#misses his bed… misses his pillow… even though he can’t sleep

[paunchsalazar]

they were sleeping together at this point

[lovelyghst]

poor simon settling for just the tip with his pretty girl late at night, having just gotten home from work and finding her sleeping soundly in their bed. he gently coaxes you awake, going against every nerve in his worn out body to let you rest, and he asks you so, so nicely.

begs, more like it, and you simply can’t refuse.

with your sweet permission, he slicks up his cockhead and eases it into your little hole with some effort from the both of you, his eyes fluttering shut as he fights to maintain his promise. just the tip.

and he shows such good restraint for you! moaning through his clenched jaw as he slowly fucks the tip of his cock in and out of your pretty pussy, whining when the exposed length of his dick pulses from neglect. he’s sat back on his knees and heels with your hips pulled into his lap, not trusting his tired muscles enough for missionary. still, he can’t keep his hands off of you.

he may be desperate, but he couldn’t bring himself to hurt or force anything onto his princess. that would be the true death of simon riley. he even runs a gentle thumb over your swollen clit to make you melt into the pillows, urge those lovely little noises from your lips, the same ones he’s been hearing in his daydreams while he’s at work.

they make his dick throb, the seasoned soldier’s hand trembling as it soothes over your lower tummy. gosh, he missed you so much.

and you read it all on his face; how much he respects your wishes, but also how badly he needs relief. the slackened jaw, panting chest, droopy eyes heavy beneath furrowed brows. it makes you frown.

“simon,” you whine out softly, and his eyes snap up to meet yours. the look on your face makes him stifle a choked moan. “c’mere…”

you reach up as he leans forward for you and, to his surprise, you tug him in by his neck for a needy kiss. you wrap your legs around his lower back as best you can, locking them tight in the divot of pure muscle, and you reel him in closer.

consequently, the rest of his cock fully sheathes inside you and the sudden stretch makes you whimper out, him groaning loudly like a whore as he buries his heated face in your collar. christ, he fucking came just from one stroke of tight, wet warmth. and it feels so good, too good for him. he works hard, you think, he deserves it.

you giggle as you hold your baby close, let him catch his breath and grasp his settings before he rolls over, you held clasped in his arms.

he falls asleep in the matter of seconds, with his face in your chest and his dick in your cunt, like a good soldier. probably mutters some strained apology in between, even though you couldn’t be happier.

[maskedbyghost]

“you are on the couch tonight, riley!” you shout, pointing a finger toward the living room. simon stands there, his jaw clenched, hands clenched at his sides, clearly unhappy but resigned.

there’s a flicker of hurt in his eyes, masked quickly with his usual steely glare. he just nods, not saying a word, as he grabs a blanket from the closet and settles down on the couch without another look your way.

the apartment feels colder without him by your side, and the silence that follows is louder than any argument. you lie in bed, your head turned to the wall, arms crossed tightly as if that could keep out the ache creeping in.

you feel miserable, thinking over the fight, wondering if you were too harsh, if maybe he wasn’t entirely in the wrong. but you bury it, refusing to let yourself soften too quickly. this isn’t the first time you two have fought; being with simon means loving him as he is, stubbornness and all.

but tonight, it feels different. minutes stretch into hours, and you find yourself glancing at the empty side of the bed, missing his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. you turn over again, clutching the pillow tighter, but it doesn’t help.

meanwhile, simon’s on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes, a sigh slipping out into the darkened room. his mind replays the fight in quiet fragments, the words that had been said, your voice still ringing in his ears.

he knows he messed up, though he’d never admit it to anyone but himself. he misses you too, even if pride keeps him rooted to the couch, where the cushions dig into his back, and sleep refuses to come.

after another endless stretch, you finally can’t take it anymore. you get up, padding softly into the living room. simon’s form is a dark silhouette against the dim light from the window, his breathing shallow, not quite asleep. he hears you but doesn’t move, as if afraid to let hope show too early.

“simon…” your voice is quiet. you see his shoulders tense before he slowly drops his arm from his eyes, looking up at you. his gaze is guarded, but there’s an unmistakable softness there, a glint of something like regret.

“can’t sleep either, huh?” he mutters, breaking the silence, his voice rough from the hours of silence.

you shake your head, and without another word, he shifts to make space. you sit beside him and lean against him, letting your head rest on his shoulder, and after a beat, his arm wraps around you, pulling you closer.

“i’m sorry baby,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper.

“me too,” you murmur, feeling the tension melt away as he holds you tighter.

neither of you says anything more. words don’t matter as much now, not when the warmth of his arm around you feels like coming home.

------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[luveline]

hii can you please write about Hotch adoring the reader at night as she's sleep talking sweet things please please?? love you!

The first thing he does when he gets home that night is pop his head into Jack’s room. He wants to go in and kiss his forehead, or maybe hold his hand, but he’s worried he’ll wake him and it’s nearing three in the morning, so he whispers, “Love you,” and heads to the master bedroom. 

You’re sleeping not dissimilar to Jack, on your back, the sheets pulled up to your turned head. Aaron moves away from you reluctantly to get undressed and change into soft sleep clothes. He cleans his face and brushes his teeth, and when he returns to you, you’ve curled your arm over where he should be as though you’d sensed his homecoming. 

He shuffles to you in the dark. Pulls back the sheets, and slides under your arm. He finds your hand to hold and brings it slowly to his lips, letting your hand rest over his mouth indulgently. 

He closes his eyes.

After a short case like this one, he isn’t tired enough to forget how much he misses you. If it had been a week away, Aaron would’ve come home and collapsed knowing he’s back with you, and that you’re going to look after him, but it’s only been two days. All he needs now is a kiss.

“Miss you.” 

He clasps his hand over yours, takes your hand to his chest to see you without obstacle. “I missed you, too,” he whispers, though he squints at you after. You aren’t facing him. “Honey?” 

“Aaron…” 

“Yeah, it’s me. You okay?” 

You rub your nose into your pillow and make a nonsense sound. 

Oh, he thinks to himself. Is she…

“D’you– did you have dinner?” 

“Are you awake or not?” he asks. 

No answer. You can’t be awake, then. You’re talking in your sleep, silly disjointed murmurings, your voice like velvet despite the late hour. 

Aaron hasn’t woken you with his questions, so he assumes you’re sleeping deeply. He shuffles further into the bed, onto his side, and wraps an arm around you. Careful in the dark, his nose comes to rest against your cheek.

“Well, we can try again tomorrow.”

“Shh,” he says softly, “shh, honey.” 

“‘Cos of the time,” you mumble.

He breathes in your skin. This is nice, he supposes, sitting and listening to your voice. You don’t even have to wake up. Aaron must spend half an hour listening to you talk yourself, or whoever it is that’s opposite you in the dream. It’s okay, we can fix it. I don’t know what colour that is. It’s Jack’s book. The book. And then your dog will come home. 

He’s nearly sleeping when it runs back to him. “My hubs,” you mumble, hand suddenly alive where it twists under his arm to return his hug. “Miss my hubs.” 

Aaron laughs in earnest. He’s never heard you call him such a thing. “Missed my wife,” he says, giving your cheek a quick kiss. “Love you.” 

“Miss him… want him to rub my back.” 

Your whining is adorable. Aaron pulls you bodily onto his chest and begins to rub your back, smiling, happy to indulge your sleepy nonsense with whatever it is you’re craving. “How’s that?” he murmurs. 

You don’t talk again for a while, but when you do, you say, “He needs to feed the fish,” and Aaron’s left wondering what exactly it is that you and Jack have been up to this weekend. 

[angelyuji]

yandere stanley and stanford pines somno thoughts :)

18+!!!

tw // somnophilia, noncon, dubcon, drugging, pls lmk if i missed any tags

sorry there’s a read more link, this one is a little intense so… mind the tws and tags pls🥰🥰

stan is not sneaky or quiet going into your room. he thinks he’s being quiet, but he’s not. after a couple times, he stops bothering. like it clicked for him that it doesn’t matter if you do wake up cuz either way you’re in his home and there’s no way out. no amount of screaming will save you either, like the shack is out in the woods.

the first time wasn’t on purpose, it was a heatwave and stan woke up around 2 am not being able to go back go sleep in the heat. sooo he goes to ur room to check on you, yk to see if you’ve fallen asleep yet or if ur awake like him. he’d go into your room and see the 4 different standing fans he bought for you turned on, and also see that you’re only sleeping in your underwear. the heat was killing you, so obviously you had to strip. immediately stan’s next to your bed, hand slowly messaging your naked chest. you moan a little in your sleep and stan takes that as a sign that you’re literally begging for him. like moaning??? in your sleep??? ok SLUT. same thing next evening, except stan goes farther. and like he’s been out of the game for so long yk so he’s just curious. and like it’s not his fault you were tempting him, he’s an old man. he takes a couple risks: kissing you, pushing a couple fingers into your mouth or hole to see how much of him you could take. by day 3, he’ll see that your body is being conditioned to respond to his touch and he’s actually gonna lose it.

your eyes flutter open, a moan falling from your lips, as you feel something press against your heat. “hey there, dollface.” stan grins at you and you jolt awake, trying to move away.

“stan, don’t! get-”

stan grabs your waist and pulls you back, cutting you off, “no point in trying to run, baby.” he flips you over, pushing your face into the pillow. he gets to his knees and pushes into you, stopping to feel the melting heat.

“s-stan p-please” you moan, muffled by the pillow.

“please what, sugar.” stan grins as you try to move your hips. he grabs a fistful of your hair, making you arch to look at him.

“please, please keep going”

ford is the sorta the opposite of stan like he couldve been doing this to you for months and you wouldve never known. like he definitely crushes up some sleeping pills into your food when you’re not looking. he knows what he’s doing is wrong and knows he should stop, but he can’t help it, you’re just so beautiful.

i feel like first time it happened, it was probably when you fell asleep in his lab. you had stayed with him to do some research and when you fell asleep, he decided to carry you to bed. the warmth of your body against his was enough to get him flustered, but when he laid you down, he took the opportunity to press a kiss to your mouth. and dude… he was immediately devastatingly horny like one kiss almost took him out. he definitely booked it out of your room out of embarrassment (even though you weren’t conscious to see) after this, he didn’t make eye contact with you or talk to you for a couple days. you end up confronting him about it and instead of telling you his feelings, he decided that he should just drug you to keep using you without having to vulnerable.

i feel like every time he does this, even if you’re not awake, he’s apologizing to you and making sure that you cum too. like he feels sooo bad for doing this to you, but like the guilts not gonna stop him. the only reason you ever realized is cuz he fucked up on the pills and you woke up to him pounding into you like a rabbit.

“f-ford, get off me.” you could feel every inch of him as he held you close. you try to push him off you, but instead he folds you in half, legs hooking his shoulders.

in this position, you could hardly think or breathe, he went deep and hard into you. as he gets quicker, he starts to mumble into your ear, “i can’t stop, i-i’m sorry, i’m s-so sorry.” he bites into your shoulder and you moan. “you just feel so good.”

for both ford and stan, once you wake up to them using you and you end up not telling anyone what happened, they’ll take that as a green light to keep doing this to you. and then it evolves from at night while you’re sleeping to the afternoon in a public mall bathroom.

(i kinda want to write about that now… but also… tutor!ford x reader… stan x babysitter!reader… im thinking thoughts…)

[endlessthxxghts]

Just One

DBF!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 819 (she just a baby!)

Summary: You’re still worked up even though Joel’s tapped out for the night. Maybe you need a kiss to satisfy you—a simple, sweet kiss. Right?

Content/Tags: Reader is able-bodied and has female sex anatomy, but is otherwise undescribed. Pussy pronouns (she)!! 18+ MDNI. Making out. Bulge grinding 😋 let me know if there’s anything I missed!

A/N: @pinkypromisepascal and I had a conversation…and then I said I wanted to write a drabble based on what we talked about, to which she said “DO IT.” So I did. Y’all better thank her brain for this too!🙂‍↕️ and to @strang3lov3, thank you for the extra pair of eyes AND THE MOODBOARD!!!😭 I love you both so much. To everyone, I hope you enjoy, all my love xx

masterlist | notifs blog

It’s been thirty minutes. 

Thirty minutes since Joel had you folded nearly in half, your legs pressed against your torso, the slam of his hips pushing you higher up his mattress. 

Thirty minutes since he made your eyes roll back, throat burning in pleasure. 

Thirty minutes since he wiped you clean and massaged your hips. 

It’s been thirty minutes. 

And he’s knocked the fuck out. 

You sit up in his bed. You’re not here very often. Ever, really. It was by chance you stayed over tonight. So you study the area. Take his space in. The painting and posters above his bed. The nightstand. The white fan sitting on his dresser, pointing directly at him. He runs hot when he sleeps. Too hot. 

Your eyes trace his figure, then. His broad back on display, hips covered by his sheets. 

His face. God, his face. Salt and pepper scruff around the edges, smile lines and furrowed eyebrow lines adorning his face. They’re not as harsh now as he succumbs deeper into his slumber, but they’re present nonetheless. 

His hooked nose sits prettily, the same nose that had you squirming and gasping for air earlier in the night. Your core flutters at the thought. 

You’re looking at his lips now, and you can’t help the way your own forms a smirk. 

“Joel,” you whisper. 

A rock. Unmoving. Unfazed. 

On your knees now, you shuffle to face him. Leaning forward, hand on his shoulder to nudge him, you try again. 

“Joel.” 

“Hm?” his sleepy voice rasps. 

“I need your help,” you respond. 

One eye peels open. His eyebrows move into their natural habitat, furrowed. “What’s wrong, darlin’?” 

You put on your sweetest face. “Can I have a kiss?” 

You stifle a giggle at the daggers being thrown at you. “Jesus,” he mutters. “Have you been up this whole time?” 

“It’s been thirty minutes,” you retort. 

“No, it ain’t—” you gesture to his clock before he can finish his thought. He faces it immediately, throwing his face back into his pillow with an incoherent grumble. “Sleep,” he finally says. 

“I will, sleeping beauty,” you giggle. “Can I please have a kiss first? Just one,” you ask again, lowering your voice an octave, a tone he can never deny. 

He flips himself over, so he’s more on his back now. “It’s never just one.”

“That’s not true,” you fake pout, leaning closer in, letting the tips of your nose dance.

“You said one kiss months ago. Look where that got us.” His breath fans against your lips.

“I don’t see you complaining,” you whisper, your body on fire with this conversation. 

You let your lips finally meet, soft and sweet, but the heat building in your cheeks keeps you from breaking the seal. Without thinking, you climb on top of him, straddling him as your hands find the base of his neck, the length beneath you already beginning to stir. 

You break away for less than a second before you bring your lips to his again, but he’s quick to stop you, a shit-eating grin between his cheeks. “Thought ya said one?” He breathes. 

“Shut up,” you murmur, smashing your lips against his once more as your tongue coasts the expanse of his bottom lip, the taste of you from earlier still lingering. 

“Shit, sugar,” he groans into your mouth, his hips bucking into you on their own accord. “She’s still so needy, ain’t she? That why ya can’t sleep?”

His bulge catches perfectly where you need him most, pulling a whimper from the back of your throat. “Please, baby,” you pant. 

“Told ya ‘s never jus’ one kiss,” he rasps as his heavy hands grab at your waist, guiding your hips into a more frenzied rhythm.

“You’re right,” you cry, eyes clamping shut, nothing but the sweet sounds of your ecstasy blessing his ears. 

Too blissed out to continue kissing him, you bring your lips to his jaw, nipping and licking the places you can reach. With a few harsh grinds of your hips, you’re moaning out into his ear—his partially deaf one, luckily—with millions of white sparkles flashing beneath your eyelids. Joel’s breathing stops at the same moment your body convulses, strangled grunts leaving his throat as he adds to your mess of his boxers. 

“She satisfied, yet?” He hums as you lay across his sweaty chest.

“Mmm,” you pretend to think it over. “I think it’s her turn for a kiss now.” 

Joel scoffs. You can hear his smile with it. 

You lift your head to look him in the eyes, a faux innocence in the way you jut out your bottom lip. “Just one, baby,” you reason with him.

Joel tosses you to your unspoken side of the bed. “Sleep.” 

“But—”

“She’ll get her kiss in the morning.” 

Your eyes nearly pop out at the realization of his words. “G-Goodnight, baby,” you reply quickly. 

“‘S what I thought. G’night, darlin’.”

I would love to hear what you guys think! I love you all so much, thank you for always sticking by my side and supporting me always. You all are my happy place. Wouldn't be where I am without you.🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

[visionsofmagic]

day 13: clark kent [aftercare]

࿓ synopsis • after having a rough session with clark, you let him take care of your exhausted body.

―❦ nsfw, kissing, soft!clark, after a rough sex, f!reader, pet names, confessing, cleaning, washing, watching, fluff, i's all! • 0.6k • couldn't publish sooner, but, here we are at least. enjoy! [kinktober m.]

"agh -" you say, moaning lowly, in pain that comes from your sensitive clit as clark's fingers travel on it, cleaning you under the warm water.

“oh, baby,” he says, fingers stop for a moment, eyes scanning your face; furrowed brows, lips are getting a bite, hands hold him from the neck and chest as a source of cure and stability at the same time. “you okay? I can go slower if you want.”

he proposes as you sit on his lap, hugging him, and negatively shaking your head while one of his strong arms holds you from back so that you stay still, warm water waving from time to time as you move in sync.

sitting on the clean bathtub, you let clark take care of you after one of your roughest sex – you can see all the redness on your body which he left intentionally yet acting so innocent when he sees them, fingers caressing your soft skin gently as if he wasn’t the one who fucked you in different positions, earning a pathetic state out of you, nearly making you use the safe word because of how good he was fucking you and how much you wanted it to end even though your actions told otherwise.

fear of fainting, you stopped when he got your fourth orgasm, then, cumming all over you as he cries in pleasure, confessing how you make him so weak that he loses mind whenever he has you beside him, under him, above him – in every way he can, he loves it, he loves you.

so it’s not a surprising thing when he picked you up from the messy bed after preparing the bathtub for you to wash and get clean, got into it, taking you into his arms, making you feel smaller yet quite peaceful, letting him do whatever he wants to do to get you cleaned up, ready to rest on the bed you are sharing with him beside you.

he said sorry over and over again until you said it was okay – that you enjoyed every bit of it because you missed him as much as he missed you.

fingers gripping your chin, he makes you look at his shining blue eyes – your own reflection on them. he smiles widely, fingers moving to your hair, caressing it gently, still having that precious expression on his face, looking like a greek god yet feeling so human – one of his kind, always.

“you have no idea how much I missed you,” he says, now taking warm water on his palm, then, cleaning your naked body within it – he seems to have guilt because of what he has done to you; biting marks as he claimed you shine brightly, red marks on your waist is visible due to holding you tightly as he shoved his cock into you, the neck has pink colors because how he held it, pushing your face onto the pillow so that you could moan as much as you wanted while he had you from behind.

all because of him.

he would never hurt you, he didn’t either, yet, he seems a bit sorry. however, you know he also has prideful feelings, so, you smile softly, resting your head on his wide shoulders, saying, “they all will heal, don’t feel sorry – it was so good that I can’t wait to get better and do all those things again.”

he chuckles, kissing your forehead, and then, your whole face, “then get better soon because there are lots of things that I want to do to you, my prettiest girl.” with that, he kisses you one more time. he cleans you, drying you with the softest towel, changes the sheets, and puts you on the fresh bed, taking his side beside you – hugging you, he watches how peaceful your face looks, smiling down at you, and sleeping as he has you close enough to himself – he knows he should leave soon enough yet being with you seems as the right thing to do. he missed you so much after all – the world can wait a bit longer.

[xotaemintol]

Obsessive perverted Hyuck x reader//short/oneshot

WARNING: this contains obsessive behaviors, stealing, Somnophilia, unprotected sex, masturbation, oral sex, nipple play, and breeding. Please do not read if any of these thing trigger you, thank you so much. Minors DO NOT interact.

Sorry it’s short ☹︎ I low-key have writers block and its beating my asssss but I still wanna post, bc I missed all of October I'm using November to post anything spooky/dark so bare with me PLEASE! Also, I will be posting asks soon so if you've sent any then please look forward☺︎

wc: n/a

Hyuck being so overly touchy with you when he isn’t glued to his phone, sniffing you and asking if he can have your underwear. Its no wonder how you came to find out that he was obsessed with you.

Of course if you said yes, you knew what he would do with them and didn’t care. Just like you expected he takes them home and cums into them—using them as a rag from that point on. It didn’t take long for those to become completely ruined, immediately after he asked for another pair, but when you said no he just snuck into your room and stole a pair; the prettiest, softest pair he could find.

Even stealing one of your bras and a bottle of perfume so he can smell you when he jerks off. He becomes such a pervert that your perfume, underwear, and bras just aren’t enough. So he started taking pictures of you for him to jerk off to, asking if he can record when you give him head.

You knew he used them to jerk off. But you couldn’t imagine how far he was going, playing the videos while he humps the pillow he put your bra and underwear on, after spraying the room with your perfume. Staring at his wall that is decorated with the nudes you sent. Along with pictures that are more wholesome—like ones of you smiling, your outfit, date nights, and even pictures of you sleeping.

The wall became more of a shrine as time passed, he even tapped a loc of your hair—after collection a bunch of tiny strains; to the wall with underwear, napkins you’ve used to wipe away your lip gloss, and even pairs of your discarded lashes—now covered in his cum.

Eventually though, he had to move it to his unused guest room because you decide to go to his place for a change. And he hid it thinking that you haven’t noticed all of your missing things—of course you noticed. His secret obsession was never as secret as he thought, but poor, sick hyuck just can’t get caught being the sicko he truly is.

But he also can’t stop, which leads him to groping you as you lay beside him sleeping. Slipping his hand underneath your loose top and brushing his fingers over your harden nipple, trying his hardest to breath quietly as to not wake you up.

Eventually, he moves on to something more risky when you remain in your sleeping state and decides to push your shirt up so he can see your boobs. He quickly goes from just touching them to kissing them, sucking your nipples and only stopping when you begin to stir in your sleep.

His lack of self control might be the blame for the way he carefully slides your underwear off, practically moaning when he notices how wet you are. He can’t help but stop to sniff your underwear, wrapping them around his cock as he jerks off over your body.

He never imagined he’d do something so deprived and desperate, but he loves you so much and thinks you’re just too pretty.

It’s not until he sees you move again that he realizes what he’s doing. Feeling ashamed he starts to try putting your underwear back on him, but as he’s pushing them up your calf’s you stop him. Not revealing that you’d been awake the whole time, only asking him what he was doing.

In his humiliated state he tries to string together some sort of lie, anything to dig himself out of the hole he’s in—but he can’t, and he doesn’t have to. Instead of shaming him like he expected, you tell him to continue; making him eat you out while he desperately grinds against the bed.

He’s so in love with eating you out that he doesn’t even stop when you finish. Continuing to please your body to the point of overstimulation as he gets high on the sounds you make and the taste of you. Not even when you try pushing his head away or closing your legs does he think of pulling away, you have to pull him by his hair—yanking his head away in order to stop him.

By this point, he hadn’t cum himself. He was too busy eating you out to focus on his own release, but you couldn’t let it end there. Luckily for you though, you didn’t have to ask.

Before you could say anything he began begging to fuck you. Caressing your legs as he looked at you with hazy eyes, his face flushed and his cock throbbing—twitching and leaking between his legs. His longish curly hair, is messy and he’s sweating before you can even say yes. The second you do, he’s practically crying in pure joy and desperation.

Hyuck savors every second of entering you. Rubbing his cock against your folds, slapping it against your pussy and slowly rubbing it against your clit until he finally puts it in.

He breaks as soon as the tip goes in. A soft cry leaves his lips, his voice cracking as he whimpers out your name. He tries to start of slow but he’s so sensitive from anticipation alone that he just can’t wait anymore. Not even seconds after he’s inside of you and he’s already slamming into you, not as fast as he wanted—but hard enough to make his headboard hit the wall with every thrust.

Even then he’s still stuck admiring you, the way your breasts move and the way your eyes roll. He loves seeing how you grip the pillow under your head and the way you try your hardest not to be too loud. It turns him on so much. So much that he feels like he’ll melt.

The sounds of skin clashing, moans, and panting fill the air, a hint of your perfume and sweat tangling with his own. It makes him feel like he’s on cloud 9, like he’s dreaming. It doesn’t take long before he’s trying to warn you that he’s close. Proclaiming his love for you as he fucks you, calling you beautiful and slurring is words together as he possessively calls you his.

He knows he should pull out at that point, but the thought of you being his—baring his child, telling people that he’s your boyfriend, that he’s the one who got you pregnant. That thought is enough to make him risk it and keep going. He’s always wanted to be a father anyways—why not make the woman he finds the most beautiful the mother of his first born?

In his mind-numbed state he doubles over, kissing you as he cums inside of you. Against your lips he mumbles soft ‘I love you’s over and over again unto he’s finally finished.

After this is when you finally find the shrine, to your surprise; it’s much smaller and a lot more wholesome than you thought as after that night, he removed your underwear from it. But it was only because he made a separate on that he keeps in his basement.

[luvjunie]

— headcanons. miles morales (earth1610)

MILES who somehow managed to pick you up with that corny little shoulder touch his Uncle Aaron taught him. Not because it actually worked and left you smitten and head over heels for him—but because in that moment, the dorky boy who stood in front of you had made you laugh so hard you’d nearly peed yourself. There was no way that with a sense of humor like his, he wasn’t getting your number.

MILES who has never missed a good morning or a goodnight text. While often they may not always be at the most ideal times, it’s the fact that he remembered that means the most to you. Even if he’s running late to school, shoes untied, and shirt buttoned unevenly as he bundles out the door of his dorm, he insists he can text and run to class at the same time. And at night, even if his eyelids feel as if they weigh a ton the minute his back finally hits his mattress after webbing the villain of the week to a light pole for the cops, he refuses to fall asleep without telling you he loves you first— though the message may include a few sleepy typos. “Goodnihgt aby i lov youuu” “shitno i meant baby not aby”

MILES who hand draws a card for you when the monthly anniversary of your relationship rolls by. Each one of them is different and creative in their own way and you’re always excited to see what it’ll look like this time. He’ll swiftly swing by your fire escape on his way to patrol, drop a box of chocolates, your favorite candy, or a bouquet of flowers on the steel metal along with the card, then switch arms and thwip another web to the next building in the same breath.

MILES who loves to draw you, especially when the two of you haven’t been able to hang out in a while, just so he can reminisce and pretend like you’re there, in his room with him. His sketchbook is filled with pictures of you, hearts usually adorning whatever space is left blank on the paper. He sees you in such a different light than you view yourself in, and he’s able to capture certain aspects of your features that you hadn’t even noticed before. He was so embarrassed the first time you saw his sketchbook laid open on his bed and tried to hide them from you, nervous he’d make you uncomfortable in any way. But you were nothing short of flattered, and reassured him of such by smattering kisses onto the expanse his flushed face and telling him how much of a sweetheart he was.

MILES who falls asleep in the span of two seconds. Usually when you can’t come over, you settle for long facetime calls so you can tell each other about your days, or watch a movie together. But he’s just so comfortable around you, and your voice is so calming, like a lullaby, so much so that he can’t help it when he falls asleep halfway into your rundown of events. After five minutes of silence, which is unheard of for a kid like Miles who is always filled with endless quips and jokes, you’ll scoop your phone off your bed only to see his ivory-colored ceiling instead of his face.

“Milesss!” You whine, the sudden sound of shuffling from the other end of the line erupting through your speakers as he frantically scoops his phone back up from his pillow, his sleepy face shifting back into view.

“Huh?” He mumbles, clearing his throat as he blinks the sleep from his eyes.

“You fell asleep in the middle of my story again.” You accuse.

“Nuh uh! I’ve been awake this whole time. I’m just a really, really good listener, m-hm. I am a wonderful and completely-awake, professional listener.” He nods, gifting you his signature goofy smile that‘s always a reminder that you can never be mad at him for long.

MILES who loves taking you to the new places he’s able to go around the city now that he’s Spiderman.

When you found out your boyfriend was Spiderman, you were in such disbelief that you immediately asked for proof, for him to show you anything that proved he was spiderman other than a suit and a mask. And proof you got, if the powerful gusts of wind in your face as he swung the two of you with web after web over the skyline of the city were anything to go by.

You were terrified the first time, legs glued around his waist and arms clamped so tightly around his neck that there was no way you’d fall. He would never in a million years let you slip from his grasp anyways, but if you did, you were damn sure taking him with you. He kept one arm around your waist for support and laughed at how you hollered almost the entire way to the clock tower, and whether they were screams of excitement or terror, he didn’t know.

It was beyond exhilarating, seeing the city from above with him, standing on the roofs of buildings you never imagined you’d reach. It had your heart pumping faster than you thought it ever could and your trust in him solidifying even further, and soon you found yourself asking him take you again, and again. And Miles would take you anywhere you wanted to go; open to doing anything just to see a smile on your face and to have you holding onto him like that again.

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to any other platforms

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗

[sincerelyneo]

hiii can you repost hello angel? as a jaemin girl it was one of my favorite fics everrrr i read it everyday fr😭❤️

hey angel | n.jm

“i come alive when i hear your voice, it’s a beautiful sound”

💿now playing: hey angel by one direction

❯ summary: You're Jaemin's best friend - so of course he loves to call you up late at night and hear your voice. He's definitely not calling because the sound of your voice turns him on - yeah definitely not that.

❯ pairings: jaemin x fem!reader

❯ genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff.

❯ words: 3.7k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation, slight possessiveness?, begging, praise, heavy use of nicknames, reader uses she/her pronouns, just pure filth tbh, jaemin has a voice kink??

It was late and you were already in bed, snuggled deep and cozy in the sea of your blankets, when your best friend Jaemin called. He’s your closest friend and the person you were more than a little bit in love with — but you’d never risk telling him for fear of it ruining your friendship.

So even though it was late, and you were sleepy, you answered his call. To be fair, he’d answered plenty of your late-night phone calls over the years.

“Hey angel,” Jaemin greets in an eager tone.

You can hear the alcohol in his voice — that and Jaemin only ever used that nickname for you when he’d been drinking. Still, it never fails to send warmth curling through your heart. It felt like it was his way of wrapping you up in his strong arms whilst he wasn’t with you. 

“Annngelll,” your best friend continues in singsong, making you giggle softly. 

Jaemin’s voice sounds rough and gravelly, like he’d been shouting over a crowded bar all night. Which wasn't a surprise since it was his friend Jeno’s birthday tonight. And you knew your charming and extroverted best friend would never pass up the chance of a good time. 

Before you could respond to his greetings, Jaemin’s tone suddenly turned serious. “I missed you tonight.”

“Na Jaemin,” you try to match his quick change of mood, attempting a serious tone. But it was a losing battle as you tried to fight against the smile threatening to let loose at his statement. “You’re drunk—I bet you barely noticed I wasn’t there tonight.”

He grumbles and you hear fabric rustle like he was flopping back on his bed. You can’t help but imagine what he currently looked like: his body probably sprawled out on top of his comforter, the strands of his hair falling into his face as his head propped up on his pillows. He probably had one hand behind his head, his bicep bulging while his other hand held the phone to his ear.

You know it’s wrong, but your mind wonders if he was still in his clothes from the night or if he’d stripped down—knowing the fact that your best friend liked to sleep in his boxers.

But you were also familiar with intoxicated Jaemin, he likely hadn’t changed out of his clothes yet, too drunk, and tired to care. Still, that didn’t stop you from thinking about your best friend laying in his bed shirtless while he talked to you. 

“I may have had a couple drinks,” he admits grudgingly. “But of course, I missed my angel. I swear—cross my heart and hope to die—I was a good boy tonight,” he says with enough conviction that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“You’re silly, Jaem.” There’s a warmth in your voice, and you have no hope of wiping the smile from your face even if you tried. 

Pulling the phone away from your ear to check the time, you felt bad and ask, “Why are you calling?”

A long, loud sigh came through the phone from your best friend. “I wanted to hear your voice,” he explains after a silent moment.

It was a cute sentiment, making you feel warm all over, and you wished you could talk to him longer. “Jaem,” you start, gentling your voice. “It’s late and you know I have to get up early. So, if that’s all, I’m going to hang up.”

“But I can’t sleep,” he whines, and you could hear the pout in his voice. Without even seeing his face, you knew he was deploying his puppy dog eyes. “Just talk to me for a few minutes, angel, please?”

“Fine,” you say with another sigh, folding instantly at the thought of imagining his gentle expression asking you. He’d learned long ago it was a sure way to make you give in. You’d fallen sucker to Jaemin’s big brown eyes, and he knew exactly how to use them. 

Resigning yourself to being tired at work the next day, you settled deeper into your pillows. Your voice gentle as you got comfortable. “But you can’t hold it against me if I fall asleep,” you warn.

“Deal.” His smugness at getting you to agree so easily was loud and clear through the phone even if you couldn’t see his self-satisfied smile. “How was your day, angel?” he asks as his bed sheets rustled again and you presumed he was settling in too.

Tired, but always happy to talk to your best friend, you told him about your day and complained about why you had to get up early the next morning. Your voice turns softer and sweeter as you get more and more tired. Jaemin’s does the same, getting even deeper and more husky as he told you about his day. Eventually, there was a lull in the conversation, and you were about to tell him good night when he said something that surprised you enough to drag you away from the edge of sleep.

“Have I ever told you how hard your sleepy little voice makes me?” he asks, making a sound like he was biting back a groan. “I love calling you before you fall asleep, but I always gotta rub one out after.”

“Jaemin,” you say, voice going for stern, but not quite hitting the mark since it was still laced with sleepiness. “That is not true.”

“It is!” he insists, sounding more awake by the minute—and you were right there with him. “I’m hard right now.” He makes a soft sound, like a grunt.

Before you could stop yourself, you imagined him— still sprawled out on his bed — but this time he had a bulge in his jeans. In your mind’s eye, Jaemin grips his hard length through his jeans, stroking himself roughly. The thought makes you gasp softly, and you clench your thighs together against a sudden pulse in your core.

Jaemin must’ve heard the sound because you could hear the grin in his voice when he speaks again. “Tell me, angel, are you wearing one of my shirts tonight?” he asks gruffly.

You swallow heavily, trying to buy yourself some time. It felt like crossing a line to admit that you were wearing one of his shirts, but when Jaemim didn’t take the question back, you realise you’d had to answer. 

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Which one?” His voice is rough now, like sandpaper, but oh so eager.

“One of your varsity shirts from college—the one that says ‘Jaemin’ on the back,” you answer, unable to lie to your best friend even if you were a little shy to admit you still sleep in his shirts. You knew you didn’t need to be, since he clearly knew you slept in them. 

“I love it when you wear my shirts, angel,” Jaemin confesses. His tone now warm, like he was grinning and happy. It makes the last of your shyness disappear to hear him say that. 

“It lets everyone know you’re mine.”

“I’m not yours, Jaemin,” you protest half-heartedly. 

You weren’t, even if you desperately wanted to be his in every sense of the word.

“You’re my best friend,” he says, like there was no argument you could come up with to change his mind. “My best girl—that makes you mine.”

“Jaemin,” you exhale. 

You knew he was just talking about friendship, but you wished his words meant something different. You wished he felt the same way for you as you did for him.

“Fuck, say my name like that again,” he begs in a gruff voice. “Makin’ me so damn hard.”

You feel the blush rise to your cheeks and you go flustered, unsure what to do as Jaemin easily crosses lines you’d avoided delicately for years. But you didn’t want him to stop. The sound of his voice saying those things had wetness pooling between your thighs. So, you gave him what he wanted.

“Jaemin,” you repeat his name, voice breathier with your arousal, and he let out a happy hum.

“That’s my girl,” he says followed by a groan that is so low and husky, sending tingles racing through your entire body. “Fuck, I’m so hard,” he moans, a slight strain in his voice. “Do you mind, angel?”

It took a moment for your hazy mind to figure out what he was asking. Then, another to process that he was asking if you were okay with him stroking himself while he was on the phone with you. Your breath caught from a sudden surge of excitement. The voice that typically stops you from crossing the line with your best friend was conveniently quiet and all that was left was your need for him.

“I-I don’t mind, Jaem,” you answer softly, trying not to sound too eager.

The sound of him pulling down the zipper of his jeans was loud enough that you could hear it through the phone — and that alone sent a shiver down your spine. It was nothing, though, in comparison to the rough groan he makes as he grips his cock in his hand. 

“Fuck,” he curses.

You could feel yourself getting slicker from the sounds of him stroking himself. Distantly, you knew you were crossing a line by listening to him, by getting off on hearing your best friend pleasure himself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Instead, you found yourself holding your breath as you strained to hear him.

“What else are you wearing besides my shirt, angel?” his voice octaves lower than normal. The sound of it makes you squirm, your thighs clenching together harder. 

Biting your lip, you debated for a second whether to answer truthfully. You didn’t want to lie to your best friend and, you rationalise, you’d already crossed the line, hadn’t you?

“Just panties,” you whisper. 

You trail your hand down your chest over his shirt to toy with the hem where it had ridden up around your hips. Your fingers were dangerously close to slipping under the waistband your best friend had become oh so curious about.

“Just panties? Fucking hell, angel. What colour are they, huh?” He questions in his deep, rough voice.

You swallow thickly, wondering if he could hear how hot and bothered he was making you. You wonder if he knew you were so close to playing with yourself by the way your breath was getting faster. But you couldn’t stop yourself from answering. 

“They’re pink,” you say softly. 

“Angel,” Jaemin groans, thickened with need. “Fuck, I wanna bury my head between your thighs and kiss every single inch of you until you’re writhing under me, begging me to tear those panties off you.”

It was your turn to groan, and when you say, “Jaemin,” on a sharp exhale, you sound even more needy than anything else. Your fingers brushing over the hem of your panties, teasing yourself with whether or not you should dip beneath the fabric and touch yourself.

“You like that idea, angel?” He asks, a grin in his voice. “Like thinking about my mouth so close to your pussy.”

At his words, you couldn’t help but picture the scene. His head navigating between your legs, his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you open so he could follow through on his promise. It was all too easy to imagine the way he’d look at you, mischief sparkling in his brown eyes as he slowly, teasingly kissed your mound over your panties, tongue sneaking out to lick the pink material. The picture he painted had you squirming in your bed. 

You couldn’t take it anymore, your fingers finally sliding into your panties, finding your pussy wet and swollen and needy.

When you don’t respond except with a sharp gasp, Jaemin asks, “Are you touching yourself?” 

His voice turns seductive. “You have to tell me if you are, angel—best friends tell each other this sort of thing. I have to know when you’re fingering your needy little cunt.”

“Oh god, Jaemin,” you cry softly, your breaths coming harsher. But you don’t for a second consider hiding what you were doing from your best friend. “Yes, I’m t-touching myself.”

“Good girl,” he praises, making warm pride curl through your chest as more wetness flooded your core. “Touch that pretty pussy for me.”

“H-how would you know it’s pretty?” you ask on a gasp, forcing the question out between hitching breaths as you slowly trace a finger around your dripping hole, teasing yourself and making you wetter.

“Because everything about you is pretty, angel. The way you laugh at me when I’m drunk, the way you bite your lip when you’re unsure, the way you look at me… fuck, you’re so fucking pretty.”

Your finger pauses and you suck in a deep breath, thoughts running chaotically. Jaemin had never complimented you like this before, and you couldn’t help yourself from asking a question you desperately wanted an answer to. 

“How do I look at you, Jaemin?” you ask in a small voice, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in the expression he’d just mentioned.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” he teases. “You look up at me, giving me the dirtiest fuck me eyes possible. Fluttering your pretty eyelashes like you’re begging me to bend you over every surface and stuff you full of my cock.” 

“Jaemin,” you cry out in a little sob, emotions and arousal swirling through your body completely overwhelming you for a moment. 

“I know angel,” Jaemin’s voice is soothing and deep. “I know you give those eyes to me.” 

He paused for a moment and all you could hear was his deep, steady breathing. 

“Because you’re mine, yeah?” There was a thread of uncertainty in his question, and it made your heart thump in response.

“Yeah,” you agree without hesitation, without protest. “I’m yours, Jaemin.” 

“Good,” he declares. Without giving you time to fully process what had just transpired between the two of you, Jaemin continues speaking, his voice diving an octave lower and growing rough. “Now slide one of your fingers into that pretty pussy of yours.” 

It was so easy to listen to him, to give yourself over to his command. Letting his deep voice reverberate in your head, heat curling all through your body down to the tips of your toes, as you press one of your fingers into your wet hole. A soft moan tumbles from your lips and you knew Jaemin heard it from the way he sucks in a breath.

“That’s it, angel, being so good for me,” his breaths coming harsher down the phone line. “Tell me how it feels.”

You sink into the sensations and the sound of his voice, letting your eyes fall closed. You feel like you’re floating in the soft sea of your bed as you pull your finger out and thrust it back inside your pussy. 

“Feels so good,” you answer in another moan.

Jaemin responds with a groan of his own. “Bet you’re fucking tight,” he says, breath heavy and raw. “Bet you’re clenching down on your little finger, aren’t you?”

Like your body was trained to respond to his voice, your pussy clenches around your finger at his words and you let out a hitching moan. But Jaemin doesn’t stop talking. His deep, hoarse voice fills your ears and makes you hotter and hotter.

“Fuck, angel, keep going—keep fingering that wet pussy for me while I stroke my dick to those sweet little sounds you make,” he urges, as he bit back his groans. You moan and gasp in response to his filthy words. “Fuckin’ hell, I wish it was your warm cunt gripping me right now, clenching hard around my thick cock while I fuck you.”

“Please,” you beg, not sure what exactly you were asking for but knowing you didn’t want him to stop talking. You add another finger to your dripping hole, crying out at the slight stretch.

“Would you like that, angel?” he asks, managing to fill his tone with teasing even as his heavy breaths gave away how turned on, he was. “Tell me—fucking tell me,” he prompts when you don’t respond, too busy fucking yourself with your fingers to the sound of his voice.

A whine forces itself out of your lungs, the simple command sounding so filthy from your best friend’s mouth. “Yes, Jaem,” you whimper an answer between your gasping breaths. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck—fuck,” he groans almost painful. “The next time I see you, that pussy is mine. Gonna bury my face between your thighs and make you come on my tongue,” he promises. “Then I’m gonna shove my cock deep in your cunt and fuck you stupid.”

“Jaemin,” you sob out his name, fucking yourself harder as you picture your best friend hovering over you while you lay in his bed. You imagine how his body would start fucking you into the mattress, his cock buried deep in your pussy, your arms and legs wrapped around him — anything to be close to him. 

Through the phone, you hear the soft sound of Jaemin fucking himself into his own fist, the strain in his voice every time he spoke. 

Imagining your best friend sprawled on his bed, jeans open just enough for him to have his cock out, gripping and pumping his length roughly with his eyes squeezed shut. Thinking about him like that makes you whimper.

“Fuck—I can’t stop thinking about how pretty you’d look while I fuck you, angel,” he murmurs. “Wanna see my cock stretch you while I pound into you, wanna see your pretty lips swollen from my kisses as you moan for me, wanna see your eyes go all hazy as you get stupid on my cock.”

As he speaks, your thumb circles your clit and you moan loudly into the phone. Your best friend’s filthy words make your pussy clench down hard on your fingers as you get closer and closer to your release. 

“Don’t stop, Jaem, please don’t stop,” you beg breathlessly. Jaemin lets loose a deep groan in response to your desperate plea, the sound making your thighs clamp down hard around your hand. You wish your legs were wrapped around his waist instead of your wrist.

“Fuck your pussy, angel, nice and hard.”

You cry out as you force a third finger, making yourself stretch to take the intrusion. 

“That’s it, that’s my good girl, fuck yourself stupid to the sound of my voice,” he encourages. 

Even with how far gone you are, you can hear the cocky grin in his tone, but your body just flushes and clenches tight in response. Desperately, you fuck yourself harder, hips rocking into your hand, mind drowning in lust as you gasp and moan into the phone. Knowing he can hear you only urges you not to hold back. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jaemin groans loudly, his breath coming in sharp pants. “Keep making those cute little sounds for me, my cock is aching for you—fuck!” The cockiness in his tone fades into desperation. 

“Jaemin,” his name tumbles past your lips. 

You’d said your best friend’s name countless times over the years, but never like this—never with your fingers buried deep in your cunt wishing it was his thick cock.

“Jaem, I need…” you trail off, not even knowing what you need, just knowing he was the only one who could give it to you.

“You need my cock, don’t you?” You can hear the way his grin curls at the edges of his mouth. “Need my cock just like I need your pussy.” He bit off the end of his sentence with a groan. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come,” he moans. “Gonna come so hard to your sweet little moans, angel.”

You gasp and your back arches off your bed when you rub your thumb roughly over your clit. You moan so shamelessly for your best friend. “So close.” 

“When I fuck you,” he starts, cutting himself off abruptly as he groans again. “When I fuck you, angel, I’m gonna make you come so hard on my cock,” he promises, voice rough and deep you swear you can feel the pleasure from the sound shooting from your ear directly to your clit. “And while you’re screaming my name and coming all over my dick, I’m gonna bury myself in that sweet pussy and pump you full of my load—you want my come, angel?”

“Yes, Jaemin, please come inside me, fill me up,” you babble, so close to your own release you barely know what you’re saying. 

“That’s it. That’s my slutty little angel, begging for my come.” He groans, stroking himself faster. “Come for me, come for your best friend,” he commands, pausing to moan lowly. “Tell me who you belong to.” 

“I’m yours, Jaemin, all yours,” you cry out. With one more deep thrust of your fingers, the heel of your hand grinding against your clit, you come apart. 

You moan loudly as waves of pleasure surged through you, consuming you. Your limbs shaking as you wrench every ounce of pleasure from your release, fucking yourself through it as you breathe fast and harsh.

“That’s my good girl. Coming so sweetly for me, so perfect.” He grunts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! You made me come so fucking hard, angel,” he mumbles, a little breathless.

Since you hadn’t fully regained control over your body, you just hummed in delight. You were still riding the aftershocks of your orgasm, your lips turned in a smile while you listened to Jaemin catching his breath.

“Like hearing me come apart for you?” He teases the question. “Wish you were here to clean up the mess you made.” 

“Jaem,” you try to put some reproach into your voice but fail miserably as you giggle. 

“Don’t worry, you can help the next time I see you.”

The line goes quiet for a moment, the two of you gathering yourselves together. “You’re still my best girl, right?” he finally asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I’m your girl.”

“That’s good to hear,” he murmurs, sighing contentedly, and you can tell he was starting to drift off. “Because all of me is yours, angel. And I plan on showing you that when I’m back.”

[lovelyghst]

craving consensual somno with (slightly intoxicated) simon riley and his (extremely heavy sleeper) girl. take this as ur warnings.

just him coming home late at night as usual, the bourbon in his system keeping him loosened up and tranquil, yet ever so cognizant as he enters your shared bedroom. those familiar creepy-crawlies invading his stomach with boyish excitement to see you, and quickly turning towards his dick when he lays eyes on your pretty body.

it’s nearly a routine at this point; you purposely fall asleep in these skimpy, two-piece pajamas, usually some sort of small berries, cherries, or flowers adorning the thin, white fabric that leaves little to the imagination, knowing it’ll get him all worked up. the curtains are left pulled and the door cracked open, you kick the covers off and lay with a pillow hugged tightly in your arms beneath you to give him the best view; infinite signs telling him you want it just as bad as he does. it is routine, but it gets so him riled up, each and every time.

he trudges over, as quietly as the tipsy man can manage to the end of your bed, and with tunnel-vision on your exposed thighs. even his jaw fallen slack just a bit in hunger. desperate to get his hands on you after being apart for so long, and wanting to soothe that ache in his cock he hadn’t even realized he was palming through his jeans.

you barely stir when he kneels on the foot of the bed, and neither when he crawls above you and places a kiss right behind your ear.

he presses a cold palm to your shoulder, attempting to urge you onto your back to give him a visual of your features. to let him see your curves in the raw moonlight, how the dainty material of your pajamas becomes a tad bit see-through around your tits and incidentally rides up past your bellybutton, endless thoughts running through his dazed mind as he eventually manages to flip you over successfully.

though, your sleepy hum suddenly alerts him to a standstill, his worst nightmare being to wake you from your serene rest. not now, anyway.

“shhh, sweetheart,” he gently coaxes you, and he can’t help the grin spanning his lips when you mumble the first syllable of his name in that questioning, dreamy tone. he clears fallen hair from your face, slipping his pillow from your grasp as he mutters, “yeah, dovie, s’only me. you’re okay, you’re safe… jus’ go back to sleep for me, now.”

your unconscious mind obeys like clockwork, the smallest of smiles curling your lip corners in contentment, and it’s only a matter of seconds before he’s returning to his endeavors.

kissing all across your exposed collarbone, thoughtlessly slipping a finger or two beneath the strap of your little pajama shirt and carefully allowing it to glide down your shoulder as he repeats the process on the other side. peppering kisses to your soft skin, before rolling the fabric upward from the bottom so he can properly pay attention to the rest of your chest and tummy.

lips grazing your sternum with short, controlled breaths fanning your sensitive parts; aware of how easily ticklish you are and attempting not to light that fuse, equally straining himself in not turning too feverish as he takes your hardened nipple in his mouth and paws at the other in his hand.

he works his way down slowly but surely, until he’s pulling your shorts off with tender hands and unveiling your bare, soaked pussy, and he can’t even think to suppress the low groan pushed from his lungs at the sight in front of him. he inches forward with nearly crossed eyes, taking incisive ministrations in lifting your legs up and over his back.

your breathing hitches a bit in your slumber when he licks an almost reluctant yet long stripe from your hole to your clit, unable to give himself a moment to savor it before he’s diving back in for more.

“missed this pretty, little cunt on my tongue, baby… christ,” he chuckles lightly to himself, “good girl’s gonna be the death o’ me.”

he sloppily makes-out with your pussy, any and all devotions of rhythm and precision thrown far from his intentions. he only gets to be selfish when he has you like this, and he’d be damned if he doesn’t take advantage of the opportunity as it’s laid out on his bed. moaning at your wetness and taste, how your pussy drools for more and coats his chin with a slick he devours like a madman deprived.

the small whines you make in your sleep are nothing but precious to simon, burning them into his brain like any other occasion he’s pulled them from your lips. saving them for the later times like when he’s a thousand miles away, locked away in some office, and can’t possibly bring himself to bother you with a pestering, horny phone call.

you turn your head to the side with a hum, empty hands reaching for any semblance of comfort on your abdomen, which rather concerns him for a moment until he realizes just what you want.

he gives you one of his hands and you blindly accept it, wrapping your smaller fingers around his wrist and thumb to pull the appendage closer. resting just below your ribcage, satisfied and holding it close like you would a teddy bear.

“sweet thing… always loved this perfect pussy,” he mumbles right up against your warmth, quiet as to not disrupt your blissful obliviousness in your sleep. he’s utterly drunk on you and your taste, and the alcohol he had beforehand certainly contributes to his filthy, forward language.

“how easy y’get on my mouth, ‘nd yet how tight you are around my cock… fuckin’ hell—”

he watches intently as the tips of his fingers delve between your folds, gradually disappearing whilst your chest begins to heave a little heavier; a faint, broken noise of pleasure omitting straight from your throat. tightening around his digits as he pushes them further in, just as you do wrapped around his cock when you’re conscious.

he’s not thinking straight; he’s merely experimenting with you as he curls his fingers upward, prodding at that gummy spot in your cunt and greedily sucking on your clit to push you over. toying with you, rather, because the face you make when you’re first emerged from your slumber with a mind-shattering orgasm is truly priceless.

your eyes snap open as you come around his digits, squeezing his hands tight with your vision going blank. the high is strong but you don’t allow it to last very long when the dots in your brain are connecting, turning you all excited for the implications of it all.

erratically catching your breath with a huge grin on your face, matching his as he comes up to greet you. he’s stupid, shamelessly drunk on your taste, and it radiates from his expression as if he just witnessed a star being born right before his muddy eyes.

you haven’t a clue what just happened, but you fucking loved every sober second of it.

and before you know it, he’s coming back up to meet your lips with his own, which you graciously accept, taste of slick and alcohol and all. humming as he slips his greedy hands upward and behind your back, giggling when he impatiently flips over on his back and hauls you with him. til you’re curled up by his side, halfway on his chest whilst one leg slips between both of his bulky ones.

“i‘m glad you’re home…” nearly a pout, “really missed you, si.”

you’re the first one to speak, quietly, sincere as ever as you examine his pretty face. the faint bags beneath his lids, the wetness that sticks to his dirty-blond stubble. his rough and gruff exterior that hides behind it a boy who’s absolutely and utterly whipped for you.

“that right?” he taunts, eyes remaining shut. “and my tongue, i bet?”

you shy away with a laugh. he won’t remember these words in the morning, but you’ve always loved how cocky and brazen he gets with a couple of drinks running through his blood.

“i missed all of you...”

his eyes barely have to open for him to effectively, and lovingly, judge you with a mere glance. it’s one of his talents.

“some parts more than others, clearly.”

“that’s not true,” you contest, but the humorous hesitancy and sheepishness in your voice tells him otherwise.

“sure, baby, sure.” he takes a moment to breathe, overtly proud of himself. “y’missed my mouth, n’ my hands. even with how rough they are with ya sometimes, yeah?” you hide your flushed face in his neck with a groan, praying this embarrassment is short-lived though preparing for the worst as you feel his lips inch closer to your ear.

“prob’ly missed me fuckin’ my cock into that tight, little cunt—”

“okay, fine!” you finally admit and pull away defensively, slapping his chest but only earning a laugh from him. “but i definitely don’t miss that dirty brain of yours, you big dog.”

“you love me anyway,” he states, matter-of-factly.

you give a big smooch to his forehead, then the bridge of his nose, and then down to his lips, which he returns.

“i do. a lot,” you add and he hums, feeling fulfilled.

and, oh, he’s so fulfilled with you. you take care of him by allowing him to take care of you, and it’s a two-way street. you ground each other whilst never forcing one to tether themself to earth.

you sit up to fix your top, smoothing over the fabric and shrugging the straps back into place. shimmying back into your shorts when you catch a glimpse of the large man’s dark jeans contrasting your light sheets, belt buckle glimmering in the corner of your eye.

“simon, honey, you need to change before you—”

you look over and are suddenly forced to stifle a giggle when you discover that the poor man has fallen asleep, a droopy smile still ornamenting his slick-covered face. taking your hand and swiping the apple of his cheek with your thumb, you’re pleased when he doesn’t budge one bit. dragging it downwards past his muscled chest and abdomen, landing just beneath his leather belt.

your fingertips trace his hard-on over the jeans, knowing you can’t just leave him like this, all aching and pent up and too exhausted to do anything about it himself.

maybe you could do him a favor and return the sweet gesture? <3

[thecuriousbeauty]

Arguments and Cuddles-Harry Styles x reader

A/N:- Wanted to write this a few days ago, but I just couldn't get myself to write after all that has happened. Sending lots of hugs to everyone. Hope this acts a distraction to anyone who needs it right now.

Synopsis: Harry doesn't realize that you're sick when he starts an argument and takes care of you after. Some angst and fluff!

Word Count: 2k

_________________________________________

“y/n..” Your tall, lanky boyfriend makes grabby hands at you from the bed, snug and comfortable under the blanket. He didn’t want to fall asleep without you. You felt bad for making him wait, you really did, but you couldn’t go to bed without finishing your assignment. University has been stressing you out these days, what with two projects every week, along with other papers, studying and you even have to start filling out internship forms. 

“Five more minutes, baby, I’m so sorry..”, you turn back from the desk to tell Harry who was pouting at you, hoping to win you over with cuteness, which he already has. 

“It’s okay, love. I don’t mind waiting but it’s you I’m worried about. If you’re not here in my arms sleeping in the next ten minutes, no kisses for you tomorrow.”, he threatens, and smirks when you gasp. “That’s unfair!”

“You better hurry up then.”, Harry says, picking up his phone and settling back with his head on the pillow. It took you exactly seven more minutes to complete the assignment. 

“I’m done! You can’t deny me kisses now.” You keep your laptop away before falling into Harry’s open arms. You sigh as your head hits the soft pillow, and you realize just how exhausted you are when you feel your heavy eyelids. 

“I don’t think I ever can.”, Harry hums, chuckling as you snuggle into his chest like a little kitten seeking comfort. His arms hold you snug to his chest as his face lowers to press soft kisses to your hair and your cheeks. “I missed you.”

You know he didn’t just mean today. It’s been almost two weeks since you’ve been in this hectic schedule and you haven’t been able to see Harry as often. You’re either too tired or have lots of work to do after you get home from uni, so you haven’t been spending much time with your boyfriend. 

You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, your thumb stroking over his soft skin. “I’m sorry, babe. I miss you too. I  just have so much to do and-”, you sigh.

“-Hey, I understand love, know you’re working hard.”, he rubs circles onto your lower back and you almost moan at how good it feels. “I’m just worried about you. You barely sleep, barely eat during the day, step out of the house only to go to uni…”

“I do eat and sleep.”, you tell him, pecking his pink lips. “It’s gonna be hectic only for another week, the projects should be over by then.”

He hummed. “Would you be free tomorrow night? It’s Friday. Mitch and Sarah have been wanting to meet you.”

Mitch and Sarah were two of his best friends, and you’ve wanted to meet them too. Like he said, it was Friday, so you’d have time to catch up on your studies on Saturday and Sunday. Harry was just asking you, but you could see he really wanted you to go. You haven’t had a night out in a while too, so you agree. 

“Okay, I’ll meet them.”

Harry cheers, making you giggle and kiss his cheek. “They’re so excited to meet you! I love you.”

________________________________________________

You weren’t expecting to fall sick when you got up that morning. You did feel a little less energetic, but that was normal by now, so you brushed it off. You attended your classes, and when it was around lunch time, your throat was parched even though you kept sipping on water and your eyes were getting watery. 

You didn’t feel like eating, so you skipped lunch, which led to a headache and you were just feeling horrible when you got back home that day. You were relieved to be back, and you fell into bed immediately, not bothering to change. God, you hated being sick. It makes you so weak and you can’t get anything done. You take a small nap, hoping to wake up feeling better. 

You had kept an alarm to wake up an hour and a half before the time Harry said he would come to pick you up for the night out, but you slept right through it. You didn’t wake up even when Harry stepped into your flat, using your other pair of keys and called out your name. 

He was ten minutes late himself, and he was surprised to see that you weren’t ready yet. 

“y/n?”, he says. “Babe why aren’t you ready, we should be there in twenty minutes!”

You rub your eyes, slowly coming out of sleep. “Oh…shit.”, you remember when you see Harry already standing in front of you. “I s-slept through the alarm.”

“It’s fine, I’ll tell them we’ll be a bit late. You should get ready.”, Harry said, already pulling out his phone. 

You sit up, groaning as your muscles ache. Your head was throbbing, and you felt like your body was on your fire. You knew you wouldn’t make it through the night even if you tried.

“Harry? I think you should go alone, I’ll meet them some other time..”, you say softly. 

Harry bites his lip. “Seriously? You’re telling me now? I asked you last night, y/n!”

“I know I’m sorry, I just-”

“-I try to be understanding but it’s not gonna work if I’m the only one putting in effort, y/n. I didn’t tell you anything, I didn’t complain about you not spending time with me, I just asked if you could go out with me for one night and you can’t.”, Harry scoffs, walking back and forth. 

Your eyes well up with tears from your sickness, and Harry’s words. You get up, even though you felt like you would crumble like a sack of potatoes if you did. 

“Harry, I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“-No. I don’t want to hear it, y/n. I talk to them about you all the time and they were so excited to meet you, you know? Now you want to cancel. I don’t get it, what’s going to happen if you go out for one night?” He stops to look at you.

That’s when your head spins. You feel like the whole world is turning upside down and you reach a hand out to grip something, but you only found air. 

Harry was fuming, but he only then noticed that you weren’t looking too good. Your skin was pale and prickly with sweat, you were unsteady on your feet and your voice was breaking as you whimpered his name for help, “H-Harry.”

“Fuck.”, he cursed, and rushed to you, strong arms holding you before your knees gave out. You grip his sleeve as he makes you sit back down on the bed. “y/n? Baby, are you okay?”

You manage a weak hum in response. Harry’s hand cups your forehead, pressing your head back against his arm. “Jesus, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?”

If you had the energy, you could have punched him. “Y-You didn’t give me the chance.”

“I’m an asshole.”, Harry muttered, green eyes washing over you with worry as he settles you back into bed. 

“You are.”, you agree, shivering as his cold fingers brush against your forehead, stroking back some of your hair. “I really wanted to go out too, you know. I should’ve let you know earlier that I was sick but I thought I could pull through..” You winced, bringing a hand up to your head. You always get bad headaches when you’re sick.

“Shh..did you take any medicine? Should I take you to the doctor?”, Harry asks, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. 

“No..think I’ll be fine, just gonna sleep. You should go.”, you said softly. 

“Leaving you like this alone? No. I’m gonna take care of you. I’ll call Mitch and let him know we can’t make it. We’ll do it some other time.” 

“I really am sorry. I-I was just trying to finish everything during the week so I could spend the weekend with you. Didn’t mean to make you upset, Harry.”, you whisper, and Harry shakes his head, stroking away a small tear that runs down your cheek with your thumb. 

“Don’t apologize, love, you did nothing wrong. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. You’re working hard to get where you want to be, and I’ll always support you. I should’ve realized you’re gonna get yourself sick.” He tsked, taking your hand and kissing your fingertips. “Do you forgive me?”

You smiled and nodded, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around you. “My poor baby. Are you sure you’re okay? Not dizzy right?”

“Yeah, I’m not dizzy anymore, think I just got up too fast.”, you mumble into his shoulder.

“I’ll get you some medicine and make you some soup. Then we’ll cuddle in bed for the rest of the night.”, Harry says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Tomorrow, when you’re feeling a bit better, we’re gonna make a proper schedule together, okay? I can’t have you feeling so stressed out and falling ill again.”

“Okay.”, you smile. Harry got out of bed and tucked the blanket over you. You curled up and closed your eyes. “Come back soon..”

“Promise I will.”

He found you some medicine and made you take it, then brought a cold cloth to your forehead. You flinched at the cold, and he hushed you softly, “Shh, relax sweetheart, we’ve gotta get your temperature down.” He lays the cloth across your forehead. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

After the initial cold, it did feel relaxing. You sigh and hum in agreement. You were getting drowsy again. Harry smiles and kisses your nose. “I’ll be back with your soup by the time you take a little nap.”

Harry wakes you up with a bowl of steaming hot soup after some time, and he helps you sit up, placing pillows behind your back. He slides into bed next to you, holding the tray that had the bowl of soup. 

He blows on a spoonful before bringing it to your lips, other hand cupping under your chin to catch any excess that dribbles down. “I tried my best, it’s my mum’s recipe.”, he says, eyes hopeful as you swallow it down.

The hot liquid was soothing for your sore throat, and the flavors were actually very nice. He raises his eyebrows in question. 

“It’s really good, thank you.”, you smile, pinching his cheek gently. A grin takes over his face as he brings up another spoon. “I can eat by myself, you know.”

“I want to feed you.”

Harry feeds you the rest of the soup while he talks to you,  then goes back to the kitchen to clear everything before falling in bed with you. 

“Did you eat?”, you ask, placing your head on his chest and looking up at him. 

“I did, sweet girl. While making your soup.”, he says, pressing a kiss to your hair, his fingers starting to massage your scalp. He chuckles when you let out a soft groan. 

“How’s your head now? Are you feeling a little better?”, he checks, his other hand running up and down your back. 

“Uh huh, think your soup’s got the magic.”, you whisper, eyes already starting to flutter close. Harry laughs, nudging his nose against your cheek. “I put some magic in it, it’s called love.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm, and it’s special, only for you.”, he says, pressing feather soft kisses against the side of your face. “Gonna nurse my girl back to health in no time.”

“I love you.”, you say, your hand tucking under his side as he pulls you closer. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“No need to thank me, gonna do it for the rest of my life.”, he promises, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I love you so much, y/n.”

You gasped. “What?”, he asks, worrying if you were going to throw up or something.

“You kissed me, idiot! Now you’re gonna get sick too.”

Harry laughs, taking your chin and giving you another kiss, making you slap his chest, playfully. “I’m big and strong, I don’t get sick.”

“Sure. I remember how you were being a big whiny baby last month when you had the flu.”

“Hush.”, he chuckles as you giggle, touching his forehead to yours. “Go to sleep, my giggly girl.”

____________________________________________

Taglist: -@livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar, @angeldavis777,@madstyles3204, @youngpastafanmug, @fruity-harry, @wannaliveinparadise

[mcrdvcks]

had a thought about logan taking care of a drunk reader so here ya go

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, fem!reader, reader wears makeup, pet names (princess, sweetheart)

---

You, Jean, and Ororo stumbled back into the mansion after a night at the club. It usually wasn’t your thing—you preferred staying in bed and watching TV over going out—but you gave in to your friends' demands just this one night.

Laughing, Ororo kicked her shoes off in the hallway, collapsing onto the couch. "See? I told you it would be fun!" she teased, her eyes gleaming from the night’s excitement.

Jean nodded, leaning against the wall. “You’re gonna thank us tomorrow.”

"Maybe," you muttered, feeling the alcohol buzzing in your veins. You swayed slightly and caught yourself on the banister.

Before you could even take another step, Logan’s voice came from the end of the hallway. “What the hell did you get into, princess?”

You turned, squinting at him. “Logan!” you said, a little louder than you intended. A goofy smile tugged at your lips as you wobbled toward him, arms out like you were expecting a hug.

He crossed his arms, trying to suppress the smirk that was threatening to break through. “Jean, Ororo… thanks for getting her home in one piece.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow. “She’s your problem now,” she said, giving you a playful wink before heading up the stairs.

Jean just smiled and waved. “Good luck, Logan,” she said softly before disappearing after Ororo.

Logan took a few steps closer, catching you just as you stumbled again. “Whoa, easy there, sweetheart.”

You giggled, leaning into him, your head resting on his chest. “You’re so warm,” you mumbled, barely keeping your eyes open.

“Yeah, and you’re drunk,” he replied, his voice soft but teasing. He slid an arm around your waist, guiding you carefully toward the stairs. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

“Can’t I just sleep here?” you whined, pointing toward the couch.

“Nope. You’ll thank me for this tomorrow.” He began guiding you up the stairs, keeping a firm hold on you. “Come on, you can make it. Just a few more steps.”

You grumbled, “why are there so many stairs, Lo? Maybe Charles should get an elevator.”

Logan let out a quiet chuckle. “He already has one, princess. You’re just too drunk to notice.”

You rolled your eyes, nearly missing a step, but Logan's grip tightened, steadying you. “No way. You’re lying.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say,” he replied, guiding you toward your shared room. You finally reached the top of the stairs, and Logan nudged the door open with his foot.

You flopped onto the bed, face-first into the pillows. “See? I made it. Told ya I didn’t need help.”

Logan shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, sure, you’ve really got it all under control.” He knelt by the side of the bed, carefully untying your shoes.

You kicked your legs lazily. “I can do it myself,” you mumbled, though you made no effort to move.

“Uh-huh, I can see that,” he said, pulling off the last shoe and tossing it aside. “Now, let’s get you out of these clothes.”

Your eyes popped open, and you turned your head toward him with a teasing smirk. “Logan, if you wanted to get me naked, you just had to ask.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “As tempting as that sounds, sweetheart, I’m trying to keep you comfortable, not have you pass out in your club clothes.”

You pouted, but he ignored it, grabbing one of his old t-shirts from the dresser and tossing it to you. “Come on, get changed.”

With a dramatic sigh, you sat up, tugging your top over your head. Logan turned his back, giving you some privacy. “You’ve seen me naked before, y’know,” you teased.

“Not the point, princess,” he muttered, though you could tell he was biting back a smile.

After struggling to pull the shirt over your head, you collapsed back onto the bed. “Okay, done.”

Logan turned around and shook his head. “Close enough.” He walked to the bathroom with your pack of makeup wipes, pulling one out of the plastic, “c’mon, eyes closed. Atta girl.”

Logan gently wiped the makeup off your face, his touch surprisingly delicate for someone so rugged. You mumbled something incoherent, your eyes fluttering closed as he worked.

“Hold still, princess,” he said, shaking his head but smirking at how peaceful you looked now, compared to the chaotic night you’d had.

You hummed, your voice soft, “You’re too good to me, y’know?”

Logan let out a low chuckle. “You say that now, but wait 'til morning.”

Once he was done, he tossed the wipe in the trash and pulled the blankets up over you. “Alright, you're all set. Get some sleep.”

You grabbed his wrist before he could move away, tugging him toward the bed. “I want your shirt off,” you murmured.

Logan raised an eyebrow, glancing down at your grip on his wrist. “You sure that’s a good idea, princess?” he teased, though there was no real resistance in his voice.

You pouted up at him, eyes half-closed. “Logan… just come here.”

He sighed, shaking his head with a small smirk. “Alright, alright, fine.” He quickly tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it onto a nearby chair. His muscled chest was bathed in the dim light of the room, but he wasn’t making a show of it. “Happy now?”

You smiled sleepily, scooting over to give him room. “Yeah... now come lay with me.”

Logan hesitated for just a second, then slid into bed beside you. You immediately curled up against him, resting your head on his chest again. “You’re so warm,” you mumbled.

He chuckled softly, running a hand through your hair. “You already said that, sweetheart.”

“Mhm… still true.”

Logan's hand traced light circles on your back, his other arm tucked under his head. “You’re gonna regret this tomorrow, you know?”

You let out a quiet laugh, snuggling even closer. “No, I won’t… I have you to take care of me.” Your nails gently scratched along his chest, and his chest hair lightly tickled your face, but you didn’t care—it was comforting, familiar.

Logan’s hand continued its slow, soothing motions on your back. “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that,” he muttered, his voice soft. There was a warmth in it though, an affection he didn’t always show so easily.

You shifted slightly, finding an even cozier spot against him. “You smell good, too,” you mumbled sleepily.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re full of compliments tonight, aren’t you?”

“Mhm, just telling the truth,” you replied, your voice muffled against his chest. You could already feel yourself drifting, the alcohol and his presence lulling you into a peaceful haze. “You’re the best, Lo.”

He huffed, but you could hear the faint smile in his voice. “You’re not gonna remember saying all this tomorrow, princess.”

“Will too…” you mumbled, your words slurring slightly as your exhaustion started to take over.

Logan shifted slightly beside you, pulling the blankets up a little higher over your shoulder. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered under his breath. “Just get some sleep.”

You hummed softly, already on the verge of sleep. “Lo?”

“Yeah?” Logan replied, his hand never stopping the gentle motions on your back.

You paused for a second, your eyes half-open now, barely processing your thoughts. “Can I have a kiss goodnight?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, looking down at you with an amused smirk. “You’re really pullin’ out all the stops tonight, huh, princess?”

You giggled, nudging his chest lightly. “Just one... please?”

He sighed, though there was no real resistance behind it. “Alright, one kiss. Then you’re sleepin', got it?”

You nodded eagerly, your eyes already closing again. Logan leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Nooo.” You whined softly, “want one here.” You sleepily tapped his bottom lip, eyes barely open, but that teasing smirk still on your face.

Logan sighed, shaking his head slightly, though his lips twitched with a hint of a smile. “You’re a handful tonight, princess.”

He leaned down, hovering just over your lips for a second, his breath warm against your skin. “One kiss,” he murmured before softly pressing his lips to yours, the kiss gentle and brief but enough to satisfy your sleepy demand.

When he pulled back, you let out a contented sigh, snuggling back into his chest. “Told you… the best,” you mumbled, already starting to drift off again.

Logan chuckled quietly, wrapping his arm around you a little tighter. “Yeah, yeah, go to sleep now.”

You didn’t respond this time, your breathing already slowing, your body relaxed and heavy against his. Logan watched you for a moment, his expression softening as he ran a hand through your hair again, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing one last kiss to the top of your head. Then he settled back, keeping you close as you both finally drifted into sleep.

[bwskj]

tags: leon x fem!reader, jerking off, using you while you’re sleeping, d in p, desperate leon, re4leon

-~- <3 -~-

leon comes home at 3 am after a long day of work. his mind is exhausted, having taken the whole day figuring out a fail proof plan for an assigned mission. his steps are careful as he sneaks his way into the bathroom, creaking the shower knob just enough to use it and (hopefully) not wake you.

minutes later, leon is dressed comfortably for bed—a loose shirt and some boxers. he would’ve stayed in the steaming hot shower for longer if only he isn’t craving to feel the ever so inviting soft sheets and skin waiting for him on the bed.

leon’s eyes, now always accustomed to the dark, can make the form of your figure sleeping on your stomach. your blanket is crumpled and is barely covering any of you. he eyes your exposed legs, limbs that likely fought the blanket off, and your plump ass, which he can’t avoid, sitting high and proud though you don’t even know it.

leon sighs as he hurries to squeeze out the rest of the wetness in his hair. he’d like to get all of it out but he can’t wait to get into bed right next to the love of his life either.

he throws the towel over a random chair before walking over to your side of the bed. the closer he gets, the more his eyes linger over your bare skin. he has to huff out another sigh of frustration… because it’s been a while since he’s last had a good feel of it, and in a certain way.

he leans over. his fingers achey from writing for hours in journals almost grazes the lining of your underwear before lifting a corner of your blanket and proceeding to pull it back over your body. you squirm in your sleep, and your brain must’ve known that leon’s finally home (as he usually arrives at this time) that your eyes flutter half-awake.

“leon..?” you mumble, eyes barely open.

“mm, i’m home,” leon says, setting a loving hand over your blanketed thigh.

you roll over, stretching a bit as you try to pull apart your sleepy lids. “go back to sleep,” he says gently, “i’ll get in bed with you.”

you nod, letting your eyes fall shut. as you turn to lay on your back, leon stands upright, massages his tired neck, and shuffles over to the other side. He lets out a big sigh when he feels the cloth and mattress pressing cool on his skin, his head sinking into his pillow.

you shift again, this time reaching to grasp onto leon for a cuddle. leon’s eyes that had closed itself, open to help you with strong arms pulling you in. you keep shuffling your body close, wanting to be sticking to him as much as possible. after all, you’d snuggle to the ends of the earth if it meant finally being close enough to crawl into leon’s skin.

“my baby…” you breathe out, hands creeping up to the back of leon’s neck and into his dirty blonde and drying locks. your face goes into the crook of his collar.

leon sighs in contentment as he takes a whiff of the scent of your natural skin. your fingers scratch lightly at his scalp and his hands rub up and down your lower back.

it’s silent for a moment except for both your breathing falling in sync. that is until you take your head out and with slits for eyes, you find leon’s face, connecting your lips together. you kiss him first but leon is willingly quick to kiss back. it’s a simple and loving kiss, an expression of both ‘i’ve missed you’ and ‘sleep well’.

when the kiss ends, you pull away from leon’s hold, wanting to sleep on your own terms. you lie on your side facing away to resume your sleep not knowing that leon will be laying awake for the next couple of minutes.

leon swallows and his body tingles from losing the feeling of your skin on his. he huffs a sigh, closes his eyes, and tries to drift off, but there’s something sticking up in his boxers and his brain doesn’t seem to want to shut down for the night. in the darkness of his eyelids, he pictures the way he saw your body earlier, accidentally making up an image of your flesh flushed pink and squished between his fingers.

leon wants to go to sleep, but his body is finding itself more interested in entertaining the tent down below. “shit,” he whispers under his breath, his own hand lightly brushing over his boxers. he tugs his arm away, placing it over his eyes in hopes that he could block all of it. but then again, it’s when he closes his eyes that he can see them all the more clearly.

he pulls his limb away and stares at the empty ceiling. he turns his head to look at you, your figure is curved with the way you are lying. the blanket is somehow slipping off you again, and he can see the soft meat of your waist peeking from below your shirt that’s riding up.

leon knows he’s not going to be able to sleep with your body laying there, teasing him just by existing. his arm laying closest to you—it’s like it’s moving on it’s own—is inching towards your waist, until his fingertips finally make contact with the softness of it.

there’s a short hum that sounds out of you, but you continue sleeping peacefully. And leon can’t help it; his hands slowly wrap into and around the side of your waist. he gives it a mild squeeze. so focused in on this part of your body, he only comes to terms with the fact that he’s touching himself through his boxers seconds later.

“Ha…” he breathes out as the first legitimate sense of pleasure courses through him. he snatches his arm away from you, propping himself up on his elbows before fully grabbing onto his semi-hard dick. for a moment, he glances back and forth, down at his clothes where his member is poking out and at your unmoving body enjoying your slumber. but hesitation soon dissipates the longer he sits and thinks and leon comes to a decision.

sitting himself back against the headboard, he frees his cock from the shackles of his shorts. his hand wraps around his length, pumping up and down gently below the head. a low moan he tries to stifle with a bite of his lip rises up his throat, tired eyes on his now-standing dick occasionally looking over at you.

his strokes grow until it covers his whole length, hitting the top of his balls and squeezing at the crevice under his moist tip. sometimes, his eyes close and he imagines that his hand is actually yours, and that you’re kneeling between his legs looking all pretty and sweet. As the heat consuming his hard clit begins to intensify, he bites harder on his lower lip, muscles stiffening as he tries to stop himself from thrusting up into his (your) hand.

shaky whimpers and breaths tremble through leon’s closed mouth, and when he feels you move beside him, he freezes, eyes warily opening to take a look. you’ve rolled over again, on your back. leon can make out the features of your sleeping face, your collarbones staring at him, and your breasts sitting perky under your shirt. his eyes wander down and he notices that your blanket is straying further away, now revealing your lower half.

leon’s staring at the cloth of your thin panties. he can just imagine it flushed against the form of your folds, almost like an extra skin. it’s enough to make him resume stroking himself, now at a faster more eager pace. the scenes in his head turn from a simple hand job to you sitting leaned back in front of him, legs spread apart and giving him a good show as you gently touch yourself. “what do you want, baby?” the you in his head asks him.

“fuck..” leon moans in a whisper, shuddering as a stronger sensation of pleasure runs through him. he wants to touch your pussy with his dick. he wants to slowly push it in, feeling your wet walls suck him whole. leon’s face and neck are warm, light sweat glistening on several parts of his skin as his hand starts wrapping in a circular motion around his dick.

leon’s always looking back to your cunt. the only thing stopping him from touching it is a little distance and flimsy cloth. would it be possible if he just… leon checks your face; it’s still as a statue.

he pulls his gaze away, cursing in his mind. what the hell is he thinking. he should get this done and over with so he can finally get some sleep. but like a magnet to a fridge, his stare finds its way back to you. the flame of desire within him is far from burning out.

he lets go of his dick, still hard and quite far from cumming anytime soon. he sits still for a moment, like he’s pretending to think, though really deep inside he knows he’s made up his mind. the mattress dips softly as he carefully pushes himself up. nervously hovering, he places his fingertips on the skin below your belly button. it’s so soft that he has to restrain himself from grabbing your entire waist and squeezing it tight. he trails a straight line down over the hem of your panty and right above where your clit should be. he swallows the saliva starting to form in his mouth.

very cautiously to not disturb your sleep, he removes the rest of his boxers, and lifts himself over and above you. for a second, a thought in his head yells at him, ‘leon, what the fuck are you doing?!’ but it’s shut away when his needy head accidentally prods right on your clothed part.

a shaky exhale falls out of his lips as he lets his knees dig into the mattress on both sides of you, one hand placed right by your head to balance himself while the other takes his dick and very gently positions it against the cloth of your panty. the first rock of his hips feels heavenly and he can’t help but let out a louder moan than he should. just staring directly at your clothed pussy was making his dick throb. he checks your face again and there you are still asleep. silently, he wishes that you were awake, feeling good alongside him.

he moves back and forth, creating friction against you. his hand is hesitant but he eventually gives in to the desire for it to wander over your stomach and hips. he drags his cock over your pussy again and again until it feels so fucking good for him that he turns noisy enough to stir you in your sleep. there’s a sleepy moan from you, and leons strokes stutter, slowing down a bit but never falling into a full stop.

as you feel yourself slowly awaken, the sounds of rugged breathing enter your ears. there’s a hot feeling below you and as you try to open your eyes, you catch a glimpse of blonde hair and veined arms.

“leon,” his name slips out easily along with a gasp. “what’s… going on?” when you force your vision to clear, you meet your boyfriend’s face hanging right above you, all lewd with his mouth agape and cheeks flushing a hue of red. your stomach flips in sudden excitement, heart quickening at how handsome he looks like this.

“baby,” leon starts, but his breathing and thoughts are too all over the place to think about stringing together a sentence. instead he’s moaning, almost choking on his spit, as he continues to fuck the outside of your clit.

you feel a shiver run up your whole body as you glance down and realize what leon’s been doing. from where you’re looking, the tip of his dick pulls in and out—bigger then smaller—as he rubs up against you. you lift a hand up to cup his trembling face and leon’s eyes finally meet yours.

“baby you should’ve said…” you whisper as your hand loops around to hold the back of his neck. you pull his face in to capture his mouth with your own. it’s just so obviously begging to be kissed when it hangs open like that. leon grunts, saliva that he couldn’t swallow in time because of his growing desperation slipping on your tongue and wetting your dry lips. leon, taking this as a sign that all of this is okay, finally gives in to giving your stomach a rougher squeeze. you moan from the pressure of his big hand holding you while he pushes his tongue into your mouth, a message that tells how much he wishes to devour you.

when he pulls away for air, his gaze is clouded from all the sensation. another quivering sigh comes out as he says, “… sorry… i’m sorry, i couldn’t help it,” and his hips start to buck strong again in an attempt to make his cock feel as good as it felt earlier.

“it’s okay,” your thumb gently rubs at the skin on his cheek, gasping as his dick gradually warms up your clit. “you know i’ve missed you too.”

“mm,” leon hums, too into fucking in between your folds to say anything else.

you decide to help him, bringing your hand down and letting it graze lightly over his already sensitive member. ah..” leon moans, “fuck, yes baby, please touch me.”

amusement bubbles inside you as you watch the normally cold and brooding man on top of you completely change in his demeanor—vulnerable, vocal, and desperate for your touch. as he continues pleasing himself, you place your hand over the top of his long length, allowing him to fuck a sandwich made out of the skin of your panty and hand.

“baby, you can fuck me if you want,” you whisper as you try to look into leon’s eyes which are clearly avoiding your gaze. he’s shaking his head, “mph… if i do, i’ll cum.”

teasingly, your hand palms up and down his dick, “don’t you want to cum?”

your voice is almost enough to make leon reach his climax. his dick twitches under your fingers. “y-yea,” he stutters, so he can go to sleep. but truthfully, he just wants all of this to last for as long as possible.

you take his dick in your hand, causing him to stop thrusting. with your other, you lift the slit of cloth sitting between your thighs and gently pull it to the side. leon’s staring down. the sight of your bare pussy coming into view explodes another blush of heat across his face and cock.

“do whatever you want, leon,” you say. “just feel good, hm?”

leon eyes your hand as it moves his dick close to your cunt’s lips. it’s leaking with pre-cum but you don’t mind. you give it a light pet before you press it gently in, the slick you didn’t even realise dripping out of you making it easy.

leon instantly jerks forward to further push inwards, but he doesn’t let himself go all the way. his body stiffens and it surprises you a bit when he harshly grabs on to your inner thighs. you gasp, feeling leon’s girth stick tightly against the walls of your entrance. he’s always been so big.

“haa… I can’t,” he’s almost whimpering. you can feel his grip start to pinch painfully at your skin. as you go back to look at leon’s face, there’s an expression of both pleasure and concentration. he’s obviously trying not to cum.

a few seconds pass by of him just soaking his tip in your pussy. then, he starts moving his dick in and out, still never putting the whole thing in. the slight curve of his length is just perfect enough to reach your g spot and you shiver out moans with every teasing pump.

leon isn’t going to last much longer, especially as he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the sight of his his cock going in and out of you. he groans, strokes starting to move sloppy and irregular. you respond with moans of your own, but it’s mostly because of how perfect and beautifully messy your boyfriend looks using you to please himself.

“come on baby… cum for me?” you can’t resist asking. god, you so desperately want to see the look on his face when he finally cums. leon’s voice cracks and he whimpers, pace quickening as he chases his incoming orgasm.

“i-inside?” he asks as if worried, though his non-stop movements practically imply that he doesn’t care at all.

you hurriedly nod, hands roaming back around his neck and jaw, “mhm, if you want to, you can.”

leon’s sanity breaks as he chokes out another one of his lewd moans. his head leans to bow in your neck but you quickly scatter kisses on his jaw and tell him, “i want to see you when you cum, leon.”

leon’s a good boy. he listens immediately and puts his face back into view. his eyes lock on yours for the second time tonight and just like that, you feel his big throbbing cock filled halfway inside you jolt against your swollen muscle, warm semen shooting up your pussy. uneven moans and gasps stumble out leon’s lips, eyes closed and brows furrowed as he savors the feeling of his orgasm.

when he’s done he’s lightly panting and his head sinks straight into your shoulder. his cheek sticks moist against your skin as he breathes you in, your hypnotising scent amplifying the euphoric sensation he feels after cumming. he lays softly on your chest which rise and fall with every calm huff of a breath. his dick sits still inside you in a mixture of your juices.

your fingers intertwine back into his blonde hair, now completely dry. leon breathes you in and presses a lazy kiss to your neck. “thank you, baby,” he mumbles, “i’m so sleepy.”

you let out a short laugh. how horny did he have to be for him to do all that? “let’s sleep then hm? we can clean this up later.” leon shivers at your soothing voice and warm caresses.

he nods into you before carefully rolling off to pull his dick out and lay on the bed beside you. his eyes are already closed when you look at him again, and you let out a quiet scoff of laughter as you realise that he had already fallen fast asleep.

“goodnight leon.”

—

a/n: thanks for reading! have been busy with school but writing this was me taking a break between requirements lol (my guilty pleasure <3) hope you enjoyed !

[shiggybrainr0t]

The light creaking of your bedroom door is what wakes you from the light slumber you found yourself in. The lamp next to your bed casts your bedroom in a hazy yellow glow, and you rub your cheek against your pillow with a contented sigh. It still smells like Shouta.

Speaking of your boyfriend, he glances at you from where he stands in front of your dresser.

“…didn’t mean to wake you up, baby.”

His voice is deeper and more grainy than usual, telling you how tired he is from his patrol tonight.

“Wasn’t asleep. Waited for you.”

He hums in response, and you can tell by his tone that he doesn’t believe you. He turns around to look at the grumpy glare he knows you’re sending him- and he’s right. You’ve brought your blanket up to your nose and only the top of your head is visible, sleep crusted eyes narrowed his way.

Shouta can’t hold the huff of laughter that builds in his chest. He feels his heart beat harder, and he marvels at how you still make him feel like he did the first time he met you, even all this time later.

He’s lifting his arms to put on a sleep shirt when you see it. There, on his ribs is a smudge of black covered in something that looks like plastic. You’re wide awake now, and you quickly jump out of bed to head towards him, shivering slightly at the chill of the room.

At your sudden movements, Shouta lowers his arms and looks at you quickly, scanning your body to make sure you’re ok. You tug the shirt out of his grasp and pull his left arm back up straight in the air. The look he gives you is one that you’re quite used to: bemused and endeared.

“Oh, I was going to show you that in the morning.”

Shouta had talked to you about how he was going to eventually get a tattoo, though he wouldn’t let slip what he was getting or where. Looking at it now, you know exactly what it is, because it’s a drawing that you look at every day whenever you go to your fridge. Only, you noticed this morning that it had gone missing.

Three messy stick people are outlined on Shouta’s ribs holding hands, two significantly bigger than the one in the middle. The one on the left is tall, and has a shock of black, long hair falling over his face. The middle is a little girl, with long hair and a horn growing out of her forehead. And the person on the right is you. It’s a picture Eri drew for you just a year after being taken from Overhaul and into protection.

Shouta is observing you quietly, obediently keeping his arm in the air as you lightly run your fingers over the shiny plastic wrap covering it. It’s only when you start sniffling that he moves, pulling you into his arms.

“Knew you’d react like this.” He says, amusement lightening his voice.

He’s still warm from the shower, and the hair that covers his chest tickles your cheek as you press your forehead against his collarbone. Your tears hit his skin whenever he runs his large hand over your head, his own cheek pressed against your crown. His stubble is prickly and uncomfortable against you, making you sniff loudly and say meekly, “You need to shave.”

“I will.” Is his only reply. He rubs his cheek against your hair, the same way you did to your pillow only moments before. You lean back slightly in his arms and look up at him tearfully. His eye is so dark, yet it gleams beautifully as it stares back at you. He’s taken his eye patch off, showing you the large scare that runs across his other eye. A callused thumb swipes under your own eyes softly.

“I love you.” He says before you can speak, which only makes you tear up again.

Shouta huffs again, a small grin forming on his face as he mumbles “silly baby” at you. He decides to forgo the shirt, and pulls you back to the sleep rumpled bed. You snuggle under the covers, still sniffling, and wait for him to finish taking off his prosthetic before sliding in next to you.

Immediately, you sling your leg over his and press as close as possible to him as you can. Shouta wraps his arms around you with ease, barely moving whenever you decide he isn’t close enough and move half your body on top of his. Under his chin, where his jaw meets his neck, he smells like his body wash and home.