#just keep the marks under the clothes next time

[muqingslover]

[ Pushing my virgin Caleb agenda again yippieeeee. God he's such a loser I love him. Thinking about making a masterlist but im a full-time procrastinator lmfao ]

Virgin!Caleb who has zero sexual experience but is the textbook definition of sexual frustration. This man is about to snap in more ways than one.

Virgin!Caleb who during his teen years had to deal with his raging hormones and finally caved and searched for porn one night. He couldn't care less about the content itself only that the person MUST look like you, bonus point if their voice sounded similar to yours.

Virgin!Caleb who feels incredibly guilty each time he cums using your clothes but he can't stop himself from burying his nose into the soft fabric of your coat as his other hand quickly moves up and down his dripping cock— By the gods, you just smell so fucking heavenly.

Virgin!Caleb who wants to try everything at least once (as long as it doesn't hurt you) because he simply can't get enough of you and your body. Of all the LIs I think he's the most open to pegging but that's a topic for another day muehehehe

Virgin!Caleb who watches you sleep like a creep and notices your shirt riding up while you laid comfortably on your stomach. His eyes trail down to your exposed skin, body growing uncomfortably hot and causing him to shift the way he's sitting on the edge of the bed. He wonders...Would you squirm if he brushed his fingertips down your back? Would you tell him to stop? Or would you let him move lower? Would you let him slip his hands under the waistband of your shorts to feel your soft thighs and press against the thin fabric of your underwear, that would surely be wet by now— ....Yep, he definitely needs an extra cold shower tonight.

Virgin!Caleb who gets nosebleeds every freaking time you do or say something his dirty, loser mind considers as too much to handle. I will die on this hill if I have to listen to mE HE GETS NOSEBLEEDS AND IT'S SO HOT BELIEVE ME ! !

Virgin!Caleb who tries to keep his composure after he accidentally caught you grinding into a pillow and whining so good. He knows he should leave, that this is beyond immoral, but his body won't listen and honestly it's not like he really tried all that much.

Virgin!Caleb who is now leaning against the wall next to your door as he ignored his throbbing boner straining against his tight pants, trying to imagine that your pretty moans were because of him instead. How he wished he could just walk in there and taste you. To mark you as his so no one else would even dare to look at you. To keep you locked in his room, safe and healthy, while he spent his day buried into your soft little hole until either of you were unable to form a coherent thought.

Virgin!Caleb who had to cover his mouth to prevent your name from spilling out when his climax hit him and he made a mess in his own pants without even touching himself, sliding down the wall after his shaky knees gave out. Oh yeah, he's in biiiig trouble.

[ultravioletbrit]

“absent” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 268 words

Sirius loves Hogsmeade weekends when the whole group gets together for lunch at the Three Broomsticks. He’s looking around the table at the smiling faces of all his friends when he realizes two faces are notably absent.

“Hey Marls. James walked down with you guys, right?” Sirius asks.

“He said he needed to stay back and work on new strategies for us to practice this week to use in the match next weekend.” Marlene explains.

Sirius furrows his eyebrows, but it does make sense. James is obsessive about Quidditch, and next weekend’s match is a big one.

“Oi! Crouch!” Sirius calls to the other end of the table. “Where’s Reggie?”

“Revising. He says he likes the library on Hogsmeade weekends because there’s nobody else there. Swot.” Barty says with an eye roll which Sirius returns.

Regulus hates noise and crowds when he studies so it makes sense that he would want to go to the library today.

Sirius shrugs it off and goes back to his lunch.

———

Sirius is sitting across from James at dinner when he notices a trail of love bites running down his neck.

“Prongs, are those hickeys?” Sirius gasps but before James can answer–

“Oi Reg!! Are those hickeys?!” They hear Barty yelling from across the hall.

James’ eyes go wide with fear and Sirius’ eyes narrow to a murderous glare.

“I err… I have to…” James stutters as he slowly stands up.

Once he’s on his feet, James sprints from the Great Hall with Sirius close behind him.

Just before the doors close, Sirius thinks he hears Regulus yell, “Please don’t kill him.” Which only makes Sirius run faster.

[webism]

☆ bestfriend!satoru likes seeing you in his clothes a little too much.

it starts with lending you a jacket when you're out late and it gets cold. he laughs at you first, makes fun of the way you shiver, but then his eyes drift and he realises he can see your hardened nipples through your shirt and suddenly he's layering you up in his jacket just to keep his mind from short-circuiting.

but the sight of you in his jacket is no help either, not when you drown in it because he's so damn tall and he's reminded of the difference in size between the two of you and for the first (more like third) time he's wondering what you'd look like beneath him in a mean mating press. how you'd feel shaking under his body weight: like how you're shaking now, but pleasure wracking your body rather than the cold wind.

he tells himself it's fine to have these thoughts. you're his best friend, you spent every waking hour together: it's only natural that his thoughts would eventually drift southwards. he'll snap out of it, he just needs to jerk off and clear his mind.

so he walks you home, and lets you keep the jacket.

but that night, he's in the shower with hot water scalding his skin, eyes squeezed shut as he strokes his cock at an inhuman pace. fucks his fist with anything but you in mind—he thinks about all his past trysts, about whatever porn he's seen lately, about his fucking cursed technique.

and he thinks he has it, he's pumping his cock with crazed strokes in an attempt to cum and clear his mind, but just as that pleasure starts to break into white hot lust, all he sees is you. in nothing but his jacket, wrecked on his cock and begging him for more.

and when he cums, he sees your eyes pleading up at him from where you’d rest on your knees, ready to take his load into your mouth because you crave the taste. He swears he can feel your fingers splayed over his thighs… your tongue tracing the pronounced vein that runs up the underside of his cock… your heated presence in the shower alongside him.

satoru says your name as he cums, and realises he’s wholly fucked and not coming back from this.

so, naturally, gojo plays into it.

the next time you see him is at his place, you come around to spend time with him and talk about the mundane that always seems exciting when spoken in the lilt of your voice. he offers you a drink, pours you a glass of red and promptly spills it over your pretty top—purely accidental, of course.

and he only takes a moment to admire the way the soaked fabric clings to your skin before he’s bolting into action and offering you a shirt of his own.

“it’s like you’re trying to steal my wardrobe, huh? first my jacket… now my shirt… got something to admit to, hm? you like wearing my clothes?”

it’s playful banter, you think, and roll your eyes with a huff as he hands you a shirt that’s oversized even on him. he wants to see you drown in the fabric, covered in him through clothing until he can cover you in another aspect of himself.

you make him look away while you change, though you know it’s an effort wasted because he’s all-seeing or whatever. and when satoru finally gets a look at you in his shirt he knows it’s game over. it’s like he’s left a mark on you, staked him claim not through bite marks or hickies as he usually would, but through the fabric that adorns your skin. his clothes smell like him, look like him, and are being worn by you.

he’s beyond hard, his cock is tenting his pants and he’s almost offended you haven’t yet noticed, because there’s no hiding a boner when you’re his size. you’re sweet enough not to look, even steal a glance out of curiosity—but he isn’t; his eyes are roaming your skin in such a heated way you feel feverish. it’s how he notices the wine that has spilt on your skirt as well.

he could tell you—offer you a pair of his sweats and cum in his own pants as the way they’d hang off your hips—but he doesn’t. instead, your best friend satoru gojo, the man you know like scripture, drops to his knees and takes the hem of your skirt between his fingers.

“what are you doing?” you think he’s cruel for a joke like this, when he looks so good on his knees, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as if he’s aching for a taste of you. you squeeze your thighs together, groan at the thought of gojos relentless teasing if he realises you’re soaking wet right now. “this isn’t funny.”

“i’m not laughing,” he says, tone flat. “your skirt is stained.”

“oh,” it is, you can see the wine seeping into the fabric.

gojo laughs, his grin sinful. “what? you get all flustered when i’m on my knees? how lewd.”

“shut up,” you try and step backwards, put some space between him and your pulsing heat, but his hands come to grip your thighs, fingers cool as they brush under your skirt and press into your skin. “you’re an asshole, toru.”

“i know,” his fingers creep higher. “i’m sorry.”

“no you’re not.”

“i know,” he parrots. “but you will be.”

“wh—“

in one practiced movement, satoru rips your skirt down and exposes you to him. he has to bunch up the shirt of his you wear with one hand and keep you from running with the other, but he’s met with a beautiful sight as a reward for all his pining.

“for coming to my house with no fucking panties on and acting like you don’t want me to fuck you like we’re more than friends.”

you learnt quickly upon befriending satoru gojo that he always seems to get what he wants. this is no exception, because after he spends so long fucking you with his tongue that his knees go numb against the cold tile, he’s got you laid down on his couch, his t shirt bunched up over your waist just enough for him to watch his cock sink into you over and over and over again.

he loves the sight of you grabbing at the fabric to keep it out of the way— how you whine for him to just let you take it off, all for him to press his lips to yours and conjoin you so you couldn’t undress even if you tried.

how with each thrust of his ravaging cock into you, he’s whining like he’s not the one in control. babbling filth as if he’s not got you pinned and taking every last inch of him—he’s pussy drunk and overbearing in his excitement and slurring his words as he speaks against your open mouth.

“never allowed to wear your own clothes again,” he steals your breath with each gasp he gives between thrusts. “only mine. i’ll burn yours, fuck, i hate your clothes.”

“you…” gojos fast rutting stalls your sentence. “…you brought me that skirt.”

“yeah? well where is it now?”

you recall the lecture you tried to give him when he threw your wine-stained skirt into his trash bin. you’d protest his dictation of what you wear if you had the mind to do so—but his cock is hitting your g spot in tandem with the ministries of his fingers over your clit… you’re half-near brain dead with the way he splits you open and unravels you like the threading of his clothes he’s fucking you in.

you can’t count your orgasms, only feel them shoot static up your spine with each one gojo manages to pull from you. and when he cums, spills over your parted thighs to dress you further in the essence of him, you swear you hear him babble something about putting a ring on your finger some day, to dress you in something of his permanently.

but friends don’t talk like that.

they don’t fuck like this either, though.

[writingastory]

Headcanons: The Morning After

Prompt: "It’s the first time they’ve woken up together in the same bed, and one partner is mesmerized by the other’s sleeping face—softly watching them wake up, still sleepy and a little disoriented."

Pairings: Xavier x fem!reader; Zayne x fem!reader; Rafayel x fem!reader; Sylus x fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff, suggestive thingies

Genre: "Normal" AU (no Evol, no Wanderers - just normal life)

A/N: I originally wanted to write some angsty, but couldn't bring myself to it. Life's hard enough, let's enjoy some fluff. Hope you enjoy! 💕

🌟 Xavier was still fast asleep by the time you woke up. The sun was tickling your nose in a way it usually did not - and it took you a moment to realize why it felt so strange. You were not in your bed... or your room for that matter.

🌟 Looking around, you found your clothes strewn about the room - and your boyfriend in bed, right by your side, under the blankets. Naked. Just like you.

🌟 A pleasant shiver ran up your spine, images of the night before flickering through your mind. His touches, his kisses - the way you two entangled under the sheets, and became one...

🌟 You smiled and traced the light marks on your skin. Xavier stirred lightly next to you and you couldn't help snuggling into his back, leaving gentle kisses on the back of his neck. Your fingers traced his spine with a feather-light touch, before continuing to draw invisible patterns into his skin.

🌟 He stirred again and rolled onto his other side, facing you. He blinked a few times and scrunched his nose cutely as the light hit his eyes. You giggled and kissed his nose. "Good morning," you whispered, cupping his face gently. He hummed in response, a small smile forming on his lips.

🌟 Xavier was far from ready to start his day. He scooted closer to you and pushed you onto your back slowly, snuggling into your side, his face hidden in your neck as his arms engulfed you carefully - as if you were a precious treasure that would break if he used too much force. His lips found your collarbone, planting soft kisses on the warm skin there.

🌟 "Good morning, indeed..." he mumbled between kisses, his hand finding your thigh, pulling it over his hips to lock you together once more. His one hand gripped your knee to hold your leg in place as his other snaked around the back of your neck to keep you close to him, stealing kiss after kiss from you, each one deeper and more intimate than the one before - and you suddenly had the feeling that you would not leave that bed for a couple more hours...

❄️ Zayne woke up before sunrise - 5 AM sharp, as he did every single day. His internal clock was as precise as a Swiss watch. He jolted slightly as he felt movements next to him; it was a strange feeling to share the bed. The smallest of smiles graced his lips as his eyes fell onto your form in the dim light of your shared bedroom, buried underneath the many blankets.

❄️ He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, his head resting on his hand comfortably. Zayne watched you in silence, enjoying the serenity of the moment. He was in no hurry. You two had been dating for months and decided to go on a last-minute vacation in Snowcrest. Away from friends, family - and work. A well deserved break from life that had gotten just a tad too hectic lately.

❄️ Zayne just loved spending time with you. He had invited you on this vacation for this very reason. You two becoming intimate was not planned - but not unwelcome either. It was simply the perfect addition to a perfect day.

❄️ He scooted closer carefully, trying not to wake you up. He just needed to be closer to you now, feeling your soft skin under his fingertips once again...

❄️ You stirred a bit as his fingers trailed over your exposed neck and shoulders, reaching the edge of the blanket. Slowly, he pushed them off your form, small goosebumps appearing on your warm skin. Maybe it was selfish - he should let you rest for however long you needed to - but...

❄️ His lips followed the path his fingers forged a few moments earlier, leaving tender, loving kisses. He felt your stir once more before your opened your eyes, smiling fondly. "Hey..." your voice was hoarse, still thick from sleep. "Hey," he answered quietly, the tiniest smirk forming on his lips. "What time is it?"

❄️ "Probably around 5 AM," Zayne answered, his lips reaching the small dip between your collarbones. You hummed, your eyes falling shut again. "Why are you awake already? I thought we're on vacation?" A chuckle left your lips, and Zayne continued planting kisses on your soft skin. "We are," he answered, slowly rolling on top of you again. "I just... need another taste."

🎨 The air flowing into the room was fresh and cool, carrying a salty taste from the sea. The long white curtains danced in the light wind, the sunlight streaming through the opened windows. You groaned a bit at the sudden coolness, only then feeling the weight on your back. Rafayel clung to you, snoozing happily, his head resting between your shoulders, his arms tightly wrapped around you.

🎨 He mumbled something incomprehensible and nuzzled your skin gently, littering sleepy kisses over your back. His hands shamelessly started wandering along your body, quickly finding and settling on your breasts, squeezing them gently.

🎨 "Good morning?" you chuckled lightly, not minding the needy fondling. "It is a good morning," he answered, his grin audible in his words, his hands squeezing your mounts again as if agreeing to his statement.

🎨 "Stop that," you giggled, trying to wiggle away from him - unsuccessfully. He deliberately pinned you down with a chuckle, his lips attacking your shoulder and neck. "Why would I? The noises you make are just so cute~"

🎨 He was relentless in his attacks, his kisses turning sultrier and sloppier with every passing minute. "Say," he groaned, pressing his hips against your behind lustfully, "this is not just a vivid dream, is it? And last night..."

🎨 You hummed in pleasure, thinking about the passionate moments you two had shared. "I don't think so," you answered with a light smirk, finally able to roll onto your back. He was above you immediately, his eyes filled with need and longing, as if he was still not sure if you were really there or just a cruel trick his mind was playing on him.

🎨 His lips found yours in a sweet kiss, filled with adoration and gentleness. He looked down at you again before stealing another kiss - the second of many many more that day.

🐦‍⬛ Usually, Sylus was a night-owl, and sleeping during the day. However, after your first time making love... he couldn't bring himself to leave the bed, and so he found himself between the sheets, with you in his arms. His fingers drew lazy patterns into your skin absentmindedly.

🐦‍⬛ Your head rested on his chest as you snoozed peacefully, fully content and safe in his strong and warm embrace. He was so sweet. So gentle. So loving. And now, with the way he held you, sleep had a tight grip on you. You refused to wake up and leave your cocoon of warmth and comfort.

🐦‍⬛ Eventually though, your mind was slowly pulled back to reality, your lids fluttering a few times as you woke up. "Good morning, kitten," he whispered, his deep voice filling the silence in the best way possible. You looked up at him slowly, only then realizing that he was, in fact, still there with you.

🐦‍⬛ "Morning..." you mumbled, rubbing your eyes gently. "Don't you have work...?" You yawned, propping yourself up slowly to look down at him. Sylus shrugged in response, a small smirk playing on his lips. "I can leave, if you want."

🐦‍⬛ You frowned and snuggled back into his side. "No," you said firmly, wrapping yourself around him slowly. "I was just confused for a second."

🐦‍⬛ He chuckled a bit, wrapping his arms around your form again. "That's what I thought," he smiled, kissing your forehead gently. "Luke and Kieran can deal with whatever's going on today. I'm not leaving this bed until you kick me out."

🐦‍⬛ You quirked a brow, grinning slightly. "Is that a promise?" you asked, nuzzling his neck gently before placing a kiss on his skin, right where his pulse was thrumming. Sylus hummed deeply and closed his eyes, pushing his head back and exposing his neck to you and your advances. You grinned and nibbled his skin, carefully at first... but it didn't take long for you to full-on attack his neck with kisses and love-bites. "Kitten," he droned, rolling onto his back with you on top of him, "I hope you intend to finish what you started."

[tarrynightss]

Thinking about being Sukuna’s favorite concubine…

He gives you special treatment, being far more lenient with you than the others. You want a luxury bath? You’ll get it. Want to have a night to yourself? He’ll consider it if you’re extra good to him today. He’ll even forgive that smart mouth of yours for speaking out of turn.

He’ll shower you in finery; clothes, hairpins, exotic fruits. He likes rewarding you with something that makes your eyes go wide and gleam with interest like you’re a little crow. It’s also to show off that you’re his favorite, everything on you marking his possession over you.

He’ll keep you on his lap as he sits on his throne, one arm always snuggly wound around your waist. It’s all about showing off his power and fertility to whoever visits him of course, but you get to be the one he does it with. You are the one to be shown off, to be remembered by whoever makes it out of a visit with Sukuna alive.

He normally doesn’t allow his concubines to sleep next to him, it being far more of a hassle than he usually finds it worth it, but he makes an exception for you. It’s not always, of course, but most nights after he calls on you (which is a lot) he’ll draw you against his body and hold you for his own comfort.

He’s more tender with you. Like mentioned before wrapping you in his arms to sleep, or letting you press a gentle kiss to his mouth. Not every touch you share with him is dirty, which is quite unique with Sukuna.

He’ll overwork you. You are his favorite, his most desired one, so be prepared to get fucked till your holes feel raw and your walk is messed up. He just wants you all of the time, making sure you are always bare under your kimono so he can flip it up and take you whenever he pleases. Perhaps if you beg him very, very sweetly not to use one of your sore holes, he’ll agree to use another, just because it’s you, because he’s such a kind master.

He’ll cum inside you. It’s not a privilege exclusively reserved for you per se, but he tries to avoid it with the others. He has had no interest in having children, so it’s a real hassle when one of his women falls pregnant. The fallout is never pleasant, to say the least. But you… well, clearly you have something special to have captured his interest. Maybe it’s your beauty, or your intelligence, or maybe you carry some tremendous cursed energy. Something made him like you best, and that something makes him wonder that maybe, if he is to create a legacy for himself, then you should be the one to help him with that. The change is not spoken about, you quickly enough finding out that Sukuna never pulls out of you anymore, keeping his cock inside you afterwards and fucking his cum even deeper. It’s only when you’re clearly sick with worry about him ditching you (of worse) if you get pregnant that he tells you his thoughts. You happily accept your role of course, just as he knew you would.

His favorite, his precious little jewel

Find part 2 here

[goatgoesmbe]

tw : sexual theme, stalking, 141 being a creep

A series : part 2 of Discord shenanigans

AO3

Word count: 2031

rated: E

Poly!141 x f!reader

The New Member

The server wasn’t meant for public in the first place.

It was just something quick Johnny made just to have a little corner to hang out when they were on leave.

They rarely used it at first, finding no reason to communicate outside of work, they were busy with their own life anyway.

That was, until Johnny started sending pictures of literally anything in his daily life. It started with scenery, dogs he saw during walks, and selfies. Soon enough, Simon joined in with his own blurry pictures, then Kyle’s award-worthy photography, and John who sent the most normal pictures of some nice views worth sharing.

Eventually, interacting through the server became so regular that they started using it when they got back on base too– They never talk about something confidential in it of course, they were still professionals after all.

The gaming session was Kyle’s idea (Well, actually it was Johnny but he couldn’t convince them to play among us), they started playing various FPS games before settling for the popular one.

Kyle played casually, Johnny played competitively (and sucked at it compared to the others), John played it rarely but was pretty decent at it, while Simon was effortlessly good at it (Which he was so smug about).

The members consisted of people they knew from their jobs, so imagine their surprise when there was a notification about a new member.

You.

They welcomed you in a friendly manner, showing no suspicion despite John telling Kyle to do a background check immediately. And oh do they like what they see.

Pretty thing that you are, messy hair, pouty lips, dark bags under your eyes that only made you look more adorable rather than off-putting, like a sleepy panda. You always wore comfortable clothes oversized shirts or hoodies on colder days while your legs were bare, sitting crosslegged in your gaming chair with a big plushie in your lap. Johnny wondered if you wore anything underneath which made them go silent. made them think.

Fuck.

It was illegal and immoral, but really– everything they had ever done was all of those things and more, so what’s a bit of hacking into the webcam of a bonnie thing like you? It was done for their own safety after all, keeping their secrets as members of a highly classified military task force. It was only normal for them to check for any individuals that got into their space. Just in case.

Sure, they could just drop it when they found out that you were just a harmless civilian, but they also learned that you were just a sweet thing.. they immediately took a liking to you, adored you, so of course they had to keep an eye on you because they wanted to make sure you were alright. Keeping a civilians safe was part of their job, right?

You live alone, which made sense as to why you have CCTVs around your place. Smart girl, looking after your security seriously. Adorable.

Was it creepy for them to have access to those CCTVs? They just cared about your safety is all, was it wrong?

Well, they didn’t really care if it was, they were in too deep already, addicted to watching you in your own world, from your pretty face looking adorable as you focused on the game you were playing, the chime of your giggle when Johnny sent something stupid, to the way those innocent eyes showed no suspicion when one of them slipped up.

“Not as bonnie as you ;)” Johnny sent one time.

“You don’t even know what i look like XD”

Fortunately, you were oblivious. But still, they need to be more careful in the future. Johnny had a limp the next day and his body was covered in marks that peeked from the t-shirt he wore. But from how he barely covered them and how he still had that smirk on his face, it looked like he would definitely do it again if it would have John sending Simon to punish him.

Watching you had become a group routine. When they weren’t in the same room, they just hopped on the hidden channel Johnny made just to ping each other whenever you were doing something that would pique their interest.

Kyle enjoyed watching you go about with your routine, waking up at noon, cooking up something simple for yourself before you lock into your PC to do your freelance job then hopped into video games. His favorite was when you did your skincare, hand went down to cup the bulge in his pants as he watched you putting on lotion all over your body. His eyes darkened at the thought of him doing it instead, sliding his hand up your legs, lathering them nicely, and perhaps sneaking an opportunity for a feel of your clothed pussy when he reached your inner thighs.

Johnny likes to watch your reaction whenever you two interact, relishing your flustered expression from his relentless flirting. He wondered if you would also be shy under him, squirming as you tried to hide your face while he took off your clothes. He would click his tongue as he pried your hands off your face and gripped both of your wrists in one hand before pinning them above your head, one knee lodged between your legs to prevent you from closing them.

John’s favorite part of your day was when you were working. Tongue peeking out slightly in concentration, your doe eyes shifted and looked sharper when you were focused. He was there when you were in an online meeting with your employer, even though noone noticed. As he watched you talk, he liked to imagine that you were working for him instead. Talking formally unlike how you usually were when you were talking to them, he imagined you calling him sir like how you called your current boss. The bastard that made you uncomfortable with the way he leered at you, making innuendos while you tried your best to keep the conversation professional. You poor thing, don’t worry, John will teach him a lesson or two about respecting you. And yes, he was a hypocrite since he was lazily pumping his shaft under the desk as he watched you doing your job.

Simon rarely said anything about it, but out of everyone in the server, he was a constant presence with how the view count never went below one. He wasn’t picky, he liked watching you doing anything, even when you were just sleeping, he’d fuck his fist messily at the view of you being so vulnerable and oblivious before shooting his cum all over the screen with your face displayed on it. He was the one who would ping the others to notify them when you were doing something he knew they would be interested in.

Like right now.

It had been a long week, you barely had time to do your hobby. Projects after project that got you awake until two am before a quick wink of rest until you had to wake up again at five. When you were looking forward to doing something fun but then finding yourself too tired to even play your favorite game. And then you’d feel bad for neglecting your hobby as you continued to be enslaved under capitalism.

You were tired, sleep-deprived, stressed, and pent-up. At times like this, you were glad that you worked from home. You couldn’t imagine yourself not snapping at people if you work in an office with coworkers. Couldn’t even find the energy to open the server these past few days since you didn’t want to interact with anyone.

So naturally, they would miss you. Naturally, they were very excited when Simon pinged all of them in the hidden channel.

The light in your room was dimmed, but they could see your figure just fine. Panting on the bed on your back, legs spread wide with your hand between them while your other hand was clutching a pillow which you use to hide your face. 

John growled, fingers twitching as he thought of taking it off you so he could see what kind of expression you were making. Instead, he gripped Kyle’s dick as the younger man rolled his hips with the Captain bottoming out in his ass as they were both settled on the couch.

Johnny pulled away from Simon’s cock with a lewd pop. “She could fit mair than that..” he panted before Simon shoved his dick back in the scot’s mouth, gloved hand gripping at his mohawk.

His words got them zeroed in on your cunt which was stuffed with your fingers deep to your knuckles. Wet squelching noises combined with your needy whines echoed around the rec room from the cheap speakers as the stream was displayed on the wall from the projector. Johnny was right, you could take more than that. And from the way you desperately bucked your hips as you moved your fingers that fast, they could tell that you wanted to take more either.

“Does she not have a fucking toy?” Kyle groaned as he jacked off with the same tempo as your fingers as he continued to move in John’s lap.

“No” Simon responded curtly. He would know, he was the one who always kept an eye on you more than anyone else after all.

He knew you didn’t have a partner and never brought anyone home. You rarely go out and when you do, you’ll be back soon enough. A quick trip to the grocery stores or some shops, as shown by the trackers he put in your phone. Low possibility of you seeking out to anyone. Perhaps it was odd for some people but he wasn’t complaining, because he was only willing to share you with the men he trusted his life with.

You rarely pleasure yourself either, which made a moment like this more special. At first, he expected you to whimper out someone’s name, a crush they didn’t know about perhaps. Fortunately, that never happened. You seem content with yourself like this, eyes closed as you focus on the way you curl your fingers and grind your palm against your clit.

But they could tell you wanted more. They agreed that you deserved more. They could give you more.

Your whole body tensed, a shudder rippled through your body as heat built in waves. Breath hitching as you gasped, soft at first before breaking into a moan, raw and unrestrained. Fingers clutching at your pillow, muscles tightening as pleasure peaked, your back arching instinctively.

A flush spread across your skin, a sheen of sweat caught the light. Eyes fluttered to a close, lips parted, as a final tremor coursed through your body before you melted into the afterglow, breathless and trembling.

Yet, your cunt still clenched around your fingers as you pulled them out, like it didn’t want to let them go, because you still wanted more. You whined, and they groaned at the expression on your face. Unsatisfied, but too tired to do anything about it.

After a moment of gathering your jumbled mind, you got up and headed to the bathroom for a shower. And while they knew it was impossible, they wished you had a camera there too.

As the men chased their own pleasures, they thought to themselves about how they could help. You were physically nowhere near them at the moment, and they didn’t want to scare you by being too upfront in the server. Didn’t want you to know what they had been doing behind your back.

The next day, an onslaught of sex toy ads kept popping up when you turned on your PC. It obviously pissed you off at first (especially with how one appeared when you share your screen during a work meeting), but eventually it made you consider getting one. And if you got a transfer to your bank account in the same amount you spent on it right after, if you received four dildos instead of one, they totally had nothing to do with it. Nope, they totally didn’t send you the exact copies of their cocks.

Next (soon)

A/N: I remember someone saying 'How are you gonna get a guy if you never leave your house' and this is my answer to that also, this series was supposed to be fun silly online friends story, so idk what happened here, I swear the story wrote itself I had nothing to do with it

open taglist : @partiallysame, @niazrzl, @iiriam, @sweetlike-sugarplum, @mordacioust, @boogeysmoth, @little-mini-me-world, @sxnshinebxcky, @lady-red-night-1234, @theycallmevalen, @z-wantstowrite, @c-moon20-12, @glitteryarcadefart, @purple-snowfox, @shylahstarzz, @mestrecadumaverick, @thereofrin, @crappity-craps-crap, @rottensage, @sirbonesly, @shinebright2000, @kittygonap, @savas-q1, @just-pure-trash, @sheep-from-rad, @wolfbc97, @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly, @lucienofthelakes

[user738579294]

something about pussy starved toji coming home from a long day at work just to see you in the kitchen preparing his favourite dish. he longed for that sweet smile you plaster on your face he would get every day coming through the door. oh how he wanted to take that mouth of yours and shove it on his cock. he wasn’t in the mood for food, no. he was hungry for something else. for you.

he throws his shoes off before walking over to you and grabbing your waist, pulling you into a kiss.

he pulled his lips away from yours to plant kisses on your jaw again before he placed his left thumb into your mouth, letting you delicately suck on it while your tongue pressed against the tip of his digit. you felt him drag his thumb against your lip, pulling it down to expose your bottom teeth. he peered at you with his eyes half open, exhaling softly through his mouth.

“mmm feel like eating something else tonight doll" toji whispered softly against your lips, his forehead against yours.

"what do you have in mind?"

his lips touched yours again, slowly and sensually kissing his way down your jaw, neck and collarbone. tracing his way back up, he roughly kissed your lips one more, moving your head to the side while he cradled your face. your hands wandered up his chest and around the back of his neck, intertwining your fingers through his hair as he pressed your body up against the wall.

when he pulled away from the kiss, he slid his hand up your top to grasp your right breast, kneading and pinching right through your bra. you roughly took off your clothes one by one, leaving yourself only in your underwear.

your body felt hot against toji’s while you both remained still, only the quiet exhales of his breaths on your face could be heard. when you looked down at him with a smirk, you softly spoke a request, knowing exactly what was to come next between you both.

“you going to show me what that mouth is good for, or is it all bark no bite?"

within that second, toji smashed his lips on yours once again with a quiet chuckle under his breath. "oh i’ll show you biting alright sweetheart."

his hands wandered throughout your body again—kissing down your lips, neck and chest—all before trailing his tongue down your stomach and crouching his head in between your thighs. he hooked his fingers against the thin elastic of your underwear, pulling them down to spread your legs apart.

he slipped the fabric off your legs as it dangled on your toes, kissing and sucking on your inner thighs, leaving multiple marks on your skin during the process. the pain felt pleasurable, watching him lick and bite all over your thighs made you ache for more, stroking back his brown hair behind his ears.

sooner or later, he made his way back in between your legs, making sure to bite, kiss and mark every inch of you before starting. toji lapped at your clit like a starved man while he lifted your left leg up, curling and digging his fingers deeper into your flesh. you moaned as his tongue pressed against you, feeling the tip enter through your pussy in search of your clit.

"toji, oh my god," you whispered, gasping for air. your whole body felt hot while he spread your legs further apart, letting you rest your weight against the wall. all you saw was toji’s head buried in between your legs when his tongue flicked at your clit, purposefully pressing his tongue piercing against it.

"keep still." toji mumbled in between your legs as you ran your fingers through his brown locks. you pushed his bangs back, exposing the view of his face—his eyes closed, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips sucking voraciously on your clit.

toji knew exactly how to pleasure your body as he has done before, except for this time, keeping in mind your request to be rougher. he rolled your clit in between his tongue and the front of his teeth, making your eyes move to the back of your skull, breathing deeply into your lungs while your head pressed against the wall. his lips suctioned around your clit again before licking up any essence dripping down his tongue, feeling your legs tremble while his hands held your body still.

you felt a sharp temperature change deep inside of your core when toji slipped in two fingers, cold as ice, pumping them slowly but surely into you. the tips of his long fingers hit deep into you when he quickly thrusted in and out, feeling yourself clench around him while grabbing the back of his head. staggered exhales escaped from your mouth while you closed your eyes, feeling him swirl the tip of his tongue around you simultaneously.

"please, please—fuck!" you interrupted yourself, feeling him roughly suck on your clit again, sending mixed signals of pleasure and pain up to your brain.

his name escaped your lips as you moaned out in pleasure, leaning over to feel your core build up pressure. toji continued to pump his fingers inside of you, gasping for air in between your legs while you rocked your hips back and forth. he guided your body to release, holding you down while the blood rushed to the surface of your skin.

his tongue slowly and sensually explored around your pussy as his fingers plunged deep inside of you, gently scraping the tips of fingers against your g-spot continuously. the feeling kept driving you over the edge, holding on tighter to the back of toji’s hair. he moaned in between your legs, quickly giving you a slap to your ass while digging his fingers deeper and deeper into your skin.

with your right leg still on the floor, your toes raised higher and higher until you slammed your hand onto the dining table. the rattle of the glass lit candle and toji’s pistol startled you, feeling your heart race faster and faster. a whimper erupted from your throat as you bit your lip and closed your eyes, sliding your head down on the wall.

your eyes began to water in the corners of your eyes, pleasure overwhelming your body entirely from every one of his touches. no one had ever pleasured you the way toji did— and he wasn't even inside of you yet.

"fuck, toji!" your head pressed back up into the wall again, closing your eyes shut to moan at the top of your lungs, feeling yourself come all over his fingers.

"atta girl" toji lightly chuckled between your legs, feeling the deep vibration of his hum. you kept coming into his mouth, feeling every ounce of yourself drip down your thighs. toji quickened the pace of his thrusts, repeatedly hitting his fingers in a come-hither motion, wringing out the last bit of your essence onto his tongue.

watching you come aroused toji to the fullest; having you scream his name and squirt from his manipulation caused the bulge in his pants to grow tighter. every time your thighs closed in on his face while your hands ran through his hair, he couldn't get enough of you, craving every bit of your reactions of pleasure.

you bucked your hips upward and locked your fingers in his hair, hearing your moans echo into the room. he groaned into you again, pushing his fingers deep inside your pussy while his bruised knuckles hit against your thighs. with every thrust, there was a quick pause—and with that, you rode out your first orgasm of the night.

—

a/n: part 2? ^^

[beloveds-embrace]

OK IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR A WHILE

so I keep seeing these ads for “pheromone perfume” pop up. the women in who advertise it say that it makes men go crazy, it smells amazing, they can’t get their bfs off of them whenever they put it on (and usually they put it on and then set up the camera and wait for their significant other to walk in the room and react to it)

and every time I see one of those ads, I think of designationless reader.

idk if that’s something they’d ever do, but I feel like it would be interesting for them to dab some of it on their wrists and behind their ears, as well as where their scent glands are and see how the guys react to it 🤭🤭

Anon i love you and I am smooching your brain so hard rn

The idea had been simmering in your mind for weeks, born from the endless pheromone perfume ads that flooded your late-night scrolling. People with bright smiles swore their perfumes were magic, capable of driving their partners wild with desire. But you weren’t like those people. You had no designation, no scent, no pheromones to speak of-

The ads made you feel like an outsider all over again. But they also left you wondering- what if there was a way to bridge that gap, just a little?

That’s how you found yourself at a specialized lab, the kind that catered to people willing to spend a small fortune for something deeply personal. It wasn’t easy. The process was invasive, awkward, and expensive. The technicians had taken a lot of samples of your body- skin oils, sweat, saliva- examining them under microscopes, running them through machines you didn’t understand, distilling your very essence into a single vial of concentrated potential.

When you walked out with the tiny glass bottle, your wallet was lighter, and your chest was tight with nerves.

What if this didn’t work?

What if it did?

Being scentless had always set you apart, a quiet absence in a world built on pheromones and instinct. You didn’t have the alluring pull of an omega’s sweetness or the steady, grounding weight of a beta’s calm. And you certainly didn’t have the commanding presence of an alpha’s dominance.

You were… nothing.

Not that your pack ever made you feel that way. Price, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz treated you like you hung the moon, their affection constant and overwhelming. But sometimes, in the quiet moments, you wondered what it would be like if you could scent them. If you could mark them the way they marked you. If you could pull them closer without relying on their instincts to protect what was theirs.

You’d dabbed the finished product on experimentally: just behind your ears, at the base of your throat, and along the faint line of your collarbone. You added drops to your wrists and even a little over your faulty scent glands, though you weren’t sure why. It had no scent for you, and you were almost worried that they might have scammed you.

But their reactions convinced you otherwise.

The moment he walked into the common area, his steps faltered. His broad shoulders stiffened, and his blue eyes sharpened, narrowing as if sensing something just out of reach. He sniffed once, subtly at first, but then again, deeper, his nostrils flaring, and his hands flexed at his sides.

“Something’s… different.” He muttered, almost to himself, but his voice was low enough to send a shiver through you.

“Something wrong, Cap?” You asked innocently, feigning ignorance as Soap entered behind him.

Soap stopped in his tracks, bright demeanor dimming as his eyes zeroed in on you. His head tilted, his mouth parting slightly as he breathed in deeply. “Lass,” he murmured, soft and careful. “What are you wearin’?”

“Clothes? What else would I be wearing, Soap?” You replied, voice dry just enough to be convincing. You raised an eyebrow, then, and crossed your arms. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Gaz appeared next, his movements slower than usual as he approached. Dark eyes narrowed, his focus razor-sharp as his body tensed. He didn’t speak immediately; instead, he circled you slightly, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know where to start.

Ghost entered last, his imposing frame cutting through the room’s tension like a blade. He didn’t say a word, didn’t ask, didn’t even hesitate. He simply stopped in front of you, his chest rising and falling steadily as his head dipped slightly, his masked face inches from yours. His gloved hands found your waist, and a low growl rumbled in his chest as he inhaled deeply.

“What?” you asked again, blinking at them with wide eyes, your voice lilting with carefully curated confusion. “What’s wrong?”

Price stepped closer as well, his boots heavy against the floor as he studied you. “You smell… different, love.” He said, voice like the distant rumble of thunder.

“Different how?” you asked, biting back a smile.

Johnny couldn’t hold himself back from you any longer, his hands sliding over your hips as he leaned in, his nose brushing against the curve of your neck. He let out a low hum, his warm breath skimming your skin. “Christ,” he murmured, his lips barely grazing your throat, “you smell good. Like somethin’ I can’t quite place.”

Gaz knelt at your side, his hands wrapping around your wrists. He brought one up to his face, his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed a kiss to the soft skin. “Sweet,” he murmured softly. “Warm, like you’ve been wrapped in sunlight.”

Ghost growled again, deeper this time, the sound vibrating through his chest as his gloved fingers tightened on your waist. He pulled you closer, pressing his masked face against the other side of your neck, and the rumble in his throat sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to sell the performance. “I didn’t do anything.”

But the pack wasn’t buying it.

Price’s hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he tilted your face up. Piercing blue eyes searched yours. “You sure about that, love?” he asked, a low grumble that sent heat pooling in your stomach.

Soap pressed a kiss to your collarbone, his teeth grazing the skin lightly as his hands slid beneath your shirt. “Disnnae matter,” he murmured, voice thick with affection and something more primal, more hungry. “Whatever it is, it suits you.”

Gaz hummed in agreement, his lips trailing up the inside of your wrist to the sensitive skin of your palm. “Feels like it’s everywhere,” he said, his voice almost reverent. “Can’t get enough of it. Can’t get enough of you, dove.”

Ghost was silent, but his actions spoke louder than words. He lifted you effortlessly, setting you on the edge of the table with a deliberate slowness that made your heart race. His hands found your thighs, his grip firm but gentle as he leaned in, his masked face pressing against your stomach. The low growl in his chest deepened, a possessive sound that sent a thrill through you.

They were relentless after that.

John claimed your lips, firm and demanding, his hands cupping the back of your neck as he tilted your head back. Soap followed, his kisses trailing along your jaw and down your throat, his hands exploring your body with a reverence that made you shiver.

Gaz and Simon kissed the inside of your thighs, their teeth grazing the sensitive skin there as theirs hands held you steady and open, all theirs.

“Perfect girl,” Simon groaned against the back of your thighs, thick fingers digging into your skin. “Ours. Whatever you’d done- you don’t need it. You’ll always be ours.”

Hours passed in a haze of touch and heat, their attention unyielding as they marked every inch of you as their own. They murmured about your scent between kisses, their words a mix of worship and devotion. You played your part perfectly, letting soft, breathless sounds escape your lips as you clung to them, your innocence a carefully crafted mask.

By the time they were done with you, your were very sure they had rubbed off all the perfume off your body, and covered you with their own scents.

When they finally pulled back, in the nest, their bodies heavy with satisfaction, Price cupped your cheek with gaze still burning with intensity. “You don’t need anything to make us want you,” he said, low but steady. He stared straight at you, so that you would not have any reasons to doubt his words. “You’re already perfect.”

You smiled, letting the words wash over you, but said nothing. Your secret was safe, for now.

[nereidprinc3ss]

trolley problem

in which fem!reader has been gambling with her life and spencer reid is more than a little concerned

flangst, hurt/comfort warnings/tags: passive suicidal ideation from reader, she keeps risking her life, that really grinds Spencer’s gears, established relationship, existential dread, existential euphoria, lots of stuff about grief and death and self worth, not advocating for this, pretension from the author, blasphemy probably?, reader gets fuzzy from prescribed painkillers, arguing, hospital stuff, mention of sleep paralysis involving spiders, reader gets shot but she’s fineee, I pander to intro to philosophy takers, bau!reader, neurodivergent coded reader, if she’s not exactly like you I’m sorry, bean soup a/n: one day you’re in a writing slump literally the next you are in your notes app for six hours writing whatever the fuck this is but I think I love it even tho it’s weird and I hope u like it too!! btw this was gonna be called cotard's syndrome but then I never once talk abt cotard's but if u care that might be interesting context for the motif of not feeling human/alive, WC 3K

Spencer hasn’t spoken to you since the doctor left the room five minutes ago. 

The air is antiseptic as you take it deep into the hollows of your lungs and trap it there for a moment, trying to optimize oxygen intake without actually having to breathe very often. Hospital smell is as universal as it is suffocating. It reeks of everything but death—flowers, blood, bleach, vomit. A humiliating, desperate scramble to defy the very thing that defines mortality. It’s pathetic. It reminds you of the worst instances of failure and loss and denial in your life. It curdles your blood. Literally rots you from the inside out. 

You’ve had ample time to ponder that smell over the last few months because you keep ending up here, and some time ago you decided the institution of the hospital is inherently absurd. It’s stupid to think you could avoid the one absolute condition on your corporeal form: impermanence. It is the only thing that is promised, and people still waste their lives away running from it. It is the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy. 

So around the time you acknowledged that hospitals are simply monuments to the self-importance of man, you gave up on trying too hard to preserve yourself. You’ve seen death too much and too often. You’ve tried staving it off with prayer and the miracles of modern medicine, and it never matters in the end because it’s all magical thinking anyway. All the wallowing and the bargaining and pleading never got you anywhere. 

You’ve accepted that from the moment you were born, you were marked for death. 

But you’re not a complete nihilist. You’re not even totally resigned to the abject certainty of death—because you’ve found a loophole.

Everyone has as many chances at escaping death as other people are willing to offer them at the cost of their own lives. Not many people are willing to make that trade—someone else’s life for their own—but you’ve decided you are. Because if not you, then who?

It’s not that you don’t see the value in your own life, as Spencer keeps making it sound. It’s just the opposite. You understand that you’ve got an extremely valuable resource, and you don’t just have to sit on it. There are things you can do. Choices you can make. Ways to defy death. 

Just… not yours. 

Or maybe you’re just in deep denial. 

Either way—this is a philosophy your boyfriend intentionally refuses to understand. He gets mad, or some kind of upset, every time you try to explain it. Usually he ends up leaving the room close to tears. You never feel good about it.

Right now he’s presumably trying to give you the silent treatment and not doing a very good job. 

“Stop holding your breath. Why are you—stop that.”

Spencer’s frowning, skin sallow and milk-blue under fluorescent lighting. Purple seeps from around his eyes like spilled wine on a white table cloth. Your stomach turns. 

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t tell you not to apologize. You don’t expect him to. 

“Why are you doing that? Does something hurt?”

Other than your entire bicep being on fire due to the 9 millimeter Luger it recently came into contact with?

“Not really. I just don’t like the smell of hospitals.”

At that, he gets stony again. Like, Medusa stony. You feel a tightening in your chest that has nothing to do with a lack of air. His arms are crossed. A silk lined blazer drapes over your lap, and you wonder if he’s cold in just that white button up. It’s translucent in this light, like onion skin, or maybe something less organic—the folds and wrinkles look like fabric, but lots of things look like something they aren’t. In the Pietá, Jesus lounges dead on his mother’s lap, his cheek pressed to her arm like either of them have warm flesh, and her skirts drape from her knees and fall to the ground in delicate folds just like Spencer’s jacket and looking at pictures of it you swear you could find comfort there too—but if you wanted to make space for yourself next to Jesus you’d have to do it with a chisel and mallet. You’re starting to think that’s what it’s going to take with Spencer, as well. 

“So stop walking into active gunfire. You’ll spend a lot less time here.”

Every deep sigh (of which there have been several) calcifies you further. Ironically, you never feel less alive than you do in a hospital. 

“I didn’t walk into active g—”

“I’m not debating it with you. It’s not a discussion.”

“So you’re just going to be pissed at me for the rest of forever? I mean, if it’s not a discussion—what are you gonna do? Break up with me?”

You feel yourself dripping poison in the well. Even as you say it. As his head tilts toward you slowly and intently from his spot against the wall, and his warning gaze is cold and unforgiving and weighs 3.35 tons.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Talk?”

“Don’t try and manipulate me by implying that there are no options between permissiveness and dumping you!”

“I’m not manipulating you. And I don’t need your permission to do anything.” 

The first part is an incredulous scoff as well as a blatant lie. You are manipulating him. Chisel and all. At least, you were trying to. It clearly doesn’t work very well. His jaw clenches.  

“Is this worth it to you? Fighting with me like we’re children solely so you don’t have to take accountability?”

“Accountability for what? I made a choice. I don’t regret it. You’re upset because I did my job.”

A beat. 

Silence always makes you feel the gravity of your words. 

“Do you believe that?”

His voice softens so much, so quickly, it splinters down the middle. 

You’ve never been known for your light touch. For someone who sees eviscerated bodies nearly every day, and prides herself on her evolved understanding of mortality, you often forget other people are not, in fact, impenetrable marble—they are flesh and blood and bone, and you’ve splattered yourself in the evidence of that. 

“What?” You murmur. You easily turn timid, when you’re afraid you’ve been too heavy-handed. Spencer’s seen you sob over the birds who hit the windowpane and never reappeared from the shrubbery—their delicate wings, their little beaks—he didn’t mean to, Spencer, and now he’s dead! He’s seen you spend forty minutes catching a spider with a cup and an envelope rather than smush it, even though you have reoccurring episodes of sleep paralysis wherein a giant arachnid is sitting on your chest, hissing and clacking its pincers. He knows you are, at your core, kind and good. 

It’s a little scary for someone to know that about you. It’s a little scary when you see your own vulnerability reflected in their eyes and the way they speak to you, the way you see it in him now. 

“Do you believe that the choices you make regarding your safety don’t concern me at all?”

“They’re… my choices to make,” you whisper, but you’re less sure than you were a minute ago. 

“I’m not talking about that—I’m talking about how it feels like you are trying to kill yourself every time we’re in the field.” His voice shakes. You swallow. “You have been hospitalized for four serious injuries sustained on the job in the past five months. Every time I bring it up, you—you talk about life like it’s optional for you. Like you’re not only willing to give it up but are actively looking to throw yourself in harm’s way every chance you get. You think that doesn’t terrify me?”

There’s a small chip in the paint on the wall next to him roughly the shape of Africa. 

“It’s not like that. I’m… I’m just having an unlucky streak.”

He snaps. 

“Luck isn’t going to get between you and a bullet. Ever.”

“It’s my job, Spencer.”

“No. It is a risk of the job. Not a defining feature or requirement. But you keep running toward gunfire like you have a quota to meet.”

“Spencer, I’m not doing it at you. I’m not trying to get myself hurt.”

“Well it doesn’t really feel like you’re trying to avoid it, either,” he shoots back immediately, and you feel the anguish radiating from him until it lodges in your own chest, like it was always yours. Maybe it was. 

You want to make it better, but you don’t know how, and even if you did, he’s pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward the door. 

“Where are you going?” You call, a little too desperately for your liking. 

“You need to eat something.”

Which translates roughly to he’s pissed and upset and he needs to leave the room. You’ve done this song and dance before. 

However, food and an absence of him are contenders for the absolute last two things you want right now. 

“Spencer, please don’t—”

But the door is already whooshing closed. 

You stare at the grey and white checkered floor. Light bounces off the waxen reflection—some sort of parallel universe you can’t reach, perhaps. The whole room is desaturated. A mechanical humming threatens to drive you insane. It doesn’t feel like a place for living humans. You’re not convinced you are one. 

When he comes back, maybe ten minutes later, nothing’s moved at all. In fact you’re not even sure you’ve been breathing. 

The door closes as quietly as it opens. 

This time, wordlessly, Spencer comes to you. You see his shoes first—his serious adult shoes. You wish he was wearing his Converse. 

Then you see the bottle of apple juice he’s cracking open for you. Blue lid. Same kind you always get. 

“You didn’t bring food.”

“You wouldn’t have eaten it.”

Fair enough. 

You take the bottle with your good arm and sip shallowly—all that adrenaline and the subsequent interpersonal strife has left you nauseous. The drink is too sweet. It clashes with the tang of metal in your mouth. 

Still, you drink enough to satisfy him, and then you’re tossing his jacket aside before balancing the bottle between your thighs so you can screw the lid back on. He doesn’t go back to the couch or his spot on the wall. 

Spencer doesn’t pull away when you lean into him, but it does take him a moment to reciprocate. You’re still grateful all the same when he cradles the back of your head to his stomach like you’re made of porcelain. 

“I don’t think you understand how upset I am,” he says quietly. 

Only Spencer Reid could be furious with you and still hold you like this. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“That’s not good enough. You need to stop risking your life like that.”

He doesn’t get it. Your brows flutter as they try to furrow but even holding that expression saps you. Maybe the pain meds are finally kicking in. 

“I just wanna help people.”

“That doesn’t explain to me or justify your urge to do it at the cost of your own life. We all want to help people, angel. The whole team. That’s why we do what we do. But we don’t run into shootouts. We don’t split off and provoke people with guns when we’re unarmed and unprepared.”

“But it worked. She got away.” You feel a spark of fulfillment at the memory of Gloria Sanchez in JJ’s arms just before the ambulance doors had slammed you into your first cage of the night. 

“We don’t know if he was going to kill her. He might not’ve fired at all if you didn’t go running toward him. That wasn’t strategic, it was reckless and irresponsible and you know that. I know you do. So something else is going on.”

The pressure in your nose that usually precipitates tears comes as a surprise. 

“I just—if that’s how I can save someone, why shouldn’t I, you know? Why do they have less of a right to live than I do just because they’ve been deprived of the choice? If I have a choice, and they don’t, I should choose to… to help them. That’s my job.”

For a long moment, you listen to your own breath, muffled by Spencer’s shirt, and the mechanical humming, and something dripping, and the low, buzzy chatter of nurses far down the hallway.

When Spencer next speaks you get the sense he’s holding a lot back. His voice is taut enough it wavers slightly. Taut enough that if he weren’t speaking so quietly he might be yelling. It’s like pinpricks all over your body—not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure you’re paying attention. 

“You can’t help anyone if you’re dead. Do you understand me?”

And yes, in theory, you do. But that doesn’t negate your original point. It only takes one life or death moment for you to utilize the most valuable resource you have. What happens after is no longer your concern. 

“On the psych evals you helped develop it asks if you think it’s appropriate to sacrifice the one to save the many. The answer is supposed to be no. If you say yes you get flagged. The FBI frowns upon… lever-pullers. And that’s exactly what I’m doing if I let one person die when I could’ve potentially saved them.”

“Protecting your own life is not pulling the lever. What you’re doing isn’t smart or morally righteous. You’re just throwing yourself across the tracks, too. If you were to fail a psych eval right now it would be because you’re passively suicidal. And you know what? The FBI also tends to frown upon self-immolative delusions of grandeur and girls who like to play sacrificial lamb.”

“’M not a… sacrificial lamb…”

“No,” Spencer agrees quietly, stroking your hair. “You’re not.”

And you can’t react to the fragility in his voice, or the content of his words, and the fact that when he says it he means something different—you can’t do anything about it. You can only catalogue it. You can only know that he loves you, and feel a little guilty about it.

Some time passes. You don’t know how long he remains standing so you can doze against him. He does not smell like the hospital. He’s the antidote for whatever grief they distill from widows and orphans before aerosolizing it through the whole place. 

“Baby?” He asks eventually. You know the lilt of it. He’s been thinking. 

“Hm?”

He hesitates. 

“Can we talk about you maybe taking some time off of work?”

“You heard the boss,” you mumble. “I can’t come in for at least a week.”

“I mean beyond that.”

You intend to respond, but by the time you open your mouth you’ve lost the prompt in all the brain fog. 

“You’re so comfy,” you murmur dreamily. “Thank you for being mad at me.”

If he responds, you miss it. 

You’re imagining the bed waiting for you at home, once the doctor is done observing you—warm, neatly made. Blankets woven with soft fibers. A mattress that will sink under your weight. You think of Spencer, who’s shaping himself to you, Spencer, who intentionally inhales when you exhale at night to make room for the rise and fall of your chest against his. You think of the imprint of his buttons on your cheek. You are both flesh and blood and bone. 

Strange, pill-induced half dreams and visions and memories take over. You’re in that alleyway again. That man fires. You don’t blink or scream or feel. 

Just before the bullet makes contact you’re standing in front of the Pietá. It’s massive. Spencer is there, too, holding your hand. 

You can’t actually see him, only, you know he’s there. You feel his warmth, his presence, when he leans over to whisper in your ear. The way you know him goes beyond sight. 

The Pietá—meaning the pity, in English—is 6’7” and six feet wide. It weighs 6,700 pounds. Michelangelo had to quarry the block of marble himself. He was only 25 when he finished. The Basilica keeps it behind bulletproof glass. 

Jesus and Mary behind bullet proof glass. 

God. Who’d try to kill Jesus a third time? He’s already dead. 

Besides—they’re both made of stone. Bullets would probably just ping right off of them. Or maybe they’d shatter just like you did. 

Probably not though. You’re not actually made of marble. You’ve no idea what it feels like to be a statue and get shot at. You sure know how it feels as a human, though—and it feels like shit. You don’t really know why you keep doing it. None of your reasons are good enough for Spencer, and he’s, generally speaking, pretty smart about some things. 

Maybe you’re tired of being human.

Maybe you’re tired of sleeping on your arm funny and waking up to a hand in your bed that doesn’t feel like yours and remembering all the hands you’ve held moments before they couldn’t hold yours back. Or tired of those moments where you are being held and it’s so unbelievably perfect and then someone has to let go, or when someone you love hugs you goodbye and you realize that there will always be a final I love you, or simply getting older and watching potential life paths fall away like rotten fruit to the ground. Maybe life is sometimes so good it hurts and you can’t bear it. So you tempt fate. You walk a tightrope because even if you fall and it can’t ever feel good again—at least it can’t hurt either. At least you won’t lose anymore. 

And yet. 

It does feel good, sometimes. Sort of often, actually. Even when it’s awful. 

Dead Jesus and Mary, with their marble skin and their bulletproof glass and their holiness and their virginity and all the other things they have that you don’t. Nobody can hurt them anymore. Not ever. 

Maybe that’s something you envy.

But you doubt they’ve ever been so terribly, wonderfully alive as you’ve been, or as comfortable as you are like this, leaning into Spencer’s warmth and his softness, in the hospital, or the Vatican, or your dreams. Your bicep was ruined but it’s healing. You are capable of ruin and rebirth in the same lifetime. In the same day, in the same hour. 

You doubt that in 520 years, behind bulletproof glass and unyielding, eternally flawless skin, they’ve ever felt as invincible as you do now. 

You doubt they ever could. 

[prael]

Integrity

Newjeans Hanni x male reader smut

Happy Hanni Day!

Masterlist word count: 6,048 Kofi(donations/commissions)

It's a really long way to travel, and doubly so when you get fuck all from it. It's not like you were after anything ground-breaking—it's just a fashion show, after all.

It's about as close as you get to 'phoning it in' as a journalist. A few copy-and-paste interviews to accompany some snapshots of the season's latest designs. A couple hundred words, cut and run. Who wore what dress and who wore it the tightest. You could probably type most of it out on the plane without ever leaving your seat, and the public will still eat it up.

Somewhere over Austria, you mulled over that very fact.

Four days later, somewhere over Hungary, you're scrambling to do exactly that.

The whole thing is going fine. Fine, right up until it isn't. Maybe it's the sound of your fingers on the keys or the pocket of air that rocked the plane in that familiar gut-wrenching way, but her eyes are opening slowly. She's mouthing something, her fingers reaching around behind her, under the thin layer of blankets she is enveloped in.

"Are we there yet?" she murmurs, fishing her phone out of her blanket, sleepiness and all.

"Not even close," you say as flatly as you can, returning to a few words you'd been rolling over in your head for the better part of thirty minutes.

"What are you writing about?" She asks from down on her fully reclined seat that's moonlighting as a bed.

"You," you say with a small laugh, not looking away from your laptop.

"What about me?" Hanni's phone lights up, cutting through the darkness and finally making her face visible. The cabin is in full black-out since it's the middle of the night, and the dividers in first-class keep the two of you isolated.

"Your clothes, mostly. Generic fashion show stuff. Doesn't really matter. I put the names Gucci and Hanni Pham in an article and it sells itself. Instant clicks. S'like... two baits for one fish."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Probably is," you reply, knowing full well that there's little to be proud of in here. It's all surface level after all, since adding the things you know now might raise a few eyebrows. All the investigative journalism you've done over the past few days isn't exactly something you can write about. Though you can't deny it, an article about the beauty mark right below her waistline would probably send the masses into a frenzy.

You can hear her tapping on her screen a few more times, and with the silence in the first-class cabin at night, you find yourself focusing on those sounds more than your writing. Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause. Sigh. Tap. Tap.

"What is it?"

"Can't sleep," comes her whispered reply as she pushes herself up with that strange grunt you often hear her make, propping her pillow against the bulkhead and stretching out.

"Drugs not working?"

She shakes her head. "Not doing much."

"If my typing is too loud I can stop—"

"No, you focus. I'll find something to keep myself distracted." She locks her phone again and disappears into the darkness again, her soft breathing almost inaudible. Minutes go by. You manage a full two paragraphs before hearing her moving in the darkness again.

"Hanni?"

"Shh."

The slow shifting goes on for another few seconds, and in the darkness, you can make out the movement of her blanket as she slides off the chair down to your feet. What hits you next is her fingers reaching into your waistband.

"Hann—"

"Quiet," she whispers back. You quickly pick up the laptop from resting on your lap before her attempts to undress you can send it crashing to the floor. You're quick to place it on her seat and close its cover, out of her reach just in time before she slides your pants down.

She doesn't say anything, just lets you lay there in silence as her fingers guide you into her mouth. It is almost unnerving how used to it you have become in such a short time—how easy it has become for you, a supposed professional, to mix business and pleasure to this degree.

Hanni goes on unperturbed, wetting you between plump lips that trail up and down your length.

There is nothing you can do at this point but give in and just throw your head back. You grow harder under her touch and her tongue and judging by the way she grows more aggressive with her movements, Hanni is starting to enjoy herself as well. You can't quite make out her face, but you already know the look she's wearing. Can practically see it in your mind's eye; the look of wide-eyed desire as she takes you further in, lips rounding out over teeth as she welcomes every inch you give her until her cheeks cave in from sucking.

It's fucking burned into your brain. You've seen it so much, among so many other filthy expressions, you aren't sure if you could ever forget it.

Your hand reaches down blindly in the darkness until it finds the back of her head. The mere fact that the both of you are sitting on this plane hundreds of miles above the ground is instantly forgotten, fading out from consciousness and sense as she holds on, massaging your balls with one hand.

You let yourself lay there like this, fingers tangled in her hair, cock buried in her mouth. The thought of pulling her up and reciprocating is never far from your mind, but her grip on your hips is certain. This is all her right now. She's in charge.

She does not lack the pace to prove it.

Her head bobs up and down in the dark, tongue guiding you further in with every motion, lips slipping further down along your shaft, saliva pooling at your base. Her humming is growing—you can't hear it, but you can feel it. It resonates all the way through you, down the aching hardness she keeps stroking with her tongue, and even further to fuel that tension building in your lower stomach.

"Holy fuck," you curse under your breath, voice catching in your throat, lost in the motion of the plane's droning vibrations and her eager motions.

She pops you from her mouth, stroking your cock with a twist of a wrist and something she is doing with her tongue at the tip. As your eyes begin to adjust, you can see that spit has mixed with precum, dribbling down and over the back of her knuckles. It's lewd and over the top and everything that Hanni Pham, an innocent idol, pretends not to be.

"What? You want me to stop?"

"Fuck no," you whisper back, heart pumping in your ears. The feeling of her strokes, suddenly more controlled and tense without the benefit of her mouth is as jarring as it is fleeting.

"Didn't think so." With that, she brings her head back down to take you in her mouth again, hot breaths hitting the spit-slick surface of your dick. It's dirty and clumsy, messy and wet, and each time she swallows you, your entire body shudders with pleasure, coiling every muscle and feeling it climb upward until your stomach goes tight and you find yourself pushing her down, further, faster, until she is sucking what little air she has.

You are wound tight. Agonising, torturous tension pulling ever outward from your centre with each motion she makes. Every twitch of her tongue—fuck, does she work her tongue—spurs some sort of response down to the very tips of your toes.

It's a complete relapse. Back to four days ago, in the back of the car, with nothing but a divider between you and the driver. Cumming inside Hanni's pretty mouth and feeling her swallow every bit, then going on like nothing happened.

-

There's usually not a lot of enthusiasm for an interview. You have spent the whole morning being shrugged off by star after star after star. To them, they're there to look pretty. To show face and represent their brands. Answers are pre-written garbage to be regurgitated over and over like everyone is sharing the same stupid fucking tongue.

Then there's little miss backless-top. Denim jeans and a shirt with frills that barely keeps her modesty. Big, brown eyes and a smile that fills her whole face. Add her vibrance and energy and she really gets your journalistic gears turning. There's something fresh about her. How when you approach her, she engages you in a conversation like you're an actual person and not just some cardboard cut-out of a journalist.

Hanni Pham knows her shit. It's part of the training. She handles media with all the grace of someone born to do it and the energy of someone who loves it. So not only does she give you answers there and then, but when you make the request to sit down with her later and get all you need to do a whole feature on her, she's quickly turning to the powers that be to make it happen.

She should have been a ten-minute addendum. An hourglass figure strutting and posing and laughing her pretty little ass off for cameras for the adoring public. Instead, Hanni fucking Pham, you've got her. For hours.

So you sit down in a quiet little room you managed to reserve with the company card, and she's right across from you, with two glasses of water and a notepad on a table in an otherwise empty room.

"Is this going to be recorded?" She asks first, though looks sceptical and unprepared.

"Normally, yes. But I would prefer us to be a little more comfortable. I'm going to take notes, that's all."

"I like that." She claps, like there's an imaginary audience watching, even if you're the only one there. "So, what are we covering?"

"Everything. To start," you shift a little closer to the table. "Think of this being more about you rather than what you're wearing."

She gives you a little bit of a quizzical look.

"I know. Fashion show. Just, work with me here. The Gucci brand gets the clicks, I want to introduce those clickers to the girl wearing the clothes."

Hanni nods, her eyes light up a little and you can't help but notice how she is really fucking adorable. Up close, she's even prettier. It throws you off for a second as you bring up the notepad. The blank pages stare up at you—mock you. Where do you even begin?

"We met briefly earlier, and you're standing alongside stars from many industries and the lead designer at Gucci."

"Yes," she smiles politely. "That was exciting. Kind of surreal, really."

"So what does it take to be who you are? A girl of Vietnamese blood, born in Melbourne, working in South Korea and travelling to Europe for fashion shows?"

"Uhm, like, honestly?" She shifts in her seat. "Really a lot of hard work. Endless and stressful and never-ending hard work. You know? From singing and dancing, to the language lessons and the dieting and working out. It needs hard work and, well, a lot of luck too."

"You make your own luck." You nod, before jotting down into your notepad.

She tilts her head in response. "I suppose so. That's very quotable if you want. I made my own luck by working hard."

"And yet you're still young, what, turning twenty?"

"Just." Hanni nods.

"Barely twenty and making waves. Do you still feel like you have so much more to give?"

"Oh fuck yeah," she quickly confirms. "Wait, don't write that down."

"Oh... fuck... yeah." You sound out the words as you pretend to write them in the notepad.

"Hey!" Hanni laughs, and it's beautiful. It fills the room and just makes her glow with warmth. "Cut me some slack."

"Alright. Alright. So is this what you envisioned? Being twenty and being here?"

"You mean in this room with you?"

You laugh too. The jokes come so naturally to her.

"I'm happy where I am, it really was always my dream."

"To be in this room with me?"

"Fuck you," she laughs. "But, in a way, yes. I wouldn't be here if I didn't achieve my dream, would I?"

"That's very true. Then what is next for you?"

"There's no end goal." Hanni tilts her head. You follow her hand as it passes through her hair. She's studying you just like you are studying her. "I don't think I'll ever sit back and say 'that's enough.' That's not who I am."

"Ambitious. The question now is what are you chasing?"

"Is that you asking or the article?"

"Both," you say with a wry smile.

"For the article: I want to tour the world, keep improving and working hard. Release more music."

You scribble down a few notes and then click the top of the pen. "And off the record?"

"To spend a little more time focusing on myself. Time is fleeting. I should try and enjoy it while it lasts."

"You're young, pretty and successful. You have plenty of opportunity to do just that."

"Is that flirting?" she jokes, cocking her brow with a seductive smile.

"I'm just stating facts. I'm married to the truth." You gesture to your notepad. "So let's get back on the record, shall we?"

-

One delayed layover later and you're back in the air, and after your brief break to let Hanni drain you into her throat, you managed to get back to finishing up the article, so for the final stretch, the two of you are lying together in one of the first-class beds, and the conversation kept going.

"How are you single?" she's asking, while you're spooning her.

"Mostly because of my job. Definitely the baggage and constant travelling. Takes a special woman to not hate this."

"Sounds like idol life. I know so many idols who try to date but you just never have the time to see each other. We tour constantly and are always on the road. A long day of practising and comeback planning and comeback filming and comeback rehearsing, and more hours of sleep and eating to prep for the next comeback, you're always too exhausted."

"Such a shame." You lower the blanket that's covering her bare chest. Her breasts fill your palm as you caress them, gently. "A pretty thing like you deserves so much better than empty hotel rooms."

"Flirt," she playfully chastises, pressing her ass to your crotch before sliding forward to give you some friction, grinning at you over her shoulder. "These past few days, all the sex, I'd be lying if I said I couldn't get used to this."

It's a sentiment so heavily shared, that even now you're thinking about how easy it would be to pin her onto her back and mount her. It isn't easy to shake the thought when her body is practically inviting you inside her.

You're asking instead, still exploring her naked form, "How do you overcome the needs?"

"Other ways..." Hanni replies through closed eyes, her cheeks blushing. "Toys. Helps and hurts. They're no real substitute."

You run your hand over her toned stomach, heading between her thighs and gently prying them open. And there she is. Right fucking there, wet and waiting for you. Your finger glides over her lips and runs the full length of her, and she strains to contain a gentle moan. The problem is, Hanni is really fucking loud, and the walls of this pod are paper thin.

"I want you again," she whispers, and it's a real fucking dilemma.

She guides your cock through the folds of her pussy and leans back her head as she takes it. Fuck, it feels so good being back inside her. Wet and tight and made to grip. A small whimper escapes her when you are in deep, which she tries to swallow.

"You gotta be quiet," you tell her, while all but refusing to move inside her.

"I can be quiet," she grinds against you, but you're not convinced, and with a firm grasp of her jaw, you pull her closer.

"Can you?" you speak under her ear. "Can the oh-so-talented Hanni Pham control herself?"

She lets out another trembling little sound of pleasure while pushing herself onto your shaft. "I think so. All I know is you need to—yeah, right there. Yes." She closes her eyes and tries to stifle that deep groan of enjoyment.

You hush her before it gets too loud with a hand over her mouth. Tentatively, you begin moving, an aching slow journey backward and forward. As tight as her cunt is around your dick, the movement becomes easy. Dragging more pleasure from both of you and as she rolls her hips again, grinding against the motion, the whimpering returns.

"Hanni," you scold gently, pushing further into her with each stroke. "Shhh."

She mouths an 'I can't' into your hand which elicits a laugh from you and turns a smirk into a smile. You're rutting against her ass, savouring the feeling of your hips hitting her soft flesh. Ample curves along with a narrow waist begging you to embrace her. A pretty little thing taking all your cock and urging you on. It's hard not to go harder. "Need you."

"Careful what you wish for," you whisper as she tries to lean back her head in bliss.

Her tongue brushes your knuckles, and the soft sweep feels like a warm, wet invitation to probe further. A few seconds of uncertainty follows, and then her mouth closes around the tips of your fingers and starts to suck. Sharing the same excitement that has gotten the better of you the past few days of endless debauchery.

You sink your fingers deeper. She sucks harder, her moans stifled behind her pursed lips. Anywhere but here and you would throw her face down on the mattress, fuck her into a state of bliss. Make her beg for you and claw the bedsheets. Such an innocent girl, a girl who should have stayed wrapped in silk and lace, but who demands you take her, just a moment longer, just a bit rougher, and how can you refuse a beauty like that?

Just as Hanni settles and relaxes, her body is dragged into tense peaks of delight. Tiny gasps leak from around your fingers as you thrust deeper. She chokes as she orgasms, digging her nails into the arm that is holding her close, her face going bright pink. Sweat on her temples, on her chest. An earthly aroma of wet skin and hot breaths. She swears and curses the pleasure as you pump your orgasm between her thighs.

You fill her. For a while, you are one, grinding together in mutual fulfilment, breathing heavily and lost in your actions. The mess you're making runs from her sweet cunt, down her thigh, onto the bed.

The rush leaves the both of you exhausted. Hanni does nothing to resist you pulling out and emptying the last few drops over her ass. It is all over as quick as it began. It comes with a strange realisation of how natural it all feels to cum inside Hanni Pham.

-

It's not often that someone you interview not only takes your card, but doesn't immediately throw it away, and actually uses the number on there. You're in the back of a cab when it rings. Today's show has just about finished and while you didn't quite manage to snag another interview like the one you did with Hanni, it has been a good day.

"Did you get enough to write about?" is the first question she asks when you answer.

"I got a few bits here and there. Some surface-level stuff from others, but you gave me the marquee piece. I'll fluff up what I have with the spec sheets released and I'm sure it'll be a nice little exclusive."

"That makes me sound important," she giggles.

"You're a fucking celebrity, of course you are important."

"No need to swear."

"Apologies." There's a momentary pause. You let it linger on the call and soon enough, Hanni's laugh fills the silence.

"I'm kidding. Keep up that energy,"

"So, why are you calling? Usually, when I get a call it's to recant some statement or explain a misquote. Did I make a mess of something?"

"Well, not yet. But I have some ideas."

"Ideas?" You repeat, brows raising.

"Where are you now?" she asks, and for a moment you wonder if you shouldn't be answering.

"Taxi. Headed back to the place I'm staying."

"Where are you staying?" It's a strange question for her to ask, you think. Or maybe, it's not strange at all, but timing and circumstance have you considering the way it sounds.

"A hotel."

"Look to your right," she says, making a confusing request, but you look. Of course, you do. Outside the window, in the next lane over, stuck in the very same traffic as you are, is a familiar face. She gives you the widest grin, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Are you following me?" you joke.

"Do you want me to?" There's something playful in her voice, an attempt at seduction that's not exactly subtle.

"Hanni, what are—"

"Just answer the question," she interrupts.

And that's it. There's no reason to evade the truth. Lying to yourself gets no one anywhere. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Good," she murmurs, "you know, I'm still wearing the same outfit as I was at the event. These jeans are getting really uncomfortable." She pulls the phone away from her ear for a second and you hear her call out, "Driver? See that taxi on our left? Follow it, please. And can I get some privacy back here?"

There are some distant sounds from the other side of the phone. An affirmation of orders. Then her voice is right back with you.

"As I was saying, these jeans are really uncomfortable."

"Fashion can hurt," you say flatly.

"You're supposed to tell me to take them off or something. You're not very good at this are you?"

"I didn't realise 'this' is what we were doing." You've developed a stupid fucking smile, even if it's going unseen.

"Hmm, it can be." There is a moment of quiet as if she's thinking. "Hold on a second," Hanni says. There are some vague sounds you can't make out before she comes back to the phone. "Got bored of waiting. Now, keep talking will you? I like the sound of your voice."

"Hanni, what—"

"Just keep talking. Tell me what you think of me." She can't see it, but the look of confusion must be shining bright on your face. At a loss, and under duress, you speak your mind.

"Well, you seem nice." It's a weak first effort. "Very funny, a little confident. You must know you're pretty. Young, but driven." The words you mumble are stilted, but telling the truth.

"Really. You think I'm pretty?"

"Yeah."

"Not sexy?"

"Hanni, you're fucking sexy."

"Thanks," her laugh is like bells, ringing through the car. "That's better. What did you think of my outfit?"

"Daring. Not often do I see an idol go completely backless. Risky."

"Sometimes a risk is worth taking."

"Seems so."

"Tell me more. Tell me what was the part you liked the most?" Her voice drops from that relaxed confidence to a pitch that has your head buzzing with possibility.

"Nice waist. Really looked good with the way those jeans hugged your hips."

There's a long, heavy breath from the other end of the line. Something rustling and then a deep gasp from Hanni.

"What's happening?"

"Nothing. Keep talking. Describe me to me." Her voice is fraught with need, a small tremble in each word.

"Okay." That was permission, or demand, whichever is. You swallow before continuing. "Backless was a good choice. Your bare skin looks great. I'm sure those pictures are going viral already. Betting they are all over the web, all over people's phones."

"Are we close to your hotel?" Hanni strains out the question as if it were hard to say, every syllable wrought in pain.

"Close."

"Good, are you excited?"

"To?"

"See more of my bare skin."

Fuck. The image floods your mind like a dam breaking. Suddenly, she's right there, unclothed and naked and spread open. Suddenly, she's right there, moaning in pleasure, your cock lodged deep inside her.

"Yes," you groan into the phone. It's a painful admission. "Really, Hanni. Really fucking excited."

"So tell me, what are you excited to see?"

"Your ass. Love the way you wore the jeans just a little too tight. Really framed it."

She whispers, "That's all? Anything else, anything special you wanted to see?"

"Your breasts. Like what the top does. Would like to pull it down and play with those breasts." This whole thing is obscene. You're shamelessly spilling your desire to a girl you just met and she's loving every second of it.

Another soft gasp is heard on the call. It's more than that, it's her panting, short snatches of breath as her little gasps become regular, heated and urgent. "And then what?"

"That's a surprise. We're here." The cab pulls up and her car pulls in behind you.

"Room number?"

"Oh-one-two-two," you say, handing over cash to pay the driver and stepping out. "See you there."

-

It's deep into the night now, and her back is pressed against the wall as you're kissing down her neck. For a young woman who looks ever so innocent, you're quickly learning the taste of her body could have the alcohol industry aflame. She's intoxicating and you're addicted. Lips sucking, teeth pressing lightly against tender flesh.

She told you to not wear a condom, not this time. She described your first load as a waste, a sinful injustice after all the things she had done to wring it from you. So now you're back inside her, thinking only of how you're going to decorate her this time, about the moment you can't hold back any longer and cum, uninhibited, spewing mess over her delicate, flawless little body.

So you're just fucking nailing Hanni against the wall, her leg pulled up and knee hooking around your elbow. Holding her there, pounding her cunt the best you possibly can. Her hands scratch deep lines into your back, and her fingernails leave dull aches along your spine. There's something primal in the way she's urging you to fuck her harder, stronger, faster. She wants all of you, just like you want all of her.

You lift her other leg and hold her there, folded against the drywall. The steady pounding begins to churn her insides, to break her fragile body to the rhythm. She's mewling a mixture of sounds in your ear. Begging. Incoherent sounds of need. Then you feel her cunt clenching and tightening, a sudden strength to the grip she has on your shaft.

Hanni screams your name, howling it at the ceiling and the walls while you drive her ever deeper through an orgasm that's torn apart her expression. Utter beauty, sheer excellence. Her quivering pleasure comes with warmth between the two of you. She cums so hard that she goes limp in your arms. Your legs really begin to strain as you pump her full of cock, and her lips find yours again.

Your kisses are savage, the gnashing of teeth and the crush of lips. She's asking for more. Demanding more.

So you throw her to the bed, turning her over and she instinctively drags herself to her knees. Her palms run to the edge of the bed, clawing the blankets as you climb behind her.

"Do you like my ass?" She breathes. Your grip finds the firm flesh with purpose.

"Love your ass," you mutter, taking a hold and angling her towards you.

"Then fuck me." Hanni arches deep, pushing her soft ass in the air and pressing her tits against the mattress. She backs right up to you, begging to be fucked, once more.

The penetration is perfect. Balls deep inside this horny little girl, grabbing a fistful of her hair and using it as leverage. It's hard, it's fast, it's a brutal rut. A sweaty, wet fuck driven by nothing but raw need. She's too wet, too accommodating, clapping herself against your pelvis, meeting your every thrust.

It's not the time to think. Simply let instinct take over. Leaning into it and fucking her.

More words spill from her mouth. More dirty, lewd praises that have your balls aching. It won't be long now. Every muscle, straining with effort, pulls taut. It's such a fucking trip. This once innocent-looking person sucking the life right from the core of your being, bending over for you to force a hand along her spine and bend her further.

"Cum on me," she whimpers again and again. Over and over. She's pleading with you. "Please, cum on me. On my back. Cover me."

There's no further thought, no plan, no point of focus. Everything narrows down to the slick friction around your shaft, and your stomach starting to become strained from the endless effort. To how her ass shakes as your fuck yourself to the edge and how she cranes her neck to watch you.

At the very last moment, you draw out of her and jerk yourself, quick and urgent motions of your wrist. Hanni's knees give way and she lies flat, looking back and watching you as you start to cover her.

The first spurts land high, just beneath her hair. They collect and pool before forming and dripping forward along her shoulder blades. The next spreads across her shoulders. A thin coating that has you shiver as it lands. It goes on and on until you're slathering her in thick lines and ropes.

Something about the sight is so fitting, so delectable, as she lays there and writhes with need, adoring the feeling of being bathed in your lust.

Her expression is an aphrodisiac as she cries out in ecstasy. Her tongue runs across her lips, and then she lets out a soft lass before crashing her face into the soft bedsheets with a moan. Your fist is still pumping rope after rope of cum across her until every muscle feels drained, and you manage to collapse beside her on the bed. You trace a finger across her smooth, plump ass as you catch your breath.

"This is the life," Hanni gasps. "If I could just have endless sex, the world would be a far happier place."

-

You could have been forgiven for thinking it would be a one-off. Just one night of wild sex together before going your separate ways and never speaking again. A nice memory of a beautiful girl to always sit fondly at the back of your mind.

But the very next night, you're in her hotel bathroom. Sharing a bath together, her back pressed flush to your front. You can't fucking resist running a hand between her thighs, working gently over her cunt to hear the wonderful noises she makes.

"Please," she whispers over and over, grinding against your touch.

Ordinarily, you might tease her, and have her beg a little more, but there's nothing more enthralling than the sounds and sights of Hanni's face when she cums. So instead, you're knuckle deep with two fingers and curling them into her cunt, hitting that magic spot just a little more, faster and faster.

On the brink of her second orgasm in ten minutes, Hanni draws a noisy, shuddering breath, the exhalation quickly becoming a sharp, high-pitched wail that fills the bathroom, her eyes glaze as she climaxes. "Fuck. I—that's—more." Her head falls backwards and rests on your shoulder, "yeah, more."

Hanni's petite frame writhes in orgasm. Back arched, panting breaths quickly turning to gasps for air. Eyes flutter and roll backwards before shutting entirely. Every muscle in her tight cunt grips your fingers as waves of pleasure pour from deep inside. She grinds on you, riding the sensation of your touch through the spasms until they finally slow.

"You're so fucking cute when you cum," you kiss her cheek.

It's the compliment that has her rising from the water, she stands in front of you, her wet ass and thighs dripping as she turns toward you. "Me? Cute?" She smirks, lowering herself onto your thighs, resting your cock against her pussy. "Am I really?"

"Cutest fucking thing."

She guides your cock to her wet pussy, sinking down and slowly filling herself, the both of you making a whimper at the sensation. She's in no rush, though. She prefers slow, she favours long, lingering motions where you're all the way inside her and stay there for just a few moments before climbing once more.

Her rhythm has you melting back against the bath. Long, even strokes have her ass lifting and sinking, and she rolls her hips so elegantly that it's natural to reach for her waist and run your hands along her curves.

"I hope you don't think I'm easy," Hanni whispers, her fingers grabbing the hair on the back of your head, locking her hot body against yours, keeping you close, wrapping around you. "But I'm twenty and sex-deprived, so deal with it."

"You're allowed to enjoy sex. Nothing wrong with that," you answer through closed eyes, focusing only on the heat, the skin, the feeling of your cock rubbing through her.

With a mischievous chuckle, she rests her weight on you. Chest to chest, nose against nose.

"Careful," she whispers, her voice fluttering in between soft sighs of excitement. "I could get used to having a man around. Someone willing to get me off, over and over again. You might be stuck with me. Wouldn't that be scandalous? A reporter who's secretly fucking a star like me?"

That alluring, seductive voice makes your body tense. Her kiss threatens to undo you right then and there. She's riding you harder now, bouncing her ass in your lap. Driving the pleasure, the friction, harder and deeper.

"I have a confession to make," you speak with heavy breaths, trying to restrain yourself. "I think I could get used to this. Every day. If I could."

"It's a deal then. How about we celebrate by letting you blow a load inside me? Would you like that?" She nibbles at your earlobe, giggling as she sucks it between her lips. "How good would it feel to feel your hot, thick cum slide all the way up inside me?"

"So fucking good."

"And maybe tomorrow I'll keep you inside me and let you fill me all over again, and maybe I'll do the same the day after." There's a devilish smile across her face as she continues, "I'll ride you again and again and again..."

She keeps repeating it, the word stamped into your head over and over and each time she says it, she drives her hips down into you. Hard. The water ripples. Her ass slaps the tops of your thighs. It's a relentless rhythm, an insistent grind, a desperate desire for more.

"You're filthy," you tell her as you take a firm grip on her ass, her flesh filling your grasp and the muscles rippling through her skin as she moves.

"Maybe. Maybe I am, and maybe you like it." She laughs. A sound as sweet as honey.

"You know I do."

"Then show me how much. Fill me. Let it go."

That's all you need, just her words and the way she fucks you. She's the one doing all the work, and it's all the reason you need to relax and let the bliss consume you.

Hanni is kissing you when it hits. She swallows your groans of release, sucking them into her lungs. Her hands press down into your shoulders, nails sinking deep into your skin.

She doesn't stop moving, not once. Keeps grinding. She maintains the pace until you can't take any more. Until there's nothing left. Only then does she ease her motion, settling onto your lap, keeping you deep in her.

"That was amazing," she sighs.

"Fucking was."

[muqingslover]

Ok, so... this might be a bit of a +18 think piece, but... what do you think the lads men would have as their top 3 kinks? I started thinking about it after I read the Xavier somno one, lol. Maybe I'm crazy but I think Caleb would have blindfolds/rope play in his top 3 (on mc not on him, since he wants to see all of you but is very resultant to show all of himself back due to fear of rejection+ if mc is tied up she can't leave)

[ choosing only three was a lot harder than I thought whew. Also, I'm testing out different layouts rn so don't mind me (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ]

Xavier

Predator/Prey Play: This guy is the literal definition of wolf in sheep's clothing. What gets him going is the thrill of the hunt and the turntables (his specialty), which is why he will often let you think you're in control and have your fun teasing him only to then pounce when you least expect. If you run from him then you better pray he won't catch you or not.

Exhibitionism: This might be a hot take but walk with me. Xavier is a very jealous man so he won't ever allow anyone to actually see you, buuuut he is very into letting others know you belong to him. You gotta leave for a mission with someone else? Not to worry, all he needs is 10 minutes in the bathroom stall. The bread guy is back at it again? It can't be helped, he'll just have to fuck against the door while he's knocking to show you're busy. He'd love to see you struggling (and failing) to keep your voice down and looks like a smug cat when others notice the marks he left on you.

Cunnilingus: This man eats pussy like a goddamn champ. He absolutely adores having your thighs wrapped around his head, to the point he finds it comforting, and the feeling of his tongue stretching open your dripping pussy for his cock later. Your taste is something he could have every day, which he will if you let him, and he takes pride when you're left a writhing, whimpering mess that begs for him to fuck you.

-----------------------------♡♡♡------------------------------

Zayne

Bondage: The joke about him tying MC up with surgical knots was definitely not a joke. In my opinion, rather than the power rush over the control he has over you, what really gets him off is the trust you put in his hands. Bondage is all about having faith in your partner to never truly hurt you and knowing you see him that way makes him feel beyond special. Given the chance he'd love to have you wrapped in dark blue, silky ribbons and the aftercare is top tier with this guy.

Lingerie: For some reason I feel like Zayne is REALLY into seeing you wearing lingerie. Ladies, feel free to tease him by telling him you're wearing one, but not letting him see until he's home much later. He'll spend the entire day imagining what type of lace you have under your clothes and he pretty please asks you to strip for him as a reward for waiting.

Phone Sex: Another one I just have a feeling it's his thing. I mean, he is a busy man and sometimes it can't be helped, people have needs yk. He'd like the feeling of knowing you think of him as much as he does of you when the other is not around. The photos you send and the sounds of your needy whines right next to his ear goes straight to his cock and he is mortified when the post-nut clarity hits him and he realizes what he did in his own office.

-----------------------------♡♡♡------------------------------

Caleb

Overstimulation: I'm an overly sensitive Caleb truther. The overstimulation has his head spinning so good that he can barely form a coherent thought that isn't your name while he slams into your pussy for the nth time like a desperate man. He doesn't want to simply break you he wants to break together, to the point neither of you can think about anything else besides how good it feels.

Roleplaying: I've lost count of the amount of times we've seen him and MC roleplaying and this man will unironically take it to the bedroom. It starts as a joke where he's only doing it to make you laugh, but then he won't allow you to break character and will edge you until you say your "lines" correctly. Forceful and cold soldier? Check. Teasing and pervy Gege? of course. A loving and gentle husband? Sign him up. Strict teacher? No need to ask twice.

Brat Taming: Now defying Caleb is the equivalent of waving a red flag in front of a bull and you better run because when he catches you you're done for. He needs you to need him as much as he needs you and if he has to break you for you to admit it then he will. The rush of being the one in charge and "taking care" of you in a way no one else will is enough to have his cock throbbing.

-----------------------------♡♡♡------------------------------

Sylus

Breeding AND Biting: These two go hand in hand every time you have sex with him. He craves to have a family with you but, more than anything, he wants you to be as full of him as his heart is of you. He wants you to be so filled with his cum that he has to keep his cock inside otherwise it'll leak out of you. He absolutely enjoys the slippery mess your warm insides become when he rocks his hips into you, slowly but deep, pushing his cum even further into your womb and hoping you'll get pregnant.

Body Worship: I've said it once and I'll say it again: Sylus is a lover boy! ! ! Each kiss on your skin is an offering, a promise and a worship. He wants to know the parts of your body not even you do and give you the love you deserve. The praises he whispers against your body are similar to a prayer and he could spend years exploring every inch of you without ever getting tired. You're the very reason for his existence and any less is just unacceptable.

Size: This guy is not only big but he's also very large. He is a softie who likes to tease you about how small you are compared to him while he holds your hand and pretends he doesn't hear your complaints about him suffocating you after the draped his heavy body over yours. That feeling of satisfaction extends when he has to gently coo you and kiss your tears away while he's spreading your little hole open. He can't help the fangy grin on his lips when he feels his cock bulge on your tummy and he holds your hand over the spot so you feel how deep he is inside of you as well.

-----------------------------♡♡♡------------------------------

Rafayel

Rough Sex: Another controversial take but I feel like he's a secret sadist just not the extreme type. Man can flip his demeanor from "harmless babyboy" to intimidating sea god in a split second who knows what else he's hiding under that purple wig. He'll keep an almost cold demeanor while he coaxes whimpers out of you in the best way and a wicked smirk spreads across his face at the sight of your tears, spurring him on until he's completely broken you.

Food Play: That's definitely one way to make sure he actually eats. Having you be his meal will make him hungry like never before and oh he absolutely will feast (this may or may not be a reference to this). He makes a point of not using his hands while licking along your skin, tasting the sweet chocolate before he left a purple mark on your thighs. Oh, this goes both ways so please pour wine on him and lick him clean ;)

Body Painting: I forgot if there's an actual English term for this but Rafayel would love to draw on your skin and watch you squirm each time the soft, wet brush went over your perked up nipples. He'd scold you when you move because you're making him smudge the lines and holds you in place with his free hand, warning you to stop or he'll take "extreme measures" to make you keep still. You are the only one he'd ever dare to call a masterpiece.

[luv4berry]

Can you pls make one abt miles and yn getting into a very heated argument and she slaps him for saying smth outrageous and then she leaves and he climbs into her window after a few hours and tries to work it out with her

anything for you.

earth 42!miles morales x fem!reader

SUMMARY: you go over to miles practically drenched in another man's cologne, and he jumps to conclusions all too quickly.

GENRE: fluff to angst to fluff.

WARNINGS: bickering/arguing, physical contact made by reader, jealous miles, cursing, kissing/making out, suggestive (?) miles calling women females (this needs a trigger warning in itself), CORNYYY

AUTHORS NOTE: yo why this tumblr shit lowkey fun? + this is my first request agagaa thank you!! omg and i hit 200?? and my eyes only is almost at 2k notes wtf r y’all onnnn?? anyways thank you for requesting! i didn’t make miles say anything too outrageous just so he could redeem himself later on, hope you like it!

“you look so good,” your boyfriend says for what seems like the 100th time today, his large hands immediately dropping to your bare waist, fidgeting with your waist beads as he leans in to mold your lips, a smile gracing his face when you return his affection.

“all mine.” he mutters as he intensifies the kiss, his hands approaching the waist band of his boxers that you’ve claimed as your own. when he lifts your feet off the ground, the heels of your feet lock around his back, a giggle escaping your lips when he lays you down on his bed. you pull away from him, laying the palms of your hands on his chest to keep him away when he pursues your lips once more.

“miles, we can’t make out all day.” you giggle, running your manicured fingers down his chest.

“says who?” he buries his head in the crevice between your neck and shoulder, leaving wet kisses along the space when he suddenly pauses.

he removes his head from the crevice, sitting up to which you follow.

“baby,” you hum in acknowledgement, “where’d you go today?” he questions you, a hint of an indistinguishable emotion in his voice.

“just here, why?” you question him, running your nails up and down his neck. a look of confusion immediately sweeps over your features when he calmly removes your hand from his body.

“cause you smell like somebody been rubbing all up on you.” he looks you up and down, leaning in to now smell your clothes, hair, neck, anything within the perimeter really.

he pulls back, “who were you with?” his expression solidified.

“nobody, i swear i don’t know why i smell.” you reason with him, genuinely confused as well.

“oh? so the smell just magically took over your hair and your clothes?”

he completely gets up from his position next to you, hovering over you. “y/n, i know im not tripping, who the hell was rubbing up on you and why’s the smell so strong? that’s what we doin’ now? and then you got the audacity to bring your ass over to my house, lay in my bed, and wear my clothes.”

“what are you implying?” you scowl at him, now rising to your own feet.

“im implying that you forreal out here fucking on other dudes when you got a whole ass boyfriend.”

the next few moments go by swiftly and mindlessly, but the scorching sensation left in the palm of your left hand enables you to process what just happened almost immediately; you slapped him. though, not an ounce of regret filled your tank of emotions, adrenaline being the only identifiable one.

“i don’t know who the hell you’re talking to but it can’t be me, how dare you?” you glare at him, the imprint of your palm already making its mark on his face, the surrounding skin blemishing. “when have i ever done something like that to you?”

“today, apparently.” he mumbles under his breath, caressing the skin of his cheek to soothe the discomfort.

you look at him like he’s just grown 3 heads before silently walking over to the corner of his room, pulling his graphic tee over your shoulders. you immediately lunge it at him, same with his boxers, bracelets, his necklace, anything of his that is currently making contact with you. you zip up your navy blue hoodie, slipping your sweatpants over your bare legs.

you bring your tote bag over your shoulder, making your way towards his window which he currently guards, glaring at you from where you stand.

“miles, get the hell out my way before i pop you in your mouth next.”

“i want his name and address, you not going anywhere till i get an answer.”

you flail your arms in his face, “are you deaf or just stupid? there is no “him” because the only person i been rubbing up on is you!”

“baby, i don’t smell like no cheap ass cologne.”

“don’t call me that, move!” you raise your voice, stepping up to him.

“what’s his name?”

“you’re crazy.” you scoff, instead bolting for the front door. you’re mindful of mama rio cooking in the kitchen, slipping past quietly as to not raise any suspicion. though, you do bid her a quiet farewell, yet even when you slip out the front door with a smile on your face she knows something isn’t right by the way miles isn’t trailing behind you.

“miles, qué pasó?” she calls out from the kitchen, wiping her hands down her apron and subtly knocking on her sons door before entering.

“it’s nothing.” he calls back, digging his cheek into his pillow to prevent his mother from spotting the blossoming blemish. he didn’t want to explain how he got you so worked up that you slapped him to his mother, or anyone for that matter.

“it’s nothing? invite her over for dinner tonight.” rio arches her brow, taking a seat next to her son on the bed.

“we aren’t on good terms right now.” he sighs out, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

“even more of a reason to invite her over, right?” rio says, making her way out of his bedroom before miles could come up with a rebuttal.

he lazily grabs his phone when it pings, though when he realizes the message is from you, he throws it on the floor until the phone pings with a second message. he groans loudly swiping open your messages.

one attachment

next time don’t make stupid assumptions you dick

the photo captioned was of a half empty cologne bottle you had probably found somewhere in your home, miles heart immediately dropping to his stomach.

okay, maybe he fucked up a teensy tiny bit.

when you got home, you racked your brain for a possible explanation as to why you smelled like anything other than your boyfriend. you were stumped till your brother had walked past you, the aroma that had gotten miles so worked up earlier clouding your senses immediately.

you lay on the pad of your tummy on your king sized bed, your irritable mood causing a burning sensation to spread throughout your body. though it may not be displayed through your face, you were absolutely livid. after all you’ve done for him, this is what you got in return, his unprecedented allegations.

sure it was reasonable to be suspicious, but to outright accuse you? you’ve never given him any reason not to trust you, reassuring him whenever he needed it. had your words not been enough? what about your gestures? what about the times you’d cuddle up with him in bed, sleepily muttering words like “im yours,” or “i belong to you, miles.” had that not been enough?

your jittering thoughts are interrupted by a newfound presence in the corner of your room, the peripherals of your eye capturing those twin braids that you adore so much.

“nuh uh, get the hell up outta here.” you sit up, pointing back towards the window.

“deadass?” he raises both brows, staring at you dead in the eyes.

“deadass.” you return the gesture.

“nah.” he climbs into bed with you, settling his arm over your waist.

“im being serious miles, get out. don’t touch me either.” you pick up his arm as if it’s diseased, laying it over his stomach.

“you don’t like it when i touch on you?” he says in a sultry voice, and you roll your eyes.

“ma, listen to me,” he grabs your chin meeting you at eye level, your brows still furrowed out of anger. when your eyes meet his, any foreign sense of anger evaporates from your system, turning to putty in his hands, no matter how much you tried to fight it.

“you’re so pretty baby,” he kisses your downturned lips once.

“why you look so mad?” he ignorantly questions you, kissing your lips once more.

“baby smile for me?” he squishes your cheeks, yet he’s still met with silence till you finally part your lips.

“this isn’t helping your case by the way.” you roll your eyes at his obvious attempts to bribe you.

“alright, what if i came to you smelling like some other female? you wouldn’t like that huh?” he attempts to reason with you.

“i came to you smelling like my brother? and even then if you came to me smelling like some girl i would conduct a thorough investigation first.” you side eye him.

“how was i supposed to know it was your brother? i didn’t even know he was back.”

“he got back this morning, i gave him a hug and he must’ve rubbed off on me.”

“you didn’t tell me all that. so what i gotta do for you to believe im sorry, hm?” he climbs on top of you, following your darting eyes with his own.

“buy me a pandora bracelet.” you joke.

he perks up, “on god? baby i buy you jordans every other day, the hell is a bracelet?”

“i mean i was joking but you serious?”

“you didn’t know that i’d do anything for you?”

“you’re corny boooo, leave me alone.” you push his head away from yours, your facade breaking when a smile plays at your lips.

“y/n?”

“hm?”

“why do you hit so hard?”

“what do you mean?” you ask him, your outburst from earlier had completely left your mind. he turns to the side, and your eyes widen as they lay upon the imprint of your hand slowly fading,

“oh shit,” you wince, inspecting the damage of your earlier actions.

you throw the blanket off your legs, sitting on your knees to inspect further. you silently grab his hand, heading towards your bathroom as you slowly feel guilt begin to stir inside you.

“stay here.” he watches as you disappear into the hallway, coming back with a frozen pack of peas. you hold it up to his cheek for him, fiddling with the ends of his braids as you repeatedly check for signs of the bruising going away.

“im sorry miles, i shouldn’t have hit you.”

he hums in acknowledgment of your apology, parting his lips to speak. “it’s okay, i like them aggressive.”

a smile threatens your lips, your hand going up to cover your mouth to keep your false facade up.

“nah why you keep smiling?” he grabs your wrist, pulling your hand down to stare at you intently.

“stop that.” you attempt to straighten out your face.

it’s silent for the next few moments as you adjust the frozen peas seeing that the bruise had almost completely faded.

“y/n, you know im being forreal when i say i’d do anything for you, right?”

“yeah, i know.”

love, berry.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Logan begging for it.... so sweetly we cant refuse..... when he knows reader needs his sleep..... taking it in his even when it stays soft...... cockwarming reader while we sleeps.....

Yes im writing whis as I fall asleep

Logan Howlett x male reader

headcanons

I was gonna write a longer thing, but a migraine decided to kick my ass all of a sudden, so here I am simply rambling about this.

Imagine having a normal but exhausting day job. You’re no hero, no vigilante, no nothing, you’re just a guy. And you somehow ended up charming the pants off of The Wolverine of all people. How? You have no idea

Dating Logan is a real treat, even with his roughness and sometimes standoffish personality. When you guys really get close, he starts to get more vulnerable.

Along with vulnerable emotionally, he also starts to get a much stronger libido, seeing as he has a partner now. Him having a healing factor doesn’t help you in this case, since it means he has very little recovery time.

Seeing Logan, one would think hed be the dominant one, something you assumed in the beginning too. That was until you guys got intimate the first time and he shoved you onto your back to ride you instead.

There were no complaints from you obviously, because who’d mind having someone like that riding you? Logan in his broad, hairy and so very heavy way, lifting himself up and down on you like it was barely a workout.

You have to remind him to be careful though, multiple times, seeing as his bones make him extra heavy, and your poor hips are that of the average person.

Having a partner with a libido like that though, also means Logan is always raring to go, almost waiting for you by the door when you get home from your shift, like an old gruff dog waiting for affection.

The first week or two of you coming home dead on your feet and passing out on the couch the moment you sat down passed… as well as they could for Logan. He wouldn’t force you to do anything you hadn’t agreed with, but God, is he starting to get antsy.

After way too long, in Logans opinion at least, he finally can’t take it anymore. Being the Loverboy he secretly is, he at least brings you to your shared bed before clambering on top of you again.

You’re just too exhausted to do much other than pet at his thighs, eyes already drooping, but his almost timid but so desperate begging keeps you awake longer than other days. When you sleepily agree, Logan kisses you so hungrily you almost lose your breath.

You stay somewhat awake in the beginning as he works your clothes off, being kind enough not to rip it even if logan really really wanted too. He knows its your work clothes, and you’ve scolded him enough times about ripping up your clothes at this point.

It was hard to even really stay awake as Logan worked you hard, just enough for him to slide down on you, his groans sounding like he was a starving man having his first bite of food in weeks. Had you not been struggling to keep your eyes open, you might have teased him.

When Logan leans forward and just rests his weight on you, that was the last straw. Who could stay awake with such a warm heavy weight pressing down on them, like your own personal weighted wolverine blanket.

Logan didn’t even really feel the need to ride you or get himself off, he just wanted to be close to you like this, to feel you inside him and press up against you. So having slowly doze off under him wasn’t a bother, especially as you mumble for him to just keep going.

Most of the night is majorly used by Logan to just tuck his face into your neck and huff your scent, or rub his own against you. You will wake up with beard burns, sorry but those at the rules. Theres probably some chew marks and hickeys mixed in there too, Logans possessive.

You do wake up with very sore hips the next morning. In the comics he’s 300 lbs, but that’s with his comic height, so if were going off of movie Logan he weighs even more. And no matter how much you work out, that’s gotta make you sore.

You don’t really mind though, especially as Logan makes sure you massage your hips in ways you didn’t even know were possible. This also just gives Logan an excuse to lick and gnaw at you more, and to rub more of his scent into you, and yours into him.

Yes, you limp that day, and probably the day after. Luckily you’re able to work from home. This of course also means you have Logan on your dick the entire time, even if its just your mutant lover crawling under the blanket to get his mouth on you.

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

teeth | i. rin

✮ tags ; afab + fem!reader, marking, sexual tension, dry-humping, cumming through clothes, 18+

✮ wc ; 1.5k

✮ a/n ; a flash comm for @1bananabread. thank u for your patience!!! i tried to focus as best i could on tension.

this is a snippet so it won't show up in the main fic at any point!! it can be an extra in that way!!! and it is from the fujoverse tag on this blog - a blog au abt fujoshi + recovering neet reader and rin.

Across the room, you give Rin a look.  

One that he’s starting to recognize without trying to. It makes his jaw clench when he sees it. Big, wet eyes like a baby deer and the soft undertone of desperation. He’s becoming good at knowing your ticks, mostly against his will. How you chew your lip, how you tap the pen of your tablet, how you draw in a frenzied anxious way when you want something from him and don’t know how to open your mouth and ask.  

It’s irritating. But it’s going to get under his skin even more if you keep it up. 

“What.” He grits. You startle. Jump in your skin like you’re surprised he even noticed you, as if you’re not staring at him. You open your mouth, then close it. “Spit it out.”  

You look flustered. You always look that way. But right now you embody it. He can’t imagine what your request could be at this point that would incite this much embarrassment.  

By now, Rin has “helped” you with a number of things. Too many to recount and all of them too close, too personal for plausible deniability. Helping you take photos for references takes up a majority of your requests - but it always ends in something more. Rin tries mostly not to think about it. Not to think about where its led and how normal you still seem to act despite it.

The fact you keep making these requests reason enough to make him seethe. Just a little.  

You take a shaky breath and give Rin a look from above the frames of your glasses.  

“C-can I give you a hickey?” 

Rin pauses. Opens his mouth before he can even think about what the appropriate reply might be. His words come out like a hiss.  

“Why?”  

You seem surprised that he asks. That he cares to. That alone feels reason enough for him to shake some sense to you. Grab you by the shoulders until it clicks.  

(He doesn’t interrogate what it is that he wants to click for you. Just that he wishes it fucking would already.)  

“Well. Uhm.”  Your feet rub together under your desk. Woolen socks worn until they’re matter as you fidget endlessly. Rin holds his stare until you crumple just slightly under the weight of it. “There’s n-not a particular reason. It’s not for my book or anything, I just uhm—wanted to do it. To you,”  

There’s a brief moment there where the world stops spinning entirely. Rin breathes. A sharp, steadying breath. Chest tight, dizzy with an emotion that wells up from the depths of him. He can’t think of anything clever to retort with, or really any good way for him to respond. He sits across from you at a complete loss.  

The next words that come out of his mouth leave before he has a chance to make sense of them. He swallows a lump in his throat.  

“Fine,”  

Your eyes go wide again. Shocked like you weren’t the one who ask. Tension lingers in the air, but Rin can’t figure out what to do about it. How to settle it. He doesn't know if he fucking can.

“A-are you sure?”  

That’s the first time you’ve asked him that. Most of the time, you’re shameless in your asks. You do it for work, just work  - and it’s always Rin who ends up….going further. Because it frustrates him to see you cower over it. Rin is used to you, by now. How you have the demeanor and general anxiety of a small shelter dog. He’s been over it all already one hundred times but—

It’s like something clicks hearing you ask him that. If he's sure. You can be so thick. It’s not like Rin doesn’t fucking know. But it’s the first time it he realizes the brunt of it.

You two are on completely different pages about your relationship.  And he's pissed about it, but not at you. Not really.

“I wouldn’t say it was if it wasn’t,” 

You look so surprised for a minute he wants to bite you. Take his teeth and dig them into the place your pulse is just to see you squirm. It’s always like this with you but right now it feels like something searing. Pressed up right against his ribs and threatening to puncture his lungs.

“Are you gonna do it or not?” He snaps, meaner than he wants. You nod, movements stiff, and clamber onto your feet before walking his way. Rin watches as you approach him nervously. Your eyes meet and you hold his gaze.  

Then, without word, you crawl into his lap. Straddling him - just barely fitting over his wide frame as both of your knees end up on either side of his thigh. Rin watches you silently. Piercingly. Your movements are trembling.  

You kiss him first. This shocks him into total silence. He returns it just so you don’t pass out from nerves. It’s clumsy like he knew it would be but it’s the first time you’ve done completely of your own accord. Normally you ask him to kiss you, beg with teary eyes.  

But you’ve got both of them squeezed shut now, kissing him with your hands fisted at his chest. Something stirs in his jeans, and you yelp when it presses against you. You gasp, low and quiet.  

“You’re—“ 

“Shut up.”  

You nod. Keep kissing him, opening his mouth up to slide your tongue in. It’s sloppy and unpracticed. You have no grace whatsoever.

Rin feels himself get so hard he’s lightheaded.  

You pull away, gently kissing the corner of his mouth. Down the line of his jaw. Mimicking something he’s sure you’ve read in your stupid doujins at one time or another. He can feel the nerves radiating off of you in waves, feel the way your body shakes in his lap. How uncertain you are. There’s that feeling again. Gnashing, possessive, mean. Not that Rin has ever been someone especially saintly.

But it’s not cruelty he wants to expose you to. It’s something else, far more demanding.  

His hands find your hips in a single breath. Pushing you down onto his lap until your full weight is rested over his hard-on. You whine when he presses up against your core, clothed cunt protected through ratty PJs. Rin doesn’t say anything, buy you know better than to stop now.  

Kissing down slowly, sweetly - you scrape and lick along his skin until you’re just underneath where his jaw and neck meet. Your eyes flutter open to look at him. It's too much for him.

Rin grinds his hips up in retaliation until you whimper. He does it over and over, steadily until you’re both rocking against each other in tandem. All clothes and hot heaving breaths, layers of fabric acting as barrier for what he's after.  

You’ve done everything under the sun aside from sex. This barely counts as foreplay by now. Even so, he’s bucking up into you with every ounce of his strength, unspoken desire shredding his sense. His hands gripping your hips, jaw grit - pleasure coiling in his stomach and wound so tight.  

“Fuck,”  

You’re crying out against his shoulder before you remember what you were trying to do.  

Your lips find his neck again trying not to be too noisy. Latching on with a soft kiss, Rin hisses as your teeth finally sink into the flesh. Your mouth is small. It’s all he can think about. He feels your incisors scrape against the skin, tongue tracing a vein. Before long, you’re sucking hard on the same spot. He can feel it. A bruise forming, broken capillaries blooming in deep dark hues of purple and red. Rin groans at the feeling. You give it every ounce of effort, holding onto his bicep tight when you do. It aches in a pleasant way.  

Pleasant enough to make his hips buck. A jolt of desire and want rips through him like a shockwave - until he’s pushing you down against the hard outline of his cock and forcing you to grind against it. It’s hard and sharp, fingers bruising. 

He cums hard. Seconds later, like a flash of lighting. His stomach flips and something rips through him and—

It’s the first time he’s cum before you. Fuck, h can feel his own cum seeping through his boxers and jeans. It’s so intense his vision blacks out for a minute before returning to him, chest heaving as you pull away and stare.  

“You—“  

Horror washes over him. Rin puts a hand over your mouth, angry and irritated. Red up to his ears to his ears and internally having the worst crisis of his life for the third time over.

He looks at your face and there's that feeling in his chest. But he recognizes it this time. Knows exactly whats making him like this, forced to confront it for the first time.

“Shut up,” He hisses, breathing heavily. “Not a fucking word,”  

You nod at him docile. Rin forces himself steady as he thinks of pinning you down and taking you.

Like he knows you'd let him. Like he fucking knows he wants to.

[bloodxbat]

Heyyy, could you do an NSFW fic with Spencer where it’s best friends to lovers and they’re roommates and maybe it’s a really hot day and readers barely wearing anything and Spencer can’t control himself etc 🫶🫶

Hey Anon! absolutely I can!! I had so much fun writing this, I've not written a fan fiction in so long so I hope this is ok!!

My requests and taglist are open so feel free to send me a wee message!!

Hope you enjoy the fic :))

Can’t Control Myself

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut!!! 18+, MDNI, P IN V sex, unprotected, creampie, oral (fem), best friends to lovers, swearing! Dom Spence, Praise, Marking kink, all the good stuff 

Reblogs help me stay motivated to keep writing fics! :))

Taglist: @writing-wh0re Message to be added 

Word Count: 2,649

Prompt(s) used: none

Summary: You and Spencer have been best friends for 3 years, you’ve lived together for almost 2 now. Spencer has always had a ‘’thing’’ for you but has always been way too shy to admit it. On a particularly hot day he loses control of himself over the clothes (or lack thereof) you’re wearing. 

Masterlist

The apartment you and Spencer shared was small, which made this weather even more unbearable. Books piling up, almost touching the ceiling keeping in all the heat, stopping cold fresh air from coming in. Any outfit you put on was just sticking to your skin in an instant. The fabrics attach themselves as if they were part of your skin. You huff out a frustrated sigh as you peel off yet another outfit that suffocated you in this heat. 

Throwing your wardrobe all over your room trying to find the loosest outfit you owned you finally found something. ‘Please let this one help, please’ you thought to yourself as you pulled on the clothes. 

You’d found a black short-sleeved crop top, so short that it barely covered your tits when you lifted your arms, and a pair of loose fabric shorts that showed off the underside of your ass accenting its curves under them. A sigh escapes your lips, you sway your hips and air brushes itself up your skin giving temporary relief from the heat. 

Finally having found your outfit you make your way out your room and down the small hall leading to the living room/kitchen to grab a cup of ice cold water. Spencer was sitting on the brown leather couch that took up the centre of the room in front of the TV, which was not switched on of course as Spencer would never ‘’waste his free time watching that thing’’. You chuckled to yourself as you noticed he was reading The Odyssey for the hundredth time it felt. 

Brushing your hand over his shoulders you greet him 

‘’Hey Spence’’ you smile walking into the kitchen area.

Spencer looks up from his book feeling your slight friendly touch, turning round to see you in the kitchen. You were stretching up on your tiptoes to reach the cupboard where the glasses were kept. His eyes went wide, your crop top and short had rode up your body at the movement. Exposing your skin, your curves, your perfection. He had never seen so much of you before. 

‘’H-hi Y/N’’ he manages to stutter out, clearing his throat.

‘’The Odyssey again Spence?’’ You ask not looking at him as you grab ice from the freezer, bending over in front of him. 

Was this a dream, his eyes didn’t leave you, devouring your body. His mouth was salivating, he wanted too much to know how you tasted, how you felt. He hadn’t even processed your question before you were walking over to him, glass in hand waving in front of his eyes.

‘’Earth to Spencer’’ You chuckle

‘’S-sorry I lost track- wh-what did you uhm whatdidyousay?’’

‘’I asked if you were seriously reading The Odyssey again? Does it not bore you?’’

‘’Yes i’m reading it again and no of course it doesn’t bore me, this is one of the greatest classics of all time!’’

You chuckle at his passion for the book. Taking a seat next to him, taking the book out his hands, your fingers brushing his skin slightly, such a small gesture but enough that his vision was turning blurry and his mind racing. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your skin so you looked up at him. 

Spencer was wearing a white loose fitting linen shirt, the top button undone exposing the skin of his chest to you, and brown hemp trousers. Even in this heat he still tries his best to look professional, even from the comfort of his own apartment.

‘’Everything ok Spencer?’’ Your voice filled with genuine concern, looking at your friend he doesn’t seem quite himself. He is normally hyper focused, aware of every surroundings, given the nature of his job, it's not paranoia it's just…him, but now he seems distracted.

‘’I-’’ Spencer licks his lips trying to think of the words, the right words to tell you how he really feels. How all these years he has found you the most beautiful woman he has ever laid his eyes on. How he’s up late at night thinking about you, what he could do to you, how he could make you scream his name. How you would feel pinned below him. He could feel himself begin to grow at the thought, your touch bringing him out of his thoughts. 

You placed your hand on his arm, stroking your thumb along his skin. Waiting patiently for him to answer. His deep brown eyes caught yours, god his eyes were beautiful, you could stare into them all day. You felt strange thinking of your friend this way but it also felt so right. You couldn’t deny that Spencer Reid wasn’t attractive, he wasn’t named ‘pretty boy’ for nothing because he certainly was that. 

‘’You’re driving me crazy’’ Spencer says suddenly, his voice low and raspy.

‘’W-what?’’ your breath hitched in your throat at his sudden boldness.

‘’You heard me pretty girl’’ his eyes stare holes into yours with burning passion ‘’You’re driving me. Crazy’’ he emphasises the last word. 

Spencer shuffles closer to you, grabbing your hand and taking it off its place on his arm. The cool air touching your palm from where his warm skin used to be moments before. Your eyes never leave his, as you watch him lick his lips once more. 

‘’Wearing this outfit, practically naked…fuck’’ he groans

Spencer rarely swears in fact you've only ever heard him swear when he clumsily bumps his head off of a shelf. My god it was hot, those types of words just rolling off his tongue.

‘’It’s getting harder to control myself around you Y/N, ever since I laid eyes on you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. 3 years, for 3 long years i’ve not stopped thinking about you, thinking how you would feel, how you would-’ he paused letting his eyes roam over you ‘how you would taste’’

His words cause a heat to form in between your legs, a wetness forming on your shorts. It was only then you notice the bulge appearing in Spencer's trousers, the zip practically about to burst up against him. 

‘’Why don’t you come and find out’’ You don’t know where this bold side of you came from but the way it turned the expression on Spencer's face to complete lust, his eyes growing darker from your words. You hope that the image burned itself into your eyes so you would never forget it. 

Without hesitation his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft and gentle at first, his lips were so smooth and inviting, they felt so familiar to you, like they were meant to be on yours and only yours. You could feel his tongue graze your bottom lip slightly wanting more you open your mouth inviting him in. Your tongues dance at first, softly brushing over each other, he tasted of coffee, humming against him at the taste. The kiss became more hungry, tongues battling for dominance which Spencer of course won. 

He pushed you down so you were beneath him on the couch, his hands grazing up your sides causing you to shiver. His hands reached your breasts that lay under your shirt, his fingers found their way to your hard nipples, pinching them softly. Your back arched up into him as you moaned softly at the sensation. You could feel him pulse onto you through his trousers at your noises. 

‘’That feel good?’’ he smirks, his lips travelling down your jaw and onto your neck, sucking and biting. 

‘’Mhmm, p-please spence’’ you hand made its way into his golden brown curly hair that stuck to the nape of his neck from sweat, tugging slightly as he continued to kiss down your neck. Ripping your shirt off of you to get a better look at your body beneath him.

‘’Fuck’’ he groaned, his eyes taking in every inch of your exposed skin. ‘’So fucking beautiful why didn’t I confess sooner’’ 

Before you could say anything his lips are back on you, attacking your skin sucking every inch he could find leaving red marks behind him. 

‘’S-spence’’ You gasp at all the marks

‘’Shh, I’m marking you as mine, d’you understand me? Everyones gonna know who you belong too’’

His words were like sex itself to your ears, the very thought of everyone being able to see that he had his way with you causing a pool to form soaking your thighs. Your fingers made their way to his chest, undoing the buttons on his shirt pushing the material off his shoulders. His chest was so smooth and toned, your eyes roamed over the sight in front of you causing Spencer to smirk. 

‘’Like what you see?’’ he says

All you can do is nod, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth, then looking into his lust filled eyes. 

‘’Good- because it’s all yours angel’’ 

It didn’t take long before the rest of your clothes were discarded on the floor. Both of you tangled in a hot mess on the couch skin sticking to the leather beneath. Spencer started to train his kisses along your chest. Teasing your already hard nipples with his tongue, soft moans spilling out your mouth. He continues his way down further, nestling his head between your thighs, wrapping his arms under you keeping you in place. 

Feathering kisses on your inner thighs, nipping at the soft skin slightly, your back arching up into him. Silently begging for more. 

‘’Need you to use your words if you want something angel’’ He continues to kiss your soft skin.

‘’P-please Spencer’’ 

‘’Please what?’’

‘’I n-need you please’’

‘’Want me to taste you angel is that what you want?’’

He wasn’t continuing until he got confirmation from you. 

‘’Mhmm’’ you nod, looking down at him. The sight of him looking up at you through your thighs drove you crazy.

Without warning Spencer slammed his lips against your heat. Lewd noises filling your small shared flat. His tongue sliding between your wet folds, lapping up every bit of you, savouring your sweet salty taste. Spencer could’ve came right there, he groaned onto you as he sucked on your clit, causing vibrations to shoot right through you. Waves of pleasure bringing you to the edge. 

Who knew Dr Spencer Reid was so damn good with his tongue. You reached down, tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer to you as you neared release. 

‘’Fuck Spencer oh my-’’ You moaned breathlessly. 

‘’Taste. So. fucking. Good.’’ Spencer said between licks. Not wanting to be away from your heat for even a second. 

Your grip on his hair got tighter, earning a groan from him. 

‘’You gonna cum angel? Go on, cum on my tongue, wanna taste you so fucking bad’’

His words sent you over the edge. The knot in your stomach unleashing as you reached your high all over his face. Waves of pleasure coursing through your body, your legs going limp, that was the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever had. Spencer moaned onto you as he hungrily lapped up all of your juices. He pulls back, his chin glistening with you all over him, licking his lips before crawling up to be face to face with you.

‘’Good girl’’ he groans softly before taking your lips with his. You could taste yourself on his tongue. 

Spencer's hard length brushed up your folds. The sensation causes you to shiver. His tip was red, angry, needing attention. He positioned himself outside your hole. 

‘’Gonna fuck you now angel, otherwise i’ll lose control’’

‘’Please- please fuck me’’ desperation on your tongue. Hearing you talk to him like this drove Spencer crazy. Knowing he was the one to make you this way. Slurring your words with absolute pleasure. 

He slowly thrust forward, stretching you out. Your mouth hung open at his size, it felt unlike you've ever felt before, pain, pleasure, it was almost overwhelming. You gripped onto Spencer's skin so tight, your nails dug into his flesh leaving crescent shapes. Silent moans falling from your mouth as your foreheads touched together. 

‘'M’gonna move now angel ok?’’ Spencer groaned

He slowly pulled out, almost all the way before thrusting back into you, he was so deep you could feel him in your stomach. That first thrust forced out the most sinful moan, the noise going straight to Spencer's cock, he practically collapsed into your neck. He continued to thrust in and out of your wet cunt, the sounds of skin slapping filling the air. 

‘’Mm oh- fuck Y/N, so fucking tight’’ 

His pace quickened, your body shaking with pleasure. You didn’t care how loud you were being, you wanted people to know who you belonged to, who made you feel this way. Spencer's mouth was beside your ear, whimpering and moaning with every thrust he made into you. Your walls clench around him with every noise he made. 

‘’I’m not gonna last if you keep tightening around me sweetheart’’

‘’Please- wanna feel you’’

‘’What do you wanna feel angel?’’

He never stopped thrusting into you, he was going unbearably fast, you were definitely going to have a few bruises tomorrow. 

‘’Cum S-spencer, please gotta feel it’’

Your words cause blood to rush straight to his length.

‘’Fuck Y/N where do you want me to cum hmm? Getting so fucking close’’

‘’I-inside Spence, p-lease’’

‘’Are you sure?’’

‘’Yes- please need to feel it, fill me up Spencer please’’

He would like nothing more.

‘’Whatever you want, angel’’ he groaned, continuing to pound into you. He was so close, both of you breathless and sweating all over each other. Your eyes lock, both mouths agape with pleasure. Spencer's eyes turn dark, they turn lustful, he is close. You push yourself up against him more. 

‘’Fuck’’ He almost shouts, moaning loud as he releases thick white ropes into you, coating your twitching walls. The feeling of him cumming into you causing you to reach your second release. Eyes rolling to the back of your head with pleasure, you didn’t realise you were drooling over yourself. Spencer reached his thumb up, wiping it away, still inside you, waiting for both of you to catch your breath before pulling out. 

Spencer focussing on your convulsing hole watching as his cum spilled out of you, the sight almost enough to make him ready for round two. He got up and grabbed a damp cloth cleaning you both up, before pulling you into his arms.

‘’That was-’’ You begin still breathless and speechless from what you just did.

‘’Amazing’’ he finished your sentence for you.

‘’How long?’’ you asked, looking up at him, tracing shapes on his exposed glistening chest ‘’How long have you felt this way?’’

‘’Honestly- since the day I met you’’ he confessed, all you could do was stare at him with a smile creeping on your face. 

‘’I was too scared to say anything, I didn't want to ruin the friendship we had, you were, are, too special for me to lose’’ Your heart warming at this confession.

‘’But seeing you in that outfit…I just couldn’t keep it to myself any longer, I'm just glad you feel the same way’’ He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

You grab his face and lightly kiss him on the lips. Sighing into him pressing your foreheads together. 

‘’I’m glad I chose this outfit then’’ You chuckle leaning your head up against his shoulder. 

You both stayed there, naked on the couch, holding each other. You convinced Spencer to watch TV with you, he actually enjoyed the show but he would never admit it. Neither of you got up to put clothes on, it was too warm for that. 

You fell asleep watching TV snuggled into him, your soft snores peeling Spencer’s eyes away from the screen. Not wanting to wake you he just smiled and kissed you softly.

‘’Good night Angel’’ he whispered.

[mikoluvsblondes]

jackson!ellie x nervous!virgin!reader doing it for the first time ☝️😘

I'll Go Slow For You Baby

jackson! ellie williams x nervous! virgin! reader

warnings: fingering(r receiving), virginity loss

Ellie brought you into her garage, pushing you into the cushion of her wornout mattress with a kiss. Her tongue easily won dominance over yours in a matter of seconds before exploring every inch of your mouth. She placed wet kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone where your hoodie blocked her lips from continuing lower.

None of this worried you since you've made out with people before, but when her fingertips slid between the band of your bra and your goosebump-covered skin, butterflies began to slam at the the sides of your stomach. You placed your hands on top of hers to keep her from going further.

"Do you want to?" she asked with one of her hands moving up to caress your cheek "Its fine if you don't."

You hesitated before whispering "I want to"

Ellie noticed your hesitation "You sure?"

"I'm sure. Just nervous."

Ellie nodded, rubbing circles into the soft skin on your hip. She tugged at your hoodie, looking to you for consent. You nodded and she pulled your clothes off leaving you in just your bra and underwear. Her cold hands held your bare waist causing goosebumps to crawl up your body.

"Why are you so nervous?" her lips travel towards your chest and your breathe hitches.

"I've never done it before." your voice shook.

"Dont worry. I'll go slow for you, baby." her warm breath puffed against your skin.

She made out with you once more, reaching under you to unclasp your bra. When she pulls it off, you instinctively cover your chest as you watch her throw your bra to the side.

"Don't be shy." she gently pulled your hands away to admire your breasts.

She sucked wet marks into the skin on and around your chest, pinching your nipples between her fingertips. She continued with her teasing, pulling desperate but quiet noises out of you.

When she finally took your underwear off, her long fingers slid beneath the fabric to pull them down. She lowered her face to scatter hickeys around your inner thighs in a teasingly slow manner.

"Please, Ellie." you whimper and with that her face sinks between your legs.

She left kitten licks at your clit, running her tongue between your folds.

"I'll start with one." she says.

She pushes a finger into you. She starts off slow before quickening her pace and adding another one of her long skilled fingers. As she does this she continues ti lick and suck at your clit. Her movements repeat over and over until you reach your high. Your eyes squeeze shut with your hands finding her hair and tugging on it.

"Come on, cum for me, baby" she mumbles against your pussy.

The knot that formed in your core unravels with a jolting thrust of your hips. Ellie pumps her fingers slower to bring you down from your high. When she pulls her fingers out, she sucks every drop of you off of them without breaking eye contact.

She lays on her side next to you, gliding her hands up and down the length of your body.

"You okay?" she asks and you nod in response, laying on your side to face her. After moments of her stroking your hair with sweet praises an idea comes to you.

"Show me how to make you feel good."

-miko♡✿