scrolled it back and allowed it to begin again.

----------

He was smiling before he even made it through the door, he wasn’t sure what he could hear but he had guesses, suspicions, of what you were up to within the private walls of your shared apartment.

Slowly he clicked open the lock, determined to remain undetectable to your busy ears.  

Toeing off his boots he pads in socked feet across the wooden floor towards the door to the bedroom. Carefully running his hand along it, he noticed it was open.

Dropping his shoulder against the frame he took in his own personal kind of view. The senses you kindled in him were tantalizing every time.

His tongue tingled like you were already flooding it, his nostrils flared at the sweet scent of perfume that floated off the nape of your neck as your hair dropped from your shoulder.

An almost silent, breathy, “Fuck,” left your lips and Matt bit his lip to keep from laughing. His hand dropped, rubbing just above his cock through his suit pants as if trying to deter the throb that pulsed through him. 

Your skin was hot and he knew just what that meant, he didn’t need to know you as well he did to know how you felt. The smell of you, drifting through his nose and igniting his taste buds, was enough to clue him on your intentions.

Matt heard as your chest rose faster, breath quickening, accompanied by the slick sound of your tongue licking out over your lips as you remained engrossed in the screen.

His nails dug into the wood of the doorframe to prevent himself from stepping into the room for a little longer. As soon as he moved, he knew you would pick up on his presence, he wanted to bathe in your indulgence a little longer.

The sounds of what you were watching caused flashbacks of his previous evening; the dawning smirk of recognition slid up his cheek. The smirk broke into a grin when he heard the sound your fingers hesitantly twitching against fabric, inching ever closer to sliding under the hem of your little lounge shorts he guessed, like your brain and fingers were in an unbeatable tussle of right and wrong.

Matt took you in in fascination as the video came to an obvious end and your fingers tapped away and it started over. He wondered to himself how long you’d been at this, how long you’d basically edged yourself watching him beat the shit out of a group of dumb thugs trying to rob a warehouse.

As much as he struggled to admit it, Matt knew he got off on the ease of his skills in these situations but he was surprised to discover so did you.

Matt heard the almost silent sound of moving fabric and he knew you were getting twitchy. He stepped forward just a little, the urge to play with you taking over.

---------

“Having fun?” Matt’s voice felt louder than intended as it broke through the quiet tension. You jumped, hands gripping your laptop to stop it falling from your lap.

Now your breath certainly was loud as the adrenaline pumped through your veins, it did nothing to still the stirring of Matts cock as the rush of blood around your body made the room flood with your scent. Your heartbeat thudded against his eardrums as he stepped away from the door.

“I didn’t know you… y-you’re home?” You stammered, clumsily tripping over your words as you tried to remain collected. Casually, keeping your eyes on him, you fumbled to close the laptop lid. The tap of it shutting cause the video to stop and suddenly the room was very silent.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek you tried to subdue your irritation at the smug look on his face.

“Are we really going to pretend that I don’t know what you were doing?”

You scoffed, “Watching the news? I don’t see why we need to pretend about that. Also… now I know where you went last night, why didn’t you tell me it was that bad?”

Matt laughed, arrogant and cocksure, “Oh no no no. We’re not going to do this right now, don’t even try it.”

You still pressed on, lacing your tone with worry, “You were in serious danger, Matt, that was a lot of…”

“…Shhhhh.”

Moving slowly, he let his knees hit the end of the bed, something about the roll of his shoulders and the way his body thrummed with pent up energy made you want to move back. Resting back on your hands you made to move yourself up the bed, edge yourself back from the weight of his presence but you didn’t get a chance.

Faster than lightening, his calloused fingers wrapped around your ankle holding you steady. You yelped, although upon reflection it sounded closer to an embarrassing whimper.

“We both know I can handle myself just fine,” he said, voice so low it rumbled in his chest.

Grabbing onto both of your ankles now he manhandled you, dragging you to him, the shock to your system made your body go limp and he was able to spin you half onto your front. Getting the idea, you helped him out with a huff of effort, shuffling so that you comfortably lay flat on your stomach.

Frozen in anticipation you stared at the sheets, wide-eyed. His labored breathing sent tickles up your spine when you heard it, the growl that hung heavy in his throat. His hands explored your calves, massaging and squeezing their way up.

“Maybe I should take you along some time,” he mused.

You swallowed harshly, “What do you mean?”

“If it gets you off so much,” he said plainly. You gasped, face flushing with embarrassment to hear him say it so matter of factly.

“I’d make sure you’re safe, out of harms reach but close enough to see me. Maybe you could slip your hand into your soaked panties and touch yourself for me. I would be able to smell the sweetness of this pretty pussy mixed with a bitter twinge of their blood.”

You’d lost the ability to control your breathing, your chest pushing down against the mattress making it hard to catch your breath. Matt chuckled, his hands sliding up your thighs to your ass, grabbing handfuls for a harsh squeeze.

He was in his own world you could tell, at this point he wasn’t thinking of your pleasure but his own. The exploration of your body was his fuel right now and you were a willing form of sustenance.

“Imagine that angel, you… touching yourself in public for me. That gorgeous wet sound reaching my ears to drown out their pathetic pleas for mercy.”

Gulping you asked, trying your luck, “What if they saw me?”

“I’d rip their spine out through their throat before they got the chance to take one step in your direction.”

You closed your eyes tight, as if trying to wake yourself from the possibility of imagining this, “Holy shit,” you breathed.

Suddenly his body weight pushed you down, he lay himself the length of you and propped himself up with hands either side of your shoulders. He nuzzled into your hair, pressing his lips to the curve of your ear.

“Oh, you like that huh?” Matt teased, despite his weight on top of you he pushed his hand underneath you. Wriggling it down between your legs he pushed and pulled with an intoxicating sense of urgency until his fingers slipper over the fabric of your panties. His fingers met with soaked cotton and he let out a shaky breath.

The cocky bite of a laugh he let out made you scrunch your eyes closed, “Hmmm yeah, you like that idea.”

The room felt like it was caving in with heat, the fabric of your clothes felt too close like you were suffocating in the best way. You wanted him, this moment, to drown you as you clawed at the sheets whilst his finger circled on your clit at an agonizingly slow pace.

They were purposeful yet lazy circles, his touch was so attuned to you that he no longer needed your input. Matt could just take you.

You arched your hips up into him, unable to move much under him. You whimpered at the feeling; a second finger brushed over your clit as he pushed his cock back against you. 

The sound of his whisper made the muscles in your lower stomach clench violently, “That’s ok angel, let me take care of you. Poor thing.”

Your breath shook as the air pressed from your lungs with another thrust of his hips and you choked on the last air you had as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder.

“Matty,” you gasped, whimpering at the rush of pain and pleasure that thudded through your core. His fingers sped up and your hips twitched as the sudden bolt of pleasure that climbed up your spine.

“Atta girl,” his voice sent vibrations along your skin, “That’s it.”

Matt was still pressing himself into you, uncaring that his hand was crushed beneath you. His body weight felt delicious on you, holding you grounded as your nerves lost their sense of reality, head swimming with the heat and the pressure. Your hips ground down hungrily seeking out more as he coaxed you on, “There you go, that’s my girl.”

You whined desperately, and he laughed, his teasing tone only fueling your spiral towards your climax, “Oh I know, I know.”

Your body shook violently, muscles tensing as you plunged over the edge. Matt’s fingers never relented as you squirmed your way through a harsh orgasm. Your loud cries made him grin, you could feel it as he rested against your shoulder blade, kissing your overheated skin.

His fingers left you, slowly, and your entire body felt like it was sinking through the mattress as your muscles released their tension. Your breathing rattled through your chest as you fought to steady it.

You heard the wet sound of him sucking his fingers by your ear, unable to respond as your body tried to come down from it’s high.

Once again, his lips were close and he whispered, “Now let’s hear more of what you were thinking about hmmm?” 

[writersdrug]

Ghost x Reader x Konig: I Don't Need You (Ch. 1)

Next ->

Summary: Your "situation" with Ghost went sour, and to ensure that the two of you wouldn't tear the team apart with your fighting, Captain Price sells you to a different private company. You jump from group to group, not really fitting in anywhere, until a risky mission forces you and Konig to bond with each other. The both of you are inseparable.

It comes to light that someone's put a target on your back; you discovered classified information somewhere along hopping between Special Forces groups. The information leads to an issue much deeper and corrupted than anyone had imagined, leading KORTAC and SPECGRU to work together. You realize that time never healed anything, and things would only get worse between you and Ghost - and, now, Konig.

WARNINGS: writer only played COD once or twice, foul language, eventual smut, descriptive gore, angst, Google translate German, torture, violence, mentions of rape (not descriptive, after the fact)

Chapter warnings: mentions of smut (after the fact), foul language

Deep, rhythmic, warm breaths caressed the back of my neck. Simon’s arm was lazily draped over my waist and my hand rested on top of his. His other arm wrapped under and around my neck, holding my other hand loosely against my own shoulder. Our legs intertwined with each other’s, my back was pressed against his chest, and my soul reveled in the warmth that radiated from his being. A thin duvet was loosely draped over our bodies, doing little to keep us warm. Yet a thin layer of sweat still clung to our skin from our intense actions, only a few minutes ago.

I couldn’t help but smile as I thought back to our passion. Every taste was still lingering on my tongue; every touch and kiss and caress still left a blazing trail on my skin. I pulled Simon’s arm tighter around my waist and scooted my back against him. He let out a guttural sigh in response, massaging the skin over my stomach and sighing into my neck. He pushed himself closer to me and squeezed my hands.

“What’s on your mind, Simon?” I asked in a playful voice.

“Mm… what do you think?” he grumbled sleepily. My heart fluttered as he moved his hand down my waist and over my thigh, then back up to squeeze my hip. I arched my back against him, craving more of his touch.

I sighed contentedly. “I wish this didn’t have to end. God, Simon… I could lie here with you forever.” I kissed his arm that held my shoulder.

I waited for a response – So could I. I would never let you go. Why don’t we sleep in, get a late start tomorrow? Who cares if anyone sees you leaving my room? It’s about time people knew about us. A kiss. A squeeze. Even a grunt of acknowledgement. But he remained silent and unmoving, like he couldn’t give a response. Or that he didn’t want to.

An uneasiness settled in my stomach. I tried again, shifting my hips against him and letting out a small whimper, disguised as a yawn. I expected him to hold my hips and grind into me. However, he stayed completely still, forcing himself not to react.

I smiled to myself. He’s just worn out. It’s early in the morning, maybe he doesn’t have the energy to banter. I pushed the uneasy feeling away, assuming his lack of a response was due to something completely reasonable and normal. I forced myself to focus on the moment, the feelings of his warm skin on mine, his breaths on my neck-

Simon sighed. “Bonnie…” he started.

“Call signs now?” I quipped, rolling over to look at him. I did my best to stomp out the anxious flame in my stomach, although I couldn’t help the frown that creeped onto my face. “What, is it time for work already?”

I noticed his face was grim, somber. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. His hand was slowly squeezing my hip, kneading the skin gently… he was thinking, turning over some mind-bending thought in his head. I gently placed my hand on the side of his face and directed it towards mine, yet he still refused to meet my gaze.

“Simon, what’s wrong?” I asked.

He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. A foreboding sign of his next words.

“This was a mistake.”

My chest immediately felt constricted. For a second, I forgot to breathe. “What?” I pulled my hand away from him.

Simon’s arm left my waist and rested in between us. “Don’t get me wrong here… I loved what we had. You’re amazing in every sense of the word. But, sweetheart…“ he sighed, still looking away from me. “I think it’s gone a bit far, don’t you? It wasn’t even supposed to go on this long.”

Loved. I sat up, my eyes never leaving Simon’s despite the fact that he still wouldn’t look at me.

“We both said at the beginning that this was just for fun. But lately, I feel like you’ve… well, you treat it like we’re beyond that point, yeah? I mean, you’ve been acting like we’re a thing – maybe not outright, but the way you’re acting around everyone else, the way you’re acting around me in public… I’m starting to feel like it’s become more than that to you.”

“Why are you saying this now?” I asked. I knew the question was pointless. Was there ever a good time to say it?

Finally, Simon looked me in the eyes. There was a hint of regret and sincerity in his face. “I just think we need to end this now, before we get too… attached, to each other. Before we make any serious mistakes.”

Before… I felt my heart sink as I processed the words, and their meaning.

“Do you see what I’m sayin’ here?” he asked, now propped up on one shoulder. He looked at me with a pleading yet cautious gaze.

I stared blankly back, even though I couldn’t actually see him. All I could focus on was the devastating feeling in my gut. My mind began racing, my heart started pounding – and this painful sense of dread flooded my veins. I understood exactly what he was saying. Despite my body having an initial reaction, my brain was slower to process any impending emotions. Before… what does he mean ‘before’? Didn’t we get to that point already? Mistake? How long has he thought this? Has he been lying to me the whole time?

I quickly stopped my thoughts from unravelling in my head. No. No no no no no. I needed to get out of here before the pain could catch up to me.

I immediately rolled out of the makeshift bed – two cots pushed together against the wall with an extra layer of sheets underneath – and picked up my clothes that had been tossed across the floor. I have to go. I have to go before this hurts.

Ghost sat up quickly and scooted back against the wall. “Well, wait – don’t you wanna talk about this?”

“No.” was all I said as I pulled on my panties and sweatpants, making quick work of putting my bra back on. I suddenly felt naked – not in the way before, where I wanted Ghost to see and feel every inch of my skin. Now I felt ashamed, humiliated, ridiculous, stupid, stupid –

“Please, love- “ Ghost made his way from the bed and over to me. “ – you need to let me explain –“

I turned away from him as I finished pulling my shirt over my head. “No.” I said again, hopping in place as I rushed to put my socks on. The room was suddenly cold, making me want to curl in on myself and hide somewhere. But I needed to get away from him before I could let myself feel anything. I sat on the edge of the bed and quickly pulled my shoes on.

Once again, I had let myself become vulnerable in hopes of finding some sort of comfort, some kind of goodness. And just like always, it made things worse than before. When will I ever fucking learn. Rage slowly started to mix with the embarrassment and the pain.

I grabbed my dog tags off of the nightstand as Ghost trailed my every move. “Can you fuckin’ grow up and listen to me?!” he shouted, arms outstretched, pleading, as I fumbled with my laces. “Christ, don’t act like this is news, you knew this wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. This is on you for not ending it sooner. I didn’t want to bring this up myself because, well…” he gestured to me as I angrily made my way to the door, following closely behind. “… this. I knew you would fuckin’ freak out on me. Look at you! You never face your mistakes, you’re running away like a fuckin’ coward, you are- “

I’d heard enough. I turned towards him sharply and threw a hard punch right to his face – his left eye, to be precise. He stumbled backwards with a surprised grunt, his hand flying to his face. He looked at me in total shock and anger – I met his eyes, my expression furious. Of course, I knew he was right, but I didn’t care. I just wanted him to be quiet and let me go, before he could see any sort of emotional reaction from me.

I punched his door open and began storming down the hall. The tears started to finally fall – but that was ok. My back was to Ghost. He wouldn’t see them. My breaths became rugged and sharp as I started to process everything that had happened. I jumped at the sound of Ghost slamming his door, followed by the muffled sound of him cursing.

I entered my room and quickly shut the door behind me. My things fell onto the floor as I let my emotions take over my body. I was shaking. Fucking get it together! I couldn’t. A part of me thought I was being extremely overdramatic. After all, we had agreed in the beginning – no strings attached. I was the one who pushed so hard for that. Why does it hurt so much? I was the one who broke the rules. I was angry with myself… and also with Ghost. Why? I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe…

I just thought he might have felt the same. He didn’t have to push me away so harshly. Why did he wait so long to say something? More importantly, Why does it hurt this much? Why did I let this happen?

I slid against the door until I sat on the ground, knees up to my chest. I sobbed into my hands. Everything was so messed up. I didn’t know who to be angry at; hell, I didn’t know if I could be angry at anyone. Maybe this was all my fault, and I just had to clean up and move on. But it felt like there was a black hole in my chest, sucking everything in and still feeling empty. I had to figure out how to fill that hole for good, and I knew it wouldn’t be easy, or quick.

[darkdemeter]

WORST FUR WEATHER

IMAGINE... REUINITING WITH WANDA AT THE APARTMENT AFTER BEING EXPOSED TO A SEX POLLEN

Wanda Maximoff x GN/Female/Male Werewolf Reader

— READ BELOW THE CUT AT YOUR OWN RISK

The rain pelts harder now, your fur drenched, slick with the droplets that now run rivets down the curvature of your muscles. Your tail swishes from side to side in your hungering curiosity, the power in your haunches holds you atop the balcony’s railing. 

Your head is bowed and turned to your side before it raises up, nose twitching in resistance to the rain drops trying to hinder the alluring scent in the air, coming from inside the apartment. Her body is sudden to flinch, the muscles and nerves twitching in a response to fight or flight, when your hand lowers and your head rises; turning your gaze inward to the apartment.

Wanda stares with her mouth agape, the way your amber eyes beam hotly against the glass, reflective orbs dancing over the wide window panel as you tilt your head slightly. 

Her eyes travel downwards, following the flowing river that leaves you soaking wet. A flutter takes over her stomach then. The way your eyes search through the glass pane, she wonders if you’re able to see her completely or if you only take notice of your own reflection. To test her theory, she moves slowly, her body moves around one of the couches. 

Your head ever so slightly moves along with her. You can see her. 

Your eyes analyse her through the barrier between you both. The dark stockings that hug her thighs tight to the point that the exposed skin at the top of her thighs is only visible by an inch before the rest is hidden beneath her scarlet dress. In your wolf mind, you’re left to the primal beauty of your unsatiated fantasies. 

With a husk-drawn growl, your muzzle wrinkles to bare your elongated teeth, the heat of your body only increases as she nears closer to the glass. 

One powerful leg stoops down off the ledge, muscles flexing as the pads of your pawed feet scuffing against the balcony’s floor. Wanda’s eyes watch with an infectious intent and delight, her chest rises and forces her breasts to push up with a deep breath. 

Seeing her lungs deflate, you can read her sigh of relief. 

“I thought… I thought I’d lost you,” she says behind the glass, pressing a hand up, reaching out for you. Your other leg moves down and you stalk forward, the rain that ran down your form follows you in a wet trail. 

“But you’re here…,” she gasps, “you’re alive.”

An obscurity paints itself on the glassy surface when your hot breath hits it, misting over the outline of her hand. 

She notices how your fiery eyes rake up and down her form and she’s reminded of what toxic chemical attacks your system. The mound juncture between your powerful, muscular thighs also proves just how far along since it’s invaded your body. 

But strangely enough, you appear… calm. It brings a cause of curiosity, your calmness, and Wanda tilts her head to the left slightly and leaves the curve of her neck exposed.

That’s when she sees that composure leave you at the drop of a hat. The formation of your browline scrunches and your muzzle wrinkles into a snarl, you snap your jaws with a growl at the glass, your claws hatch aggressive lines into the window’s surface. She’s taken aback and stumbles, backing away from the window a few steps. 

When she looks again, between your legs at the pitifully aroused location, her breath becomes light and short lived in her lungs, a slickness pools between her thighs, threatening to drool and seep out from her panties. Wanda’s often fantasised about you fucking her raw and hard until she cannot take it any longer many times - in your human form - but now, all she can conjure in her mind is the desirable idea of having you take her like this.

And the way your eyes linger on her form in hunger does little to ease her own for you.

She hears the muffled tone of your guttural purr, "Let me in, Little Lamb..."

— — — —

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST — @alexawynters @alyciaddict

[josephseedismyfather]

Kinktober 2024 - Dirty Talk

Evangeline & Joseph 💛

Hey friends! It's been a minute since I've been able to share some writing. I had grand ambitions to complete an entire Kinktober list, and I still think I will, it'll just take longer than I was hoping. Shouldn't be surprised, I am the world's slowest writer.

Will be throwing under the cut, because MINORS DNI. This isn't as heavy as it could be. But still. Please do not interact if you're a minor.

Prompt from this post.

"It's just... I miss you," Evangeline purred over the line, a melodious song that resonated in Joseph’s chest even through the cheap handset. He squeezed his eyes shut, picturing her face. Her beauty was an ethereal thing, a delicate balance of innocence and fire, her deep blue eyes reflecting a captivating and slightly unnerving strength.

"God guides us," his voice a gravelly rumble, "We are all connected, Evangeline. Even when we are apart."

"I know, Joseph," she replied, a breathy sigh escaping her lips. "But it's been so long since we’ve seen each other…" Her voice was like honeyed wine, intoxicating. He could feel it starting to work its way under his skin, could hear the tease in her tone, the way she knew exactly what to say to stoke the fire that burned just beneath the surface.

He said nothing, though a pulse of heat throbbed in his chest. A flicker of desire he tried to extinguish. The memory of the last time he touched her burned brightly, his body tightening as he thought of how soft her skin was.

“Mmm,” she hummed softly, her voice low, as though tasting his discomfort. “Always so composed. Always so in control. But I bet, if I were there with you…you wouldn’t be.”

Joseph’s breath hitched despite himself, eyes falling shut once more as he tried to center himself. She was temptation incarnate, and she knew it. His silence only seemed to embolden her.

But her voice was seductive, reaching him in ways that sermons and scripture never could. "You don’t have to resist, you know. Not with me. I just want you." The last word lingered in the air between them, thick with promise, with sin. "Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to give in? Just once? To let yourself feel something other than duty?"

His jaw tightened, fingers curling around the receiver, knuckles going white. He shook his head, though she couldn’t see it. "I cannot."

"I think you’ve been dreaming about me. Thinking about me. I bet you think about my lips when you close your eyes at night. About what I could do to you if you let me."

He imagined her, naked and trembling beneath him, her dark hair fanned across the pillow like a raven's wing. The heat rose in his throat, making it impossible to swallow. "Evangeline, please," he pleaded, his voice hoarse. "Don't tempt me with such things."

"I'm not tempting you, Joseph," she said, her voice a silken caress. "I'm simply asking you to be honest with yourself."

He clenched his jaw, her words a firestorm in his mind. He wanted her. He wanted to be consumed by her, to lose himself in the heat of their embrace. "Evangeline," he whispered, a guttural rasp. "I..."

"Do you feel nothing for me?"

A wave of longing washed over him, so powerful it almost knocked him off his chair. "Of course I do, Evangeline," he breathed, his voice rough with restraint. "You know this."

There was a smile in her voice now, teasing, tempting. "You want to. You know how good it would feel, Joseph. To let go. To let me have you." Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, and every word seemed to stroke the fire he tried so hard to keep buried. "I bet you’d be so… hungry for it. All that control you hold so tightly, it would just… melt away. I bet I could make you feel things you’ve never allowed yourself to feel before. All you have to do is say the word."

Joseph’s breath came a little quicker now. He could feel his resolve slipping, just a little, like a stone beginning to roll down a hill, picking up speed. "Stop," he said, his voice quieter now, coarse around the edges. "You don’t understand."

"I understand more than you think," she murmured. "I know you’re tired of being the Father all the time. Of holding everything together, of always having to be so… perfect. It must be exhausting. Just imagine, for once, you let yourself be free. Imagine my hands on you, my lips… Imagine me doing everything you've been thinking about but refuse to say."

A shudder ran through him. He could picture it now, too clearly. Her touch, her lips, her body against his… He felt the heat rise in his chest, burning away the last vestiges of his control. His mouth was dry, his pulse pounding in his ears. He had been holding back, but not just words. Desire, temptation—things he had buried under the weight of his duty. His mission required absolute control, and yet here she was, prying open the lock he had sealed so tightly.

He turned away from the window as if the sight of the compound could tether him to his faith, his purpose. But it was her voice—sultry and knowing—that filled his head now, drowning out the righteousness. He inhaled sharply. "I am not a man to be swayed by lust," he muttered, though the words were starting to sound hollow, even to him.

Her laughter was soft. "Oh, but you are, Joseph. I can hear it in your voice. You think about me, don’t you? How I’d look, kneeling in front of you. You imagine me with my lips around you, don’t you?"

Joseph closed his eyes, letting out a slow, controlled breath, though it did little to steady him now. The images her words conjured were sharp and vivid. He could see her, just as she described—on her knees, her lips parted, teasing him with those soft, full lips. That pink lipstick she always wore, smudged against his skin. He swallowed hard, fighting to keep his composure.

"You’re trying to lead me astray, woman," he said, his voice harsh now, nearly trembling. His resistance was thin, fraying at the edges.

"I’m not leading you anywhere you don’t want to go," Evangeline whispered. “I want to feel your hands wrapped in my hair, your fingers wanting to pull me closer as my lips brush against the tip of you, my tongue circling, eager for a taste. I want you to lose control with me."

"Stop it, Evangeline," he choked out, his voice gruff with a hunger he couldn’t hide.

“Stop what, Joseph? Stop making you think about how my hips would squirm being so close to you? Stop making you consider how my fingers would trace those scars on your stomach?” she asked, the question a dangerous game. “It’s all I think about when I’m away from you, Joseph.”

He felt his heart pounding in his chest, the beat mimicking the rhythm of his desire. “I…” he started, the single syllable a surrender, a declaration of his longing. He leaned back against the chair, a shiver of anticipation snaking down his spine. Letting the sensation wash over him, he pictured her as she spoke. His body hummed with need. “Evangeline,” he breathed, her name a sigh on his lips, the weight of it heavy on his tongue.

She knew. He heard it in the rustle of her breath over the phone, in the knowing inflection of her reply. “Joseph, my darling.”

There was a pause, a long silence on the line, as Joseph wrestled with himself. "I want you. I…I need you." A confession.

The words came out a low growl, torn from somewhere deep inside him, a place he had locked away for so long. And as soon as they were spoken, a floodgate opened.

A soft gasp, her breath quickening on the other end. He could almost see it—her eyes wide, her mouth trembling, her body yielding to his command.

“I would wear my hair down for you. I know you like that,” Evangeline whispered, barely able to contain herself. “Perhaps we’d be in your office, hidden from prying eyes. Me, on my knees, looking up at you. You can see the devotion I have for you.”

His pulse pounding in his ears, Joseph shifted in his chair.

She pushed on. “My hands tugging your shirt from your pants, cool fingers against your stomach. Your ‘lust’ scar. Don’t you want to show me your sin, Joseph? I’m beginning to wonder if it’s true.”

The pout at the edge of her voice immediately made him hard, his erection straining against the zipper of his pants. “Go on.”

Her laugh was teasing, with a hint of victory. “I’d unbuckle your belt, push your pants down just enough to touch you. Wrap my fingers around your cock. Don’t you think my nails would look so pretty as I stroked you?”

Her words were like a siren's call, pulling him toward the forbidden depths of his desires. His hips pushed up into his hand before he realized what he was doing, yanking it away quickly.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Joseph could hear the smirk in her voice, “my lips would be on you quickly. Pressing kisses along you before I take you within my mouth. Your eyes on me as I slowly take all of you, inch by inch, until I can’t take anymore. Moaning around you, my mouth so wet and warm and begging for you to fuck it. You would, wouldn’t you?”

Her voice a smoldering ember, Joseph groaned, losing himself in the details. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

“You would. You’d gather my hair in your fist and push hard into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat,” her moan was quiet but unmistakable. The tension between them crackled like a live wire, sparking and burning through him.

Her laughter was low, and wicked, sending a shiver through him. “I’m so wet just talking about it, Joseph. I want to feel your hands on me, rough and demanding, pushing me down, holding me where you want me.”

The images her words painted were so visceral that he could almost feel her body giving in to his strength. His voice was thick with desire, trembling with the weight of his need for her. "I want to see you, hear you, feel you. I want to take you apart piece by piece until you're begging for more."

Her breath caught on the other end of the line, and he could feel the power shift, feel her own control slipping away now, just as his had. The game had turned, and for the first time, he was the one in control.

“Joseph,” Evangeline breathed, the sound of his name on her lips like gasoline to the fire already blazing inside him. “I want you to take me apart.”

Opt-in/out of tag list here.

@wrathfulrook, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @trench-rot, @ladyoriza, @cassietrn

@redreart, @inafieldofdaisies, @hotmessteaparty, @g0dspeeed, @buggknife

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@noodlecupcakes, @chazz-anova, @aristomal, @ocdemon-747, @evilvvithin

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@strafethesesinners