#random gifs because i miss him

[sjmonswjlle]

YOUNG ROYALS | 1.05

[kyouka-supremacy]

[solar-nightengale]

@lizardthelizard You wanted my thoughts, you're getting them 😏 Three and a half weeks later but you're still getting them ehehehe 😌😌😌 (Idk what to make of them so have fun with that word wall of mayhem)

August 2.18 | Zelena 3.16

[januaryembrs]

WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Description: Sunshine rookie gets a boyfriend, and Spencer can’t help but think he would be so much better for her. But that definitely isn’t the jealousy talking, right?

Length: 8k

Warnings: nothing really, jealousy? talks of sex? embarrassment? Mention briefly of vomit because of allergic reaction.

main masterlist.

author’s note: I want to write for these two until my fingers are two little stubs and even then I’ll learn with my toes. Can be read as a stand alone!

He thought he was going to be sick when he saw her that random Thursday, leaning against her desk, a sweet, bashful smile on her face. Or, more specifically, Spencer thought he was going to need to at least sit down when he saw the man standing next to her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the little daisy earrings Penelope bought her for her birthday almost laughing at his gobsmacked expression. 

He liked Agent Taylor Bingley. He respected the fresh faced desk jockey from the third floor that swanned around their bullpen, usually discussing warm up routines with Luke. He was quick on his feet, a pretty decent shot. Never missed a report, never tardy, even offered his parking spot up to Spencer on more than one occasion because he didn’t mind the long walk from the other lot. He flew under the radar, and when he was noticed, it was because he was a particularly kind soul. 

Spencer didn’t think he’d ever seen him without those rosy cheeks that made him look almost always sunburnt, or that trademark boyish grin a handsome guy like him had down to a tea. So it really shouldn’t have been such a surprise to see him lingering around his sunshine girl. 

Except she wasn’t his, not by a mile. They just spent almost every second of the work day together.

“Check it out, rookie has an admirer,” Tara said, the heels clicking against the floor as she passed the door, where Spencer seemed to have stopped, his eyes narrowing at the happy couple, “Can’t say I blame him. She’s a pretty girl, don’t you think, Spence?”

She didn’t realise she was rubbing salt in a superficial wound, but Spencer felt his jaw feather with annoyance. Because she was beyond a pretty girl, she was honey and all the months of Spring and a hot drink on a rainy day and finishing a good book and the dessert your mom let you have on your tenth birthday. Not that he could admit that. So he just nodded, right as Taylor leaned over to kiss the apple of her cheek. 

She shied away, smiling to her lap and playing with her fingertips, not looking up from her little potted plant that sat next to her on her desk, and Spencer knew it was because she floundered when people gave her too much attention.

Like when Garcia had said her blouse and bun combo she’d worn the other day made her look like a sexy teaching assistant, she’d stammered something close to a thankyou and headed to the kitchenette to get herself a glass of water. Or when Rossi had said the bangs she had cut herself two weeks ago looked cute, that his daughter had been desperate to try something similar, she’d spilled her coffee down her front not even two seconds later because she had been so occupied telling the man it was no big deal. 

“Morning, Doctor Reid, Doctor Lewis,” Taylor said, his pearly white teeth gleaming with that West Coast, surfer boy tan that made Spencer want to huff. The man was insufferable. Well, correction, he was insufferably nice for someone Spencer was desperate to pick apart with faults the second he’d seen her preening over their sunshine rookie. 

“Morning, Agent Bingley,” Tara said civilly, smiling back at the Agent that passed them to head to the elevators. She caught a glimpse of Spencer, and was quick to make herself scarce in the interest of needing to check in with Penelope, because she knew what that stormy look in his eye and the way his lips pressed into a thin line meant, profiler or not. 

Spencer didn’t pay much attention to Lewis leaving his side, not that he was trying to be rude, his eyes were zeroed in on the way she fumbled around her desk, looking for imaginary mess to tidy, which included rearranging the pots of glitter pens and highlighters next to her monitor, only to put them back exactly how they were before. 

“Agent Bingley, that’s new,” Came a voice over her shoulder, that made her jump in her seat, and her expression was skittish when she swivelled around, Spencer towering over her with calculating eyes. Luke rolled his chair around the divider to lean in on the conversation, having witnessed the whole thing in high definition since her desk was right next to his. 

“Oh, Taylor?” She squeaked, and Spencer didn’t need to touch her face to know it had gone hot just by the way she simpered and fiddled with the hem of her knee length skirt, avoiding their gaze, “Yeah, he took me to the aquarium at the weekend and we got lunch. It’s not really serious or anything, I don’t think,” 

She seemed unsure, her lips pursed together and a tiny crease between her brow he hated, and it was then Luke’s deep laugh rumbled next to them. 

“Does he know that?” Luke asked, and she shot him a look, wide eyed and confused, as he cleared his throat, “I was thinking I could take you out again in that pretty red dress-”

She threw a wad of scrunched up notepaper at him, an embarrassed smile on her face as she shook her head at him, “You have spent way too much time with Penelope, you’re turning into gossiping school children,” 

But she seemed happy, like the thought of the conversation she’d had with Agent Bingley made her all the more girlish herself as she giggled lightly, her gaze meeting Spencer’s empty expression. He wished he could hide his jealousy better, perhaps even seem happy for her. She deserved someone soft and saccharine and humane like Bingley, not a rough shell of what once was a brilliant man. He knew he should feel somewhat pleased for her, at least now he had empirical, hard evidence on why he couldn’t have her, but he couldn’t. 

“All I’m saying, rookie, is if you got that man bringing you breakfast and sweet talking you after one date, you’ll have him wrapped around your pinky by the time he’s your boyfriend,” Luke chuckled, and Spencer thought he might just burst a vessel with how hard he clenched his jaw at that dreaded b word. 

Alvez had no idea just how much he had twisted a knife in Spencer’s gut, which was plunged even further when he saw that sparkle in her eye when she looked up at him. 

“Ignore him, he’s a busy body,” She chirped, her teeth peeking from her lips when she hid a grin, “You wanna get coffee later? Taylor brought me tea and I’m dying for the good stuff,” 

Spencer nodded with a small smile, because her attitude was infectious, and selfishly thinking that Bingley couldn’t be that perfect for her because she only ever wanted tea when she felt sick, usually towards the start of the month that he guessed was in correlation with her menstrual cycle but would never ask. She wouldn’t want tea for another two weeks, and would likely take an extra shot in her cappuccino today because this was when she felt the most lethargic.  

Swivelling back around in her chair to log onto her computer, she remained completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. 

For once, Spencer wished he’d been late to work.

–

Two months. They had been dating for two fucking months. As far as Spencer could tell, from Penelope’s need to chatter about their sunshine rookie and her hot, stud muffin of a boyfriend, things had only been official for about five weeks of that time, but it hadn’t stopped Spencer from wanting to swallow glass because that would likely be less inconvenient than seeing the two of them together. 

Taylor usually brought her breakfast whenever they would get back from a case, which infuriated Spencer because he always bought her tea. She was a people pleaser, Spencer knew it before he had ever thought of her as anything other than the shiny newbie with too much joy and doe eyes he’d never seen before. But now, knowing her better than anyone else in the office did because she practically shadowed his footsteps, it was blaringly obvious to him that she had either never told him she didn’t like tea first thing in the morning, or he had never bothered to take notice. 

Spencer felt an odd puddle of smugness and fury when on more than one occasion he saw her pouring it down the drain, cold after sitting there for hours until it was unbearable and she couldn’t force herself to drink anymore. It was obvious to him, so why wasn’t it obvious to her own boyfriend? Spencer thought bitterly. But then Agent Bingley did leave a sour taste in his mouth these days.

Speaking of which, Spencer felt that pang in his chest the way he always did when the happy couple walked into the office together. Her hand was usually in his, though she seemed to simper under the weight of the team's glances; knowing and teasing as he’d take her to her desk and whip out the to-go pastries that he’d bought them that morning. 

“Morning, Spence,” She skipped past his desk, Taylor trailing behind her like a dog, though she seemed not to mind keeping him waiting a moment as she spoke to her friend, “How was Doctor Who?”

He smiled despite his grudge, because she always remembered what he said. He’d told her once that Thursdays were his evening to watch the show, and every time Friday morning rolled around, she’d bound up to lean over his computer and ask. 

“It was okay, I’m excited to see what they do with a Female Doctor, even if I’ll miss Capaldi,” He replied earnestly, and her eyes filled with glee. 

“Did they give her a new one of the doo-hickies they have?” She asked, his chest butterflying with an aching sort of affection because she seemed to remember everything he ever told her. 

“Sonic Screwdriver?” She nodded her head, even though Spencer knew she didn’t quite understand the show entirely, “Yeah, I prefer Sarah Jane’s Sonic Lipstick however,” 

“I wish I had one of those, I could reapply and save the world, how cool would that be?” She said, and they laughed together a little, before Taylor popped his head over Spencer’s computer with that dentist white beam and his excitable eyes, bluer than any sea rolling onto shore. 

“Morning, Doctor Reid,” Agent Bingley said, and the smile withered from Spencer’s face, morphing into a civil nod, his expression unreadable. 

“Morning, Agent,” He said, his eyes tracking back to his screen as he suddenly found Emily’s group email about staff room fridge etiquette invigorating. 

Taylor must have taken it as a sign the Doctor Reid was busy and finally let him have a minutes peace, that is until she took a seat at her desk and he leaned next to her, handing her a warm bagel. 

Spencer heard them chatting for about ten minutes, of which he was trying anything to tune them out, including roping Luke into their own conversation. It wasn’t until there was a lapse in the chatter that Spencer’s ears pricked up, and he heard her stand up from her desk, eyes wide as she spat a mouthful out into a tissue. 

“Does this have coconut in it?” She asked somewhat fearfully, Spencer’s head whipping around to her little corner of the bullpen. Her little self help stickers dotted around her desktop stared back at him, her reminder to ‘drink water’ almost horribly ironic the second he’d heard her question. 

His stomach dropped when Taylor frowned, “Yeah, it’s coconut and raspberry, is-is that not okay?” 

Spencer was quick to stand up out of his own seat, rifling through his satchel to dig out his water bottle, making it to her desk in just two long paces and handing it to her without another word as she looked up at him worriedly. 

“If you need to puke, it’ll probably be for the best so that you can get the traces out of your stomach. You can’t have the steroids before you hurl or it won’t work,” He soothed, and she nodded, sipping on his water with shaky hands, and Spencer was quick to catch the way her skin had a slight sheen to it that hadn’t been there before. He put a hand on her shoulder, trying to gage if she was well enough to make it to the bathroom on her own or if he would need to drive her to the ER. Either way her expression worried him. 

“I-I thought it was white chocolate,” She peeped, looking extremely sorry for herself as she dumped the chewed up brownie in her bin, and Taylor almost appeared at her side, looking entirely lost as he stroked a hand down her hair. 

“Talk to me, what’s wrong?” He asked, seafoam hues trailing down her sweating face in terror. 

“She’s allergic to coconut,” Spencer cut in, his tone a little harsher than needed, and her boyfriend’s expression wilted like a kicked puppy. 

“Shit! You never mentioned, I’m so- I’m so sorry, honey,” Taylor went pale, and she didn’t look much better as she pushed past the two of them, heading for the bathroom, Spencer a single pace behind her. 

“I got her, don’t worry,” He called over his shoulder to Agent Bingley standing there like a gaping fish, his hand running through his blonde sweep as he watched her all but running out of the office, Spencer’s long legs keeping up with her. 

“Is your skin getting prickly yet?” Spencer asked. Swouldn't go into anaphylaxis, at least not as far as they knew, but the large hives that would appear on her chest and neck and the vomiting was not ideal. She kept a tray of steroids in her desk incase an accidental cross contamination happened (and because Spencer had forced her to have some on hand), but seeing her panicked eyes as she tasted the chalky fruit had made him fawn over her like she was marked for the plague. 

“Neck is getting itchy,” She replied, tugging at her collar and pushing the door to the unisex bathrooms open, heading for the nearest stall, “You don’t have to stay for this bit, it’s not-”

He cut her off by sweeping her hair into a ponytail, as if to tell her to stop worrying about him, and he stroked a hand over her arm to let her know he was right there, because he knew she really hated anything gory and gross like that. 

He hushed her when she’d try to apologise, hand her his bottle of water in between moments where her whole body seized.

And for a minute, she thought that Spencer might be the only person who she’d ever let see her like this. Not Luke, or Garcia and certainly not Taylor. 

The thought of it kept her quiet for the rest of the morning. 

-

They seemed to move past the whole debacle quickly. Luke said Taylor had taken her to a fancy restaurant uptown to apologise, making a huge point to avoid the coconut banoffee pudding like it was an explosive. 

“You guys are so cute, you’re like Jane and he’s literally your Bingley. I swear your kids are going to be sweet enough I could drizzle them right next to ice cream,” Penelope said over the SUV console speaker, Spencer in the driving seat and her in the passenger, flicking through her files as they approached the victim’s house. 

The rookie blanched, “Woah, woah, kids?” She protested, and even Spencer felt himself nearly swerve the minute the bubbly IT geek said it. She looked shaken, awkwardly chuckling and reaching to tuck hair behind her ear, “Slow down, Garcia, we’ve not even- you know what, I think we’re talking about the wrong thing here-“ 

“You’ve not even what?” Penelope burst out, her need for the lastest gossip overwhelming the reading of the room. She swallowed heavily, shifting in her seat to face out of the window, her knees touching the door with a thud, “Have you guys not had sex yet?” 

“Penelope!” The woman screeched, her face hot and gobsmacked that she’d even said it out loud. 

But it was telling enough, and Spencer’s face whirled over the console to her, guilt written on her features. 

“I just assumed you guys had done it seeing as both of you are the hottest couple I know, I mean I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you if I was a guy-“ Penelope tried to save herself in the only way she knew how, by digging herself a deeper hole. 

Spencer’s hand shot out for the centre screen, “We’re losing you, Garcia, you’re breaking up, bye,” He pressed the end call button, and he didn’t need to look at the girl’s face to know she was the epitome of mortified. 

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, the awkward silence of the car killing him as much as he knew it was her, but he thought better of it and clamped his mouth shut. It took him a minute before he opened his mouth to speak again, if not to ask her if she wanted to stop at a drive thru for breakfast, but she beat him to it. 

“I was going to say we’ve not even said I love you yet,” She murmured, keeping her body entirely swivelled away from him, her arms crossed over her chest in an attempt to make herself smaller, as if she could just smush herself into the seat so he wouldn’t say anything. She cleared her throat, scratching her wrist nervously, “But I guess that’s also true too,” 

“Why not?” Her eyes snapped onto Spencer when he braved those two words, and he sensed he’d overstepped some sort of boundary before he realised it sounded like he’d been speaking about the latter, “Why haven’t you said it?” He clarified. 

She went quiet, her shoulders shrugging being the only sign that she’d heard him, gaze trailing back out her window. 

“He’s not said it yet either, and I don’t think I want him to. Not yet at least,” Her voice was soft, heavy as if every single one of them was coming from her heart, “Love is such a big emotion I think if he did say it, I wouldn’t know how to respond. Like, if I’m going to say it back to someone, I want to be sure I feel it otherwise it’s like I’m betraying everyone else’s version of love, you know?” 

He thought she might just be an angel bottled up and thrown into his life, and he sometimes wished he could take a look inside that head of hers because how she had protected her beautiful look on the world after seeing so much hurt staggered him. He had become cruel and cold and heavy where she looked at the lecherous shithole heading for disaster they called Earth and saw right to its soul, gave it a hug, told it she would care even when no one else would. 

He tore his eyes from the road, and took in the outline of her face, mindlessly watching the pedestrians on their daily commute to grab lunch, a dog peeing against a lamp post, a motorcyclist bobbing and weaving in between the midday traffic, her doe eyes never missing a trick.

Forcing his gaping expression back on the road, because he might just swerve and hit the damn rider off his bike if he let himself get lost in his little dreamscape that consisted of nothing but her and her face and her thoughts and her words, he cleared his throat, not sure how to add to the poetic, rose tint she seemed to see the world in.

“That’s good, that you’re taking things at your own pace, atleast,” He said, not particularly profound but at least it was something, “You shouldn’t do things just because someone else wants you to, even if you think it would make them happy,”

“But I like making people happy,” She countered, her expression troubled as she looked over at him with a quirked brow, “I like making you happy especially,”

“What makes you think I’m not happy?” Spencer asked, his mouth drying up, his stomach flipping in cartwheels when she giggled to herself like for once she was the smart one snd he was the one who needed teaching.

“It took you three and a half weeks to crack a smile when we first started working together,” His jaw clenched, because he was the one who counted the statistics. Perhaps he was rubbing off on her. “Honestly, I thought you hated me. I thought a seasoned agent like yourself probably would get frustrated teaching the dumb newbie the ABC’s, even ones that admire him. But then I thought, instead of getting so butt hurt about it all, I could just give you a reason to smile and you’d see that I’m not just a useless rookie learning to roll over for treats.”

Spencer’s throat bobbed. He’d hate himself forever for being so cruel to her those first few weeks, the clipped tones when she’d add something in a particularly chirpy voice, the way he would forget his manners sometimes when she’d bring him a coffee, because his head had been so deep in survival mode that being nice didn’t matter. Being nice had got him nowhere in Mexico, in fact it had shown his soft underbelly and drawn a target on it. 

“I never hated you,” His voice croaked out, weak and pathetic, and it's times like that he remembered ten years ago talking to her would have made him blush, pop a boner, and lose half his IQ all in one go. Coughing, his knuckles turned white at the wheel, and he avoids her gaze that feels like a pitfall trap, “It’s difficult to go back to how you used to be when you’ve got a thousand eyes on your back waiting for you to lower your guard,”

“I know, I know that now, I jus-” She floundered, worried she’d touched a nerve, but he stopped her by leaning over the console and putting a gentle hand on her kneecap.

“Relax, I know I wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around,” Spencer said, his timbre quiet but honest, “You were one of the few things I looked forward to, if I’m honest.”

“Really?” She said, agog, like she was waiting for him to turn around and say it had been a joke, “You didn’t think I’m too loud or, like, too much?”

“How can there be too much of you? If your body wasn’t in correct proportion, your organs wouldn't function-”

“Spencer,” She said, though he knew she was smiling even without having to look, “You know that’s not what I meant,”

“I know,” He replied, a smug little smile quirking on his own lips because he loved making her happy too, “No, I could never find you too much.”

She simpered under his words, his hand a stoked flame on her skin as she brought her fingers over the top of them to squeeze them together, before she changed the subject because she knew her cheeks might just explode if they heated anymore.

–

They were back from a long case, one that had made everyone tired and grumpy, especially because they needed to swing by the office for an hour of admin even Emily couldn’t wriggle them out of. 

And ofcourse, as he always was when Spencer was feeling like he was already about to strangle someone out of annoyance, Agent Bingley was right there when they entered the lobby.

She hadn’t slept well on the jet, despite Spence loaning her his jumper to use as a pillow, and she was in desperate need of coffee, the kind that Spencer and Penelope forced her to try instead of the cold caramel thing she liked. She’d even go for one of Luke’s zero sugar, zero milk atrocities right now.

“Hey guys, how was the flight?” Taylor jumped in to ask, and everyone gave some sort of variation of a groan because that was exactly how it had felt. His attention turned to her, as she pulled up the rear with Spencer attached her her hip because she had been practically sleepwalking the entire way there, “Hi honey,”

“Taylor, hi,” She said, her eyes perking up when he held out a hot take away cup for her, “You really didn’t have to,”

“Nonsense, herbal tea is supposed to alleviate headaches and help get you to sleep,” He replied, his other hand behind his back quickly whipping out to produce a bunch of flowers in front of her face.

She barely had time to flash him a grin to hide the disappointment that it was nowhere near as caffeinated as she’d like, nor that she didn’t even liked herbal tea, before a bunch of lilies were thrust her way.

“Lillies,” She said, her hand covering her chest at the touching sentiment, “Taylor, you shouldn’t have,”

“I know they’re your favourites,” The blonde replied, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and effectively putting a wall between her and Spencer, whether he meant to or not. Her expression wavered, and Spencer's eyes went straight to her, waiting for her to correct him. Because they weren’t her favourites, not even in her top five. Hyacinths were. Or Foxglove. Or Delphiniums. Not Lillies. 

She nodded wordlessly, and the three of them headed for the lift, where the rest of the team held the door for them, her expression tiptoeing between guilty and smiling, Taylor’s almost ecstatic to see her after her long few days away, and Spencer’s entirely pissed off that the sun kissed jerk couldn’t see every sign blaring in his face. 

“I might have to cut off the stamen when Ace comes over,” She queried, her eyes roving over the beautiful white petals opening towards her like a book.

“Ace? Who’s Ace?” He said, and Spencer and JJ exchanged a glance, because the whole elevator was now privy to their conversation as David pressed the six button. Taylor reached forward to push the three for himself.

“The dog I foster sometimes, the one I told you about. He helps me when I need to talk through some things. He’s a very good listener,,” She said with a dopey smile on her face, her eyes casting over her boyfriends face with a willing expression, because she knew for a fact she’d told him at lengths about the bouncy Spaniel that adored her, “He comes over for playdates, but the pollen inside lilies are poisonous to dogs,”

Taylor scrunched his nose up, “Ugh, I hate dogs, they’re so slobbery and the always seem to smell awful,” He commented, her face dropping the slightest in a way that made Spencer’s hand curl into a fist, because how dare Agent Bingley take that away from her, “I thought you were a cat person?”

“I like them both equally, but Ace is sweet. He curls up on my legs after we’ve gone for a walk,” Taylor still didn’t seem convinced, and she felt stupid for even mentioning it, well aware that the rest of her team were listening in on her childish description of the old dog that wanted nothing but love. 

“Why do you need a dog to talk anyway, babe? You have me,” Taylor said, in a way that was supposed to sound comforting but made Spencer want to shake him and tell him to listen to a damn word she was saying. Her eyes dimmed, and she looked at the lilies again, feeling entirely ungrateful for wishing they were something else, and the elevator doors opened onto the third floor. Taylor kissed her cheek and waltzed out of the lift with a quick goodbye to her team that was returned in murmurs. Turning to look at her, his body already in the anteroom of his own floor, he smiled sweetly at her, “I love you,”

JJ and Emily whipped their heads to her face, expecting to see some kind of puppy love blossom there, only to find wide-eyed panic, her smile slowly slipping. Rossi cleared his throat when she said nothing, the air turning stale as the team waited for her response, Taylor looking at her expectantly, and she wished the ground would open up then and there to swallow her whole, because that would probably be better than whatever this was.

Tara nudged her shoulder, waking her out of her daze, Luke scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, and it was then after a beat more of silence that Taylor opened his mouth again, “Babe, did you hear what I-”

She leaned forward to press the close door button, her doe hues in full flight mode, her fingers only picking up the pace when her boyfriend took a step closer towards the elevator, and Emily brought a hand over her mouth in muffled laughter when the doors slammed shut in front of him, their sunshine rookie entirely spooked and needing a quick exit.

The tiny metal box went silent, Spencer watching her face meld from alarm to horror, to sheer embarrassment.

“I mean, I’ll give it to you kid, that’s one way to do it,” Rossi said, patting her on the back and she shoved her face in her hands, the stems of the dove white flowers brushing against her cheek roughly.

“Please tell me that didn’t just happen,” She groaned through her fingers, JJ chuckling as the doors to their own floor opened up.

“Oh honey,” She said, rubbing the girl’s back gently, leading her out onto the BAU carpet that felt harsher against the souls of her shoes than it ever had before, “I think what you need is a coffee and a long talk with someone who isn’t a dog,”

Spencer watched her shuffle to slump down behind her desk, her expression still rattled and lost, JJ’s eyes flicking to him every now and then in a way that urged him to be the one to do just that because it was obvious by now who she talked the most openly to in the office.

But by the time he’d braved walking over to her desk, she’d already rushed through her report, excusing herself home for the day, and he knew her well enough to know she needed some breathing room before he could approach the subject, otherwise she would shut the doors on him too.

He hated the spiteful part of him that revelled in Taylor’s expression when that metal screen had slammed in his face.

—

It was three days later, and she had enforced a strict ban on talking about that day in the office. For once she didn’t look like she was going to break her resolve either, since every time someone tried to weasel information of her she would either pretend she hadn’t heard, or would excuse herself to make her fifth coffee of the day, or even had thrown her paperwork on the floor when Luke had pushed her for an answer just for an excuse to avoid the topic.

In fact, Spencer himself had been tempted to get her alone because he knew she would crack without much pressure from him, though the thought of using her trusting nature against her seemed wicked, and so he stopped himself and settled for curiosity.

It wasn’t until they were away on a case and they were shoved in a room together that the subject of Taylor was even brought up, and even then it was entirely out of his control.

“I’ll take the couch,” Spencer said, his eyes falling on the double bed in the centre of the room, striding over the other side of the room to throw his to go bag down on the two seater sofa that would wreck his back.

“Don’t be silly, we can just share the bed.” She said, as if it was the most obvious solution, which it was, “I sleep talk a little, but just give me a shove and I’ll shut up,” 

Spencer paused, watching her fumbling around her bag for her toothbrush and paste.

“Won’t your boyfriend mind?” He asked, his palms clammy because he worried for a moment it was wrong to bring it up, and his chest butterflied when she froze, “Sorry, I know you didn’t want to talk about it, I just thought I wouldn’t like my girlfriend sharing a bed-”

“We broke up,” She said, taking pulling a large pink shirt out her bag and some strawberry printed shorts, her toiletries stuffed in her pockets, “So don’t worry about any of that stuff, we can share,”

And she waltzed into the bathroom without any more explanation, the lock clicking behind her and leaving Spencer alone with his thoughts.

They had broken up? Was it because of what happened in the elevator? Was it because of what Penelope said in the car? Was she the one to break up with him or the other way around?

Spencer felt like a gossip, even though his thoughts had gone no further than his cranium, and by the time she emerged from the bathroom, fresh faced and in her pyjamas, he had already changed himself, tucked himself under the cover in the hope she understood they didn’t need to talk about it if she didn’t want to.

She smiled at him, tucking her dirty clothes back in her bag and heading for the bed, slipping under the plush duvet with a soft ooft. 

“Light on or off?” She asked, her finger hovering over the switch beside their bed.

“On, if that’s okay?” He replied and she nodded wordlessly, shuffling down under the covers, pulling them up to just below her armpits. Crossing her arms over her stomach like she was snow white waiting to fall into a poison-laced slumber, her eyes bore holes into the ceiling, and his thoughts banged loudly against his temple. The silence of the room seemed to only turn their avoidance tactics into a cacophony they couldn’t ignore.

“If you’re going to ask questions, I might as well tell you before we get back to Quantico.” She said finally, her sigh heavy and exhausted and she looked over at him, his brunette locks splaying over the pillow in waves, his facial hair scratching against the sheet when he flicked his head over to her too. 

Hazel had never been such a pretty colour than when they sat in silence for a moment, staring at one another, almost daring the other to speak first. He swallowed, his mouth watering at how she looked, tucked under the sheets, her body lax and soft under her pyjamas, her hands skimming over her stomach nervously.

“Is it because of the day in the elevator?” Spencer asked after a few minutes, breaths suddenly becoming difficult to regulate naturally unless he forced them to be, because he was so close to her under the covers, his entire body too long and gangly for just a twin bed, he could smell her shampoo and conditioning combo in full force. Her spearmint tongue rolled words around her mouth for a minute, dropping down to his Star Wars shirt he felt childish for wearing the minute he saw her looking at it.

“Kind of, he just wanted us to move so fast, it just kinda made me nervous, but I always thought being nervous was supposed to be good, you know?” She sighed, forgetting to breathe in between her splurge of words that had been building up inside her for weeks, “Like you said the feeling of excitement and fear are almost identical so I think I just convinced myself I was being dumb and I was being a bad person for not just giving him what he wanted. I’m supposed to love him, right? Being his girlfriend and all that,”

He had said that; because scientifically that was exactly correct. The hormones released during love and during fear were, down to their core, chemical matches, and it felt funny she’d remembered that fact considering she made him feel somewhere in between too. He knew she was special, just as much as he knew the idea of tainting her with his core terrified him. Like he secreted some kind of radiation that would ruin her if she got too close for too long. But he couldn’t help it. How do you stop yourself from wanting something good? It was just science. A Pavlovian response. 

“You’re not supposed to do anything. There’s no timeline for how you feel, and you can’t force yourself to feel something any quicker or stronger than you do,” He said, shaking his head when she bit her lip, her fingertips playing with one another ontop of the sheets.

“He wanted to know when I was ready to have…” She swallowed, her cheeks heating, “Intimacy with him. A-and it’s not like I’ve not done it before, I had a boyfriend in high school, but I just felt like with him…”

“He didn’t pressure you, did he?” Spencer asked, his brows furrowing as he felt a surge of annoyance flash through his blood that she had wound herself up so much just because of some guy who couldn’t keep it in his pants for a few months. 

Her eyes widened, taking in the storm brewing in that beautiful woodland gaze of his, and she shook her head quickly, “No, no, nothing like that. This was all on me, it was all just me being dumb,”

“You’re not being dumb just because some guy didn’t like the answer you gave,” He corrected, exhaling deeply and letting his frown drop, because he knew she hated when he did that, “Why didn’t you want to, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She shrugged, looking back up at the dusty lamp shade hanging from the ceiling, the cobwebs that smattered around the wooden panels.

“I don’t know, I just kind of never saw the two of us.. becoming intimate, you know?” She said, her tone sheepish like she was in confession and he was a priest sat on the other side of the divide. He looked over at her, scanning the outline of her face, but she seemed adamant on avoiding his gaze, because she knew she would spill everything the minute she looked at him. With Spencer, there were no secrets, and that was entirely the problem. 

Spencer’s lips pursed, thinking of exactly the right thing to say to such a delicate soul when she was laying herself hypothetically bare for him. 

“You don’t have to be intimate in a relationship if you don’t want to. No one who loves you should ever make you feel like there’s an expectation or like you owe them that,” Spencer explained softly, edging his pinky finger out the tiniest bit to catch the back of her hand that now lay flat on the bed, her head turning up to meet his round forest hues that looked down at her with more softness than he’d felt in a long time. 

He wished he could stay here with her forever. In the quiet of this room, they were just the two of them, not Doctor Reid and the Special Agent he had a huge hopeless crush on that was years his junior and thought she could fix everything wrong with the world. 

“I know,” She sighs, and his heart caught in his throat when her pinky raises up to meet his own, the tips of their fingers brushing against one another like they were meeting each other for a slow dance. He had touched her many times before, but there was something illicit about this time. Like their skin had become oppositely charged and was pulling the other one in with an electric crackle, “He never pressured me but I felt like I could have tried harder to want it.”

“If you don’t want it, you don’t ever have to have it. A lot of people reach your age when your frontal cortex is developed and realise they might be asexual, it’s not a bad thing-” He tried reassuring her, but she was quick to shake her head again, bashfully ripping her eyes away from him to look at their caressing fingertips. 

“No, no. It’s not that I never want to be intimate ever, I just never really felt comfortable around him enough to let myself want it. Like I couldn’t just be me with him, I was just being what he wanted me to be. Like he never really knew the real me,” She explained, and she rolled over onto her side to face him, her other finger coming up to absentmindedly trace over the prominent vein that ran up his arm, stopping just below where his old needle scars were at the crook of his elbow. If she saw them, she didn’t say a word, but Spencer felt like she was trailing a flame over his skin. He thought if she took his manhood in her hand she’d probably get the exact same response from him, because with every invisible swirl and line she drew over his skin, he felt a heat ripping through his loins. “Does that make sense? Like I didn’t think he would like the ikky parts of me so I ended up putting on a charade,” 

“Y-yeah,” He replied, and his stammer made her look up, eyes wide and innocent as she watched him all but falling apart under a single fingertip. God he was pathetic. Mid thirties and nearly finishing in his boxers over a pretty girl touching his arm. Only it wasn’t just a pretty girl. It was her. His sunshine girl. “But I don’t think you have any ikky parts, to be honest,”

Her eyes deepened into pools of awe, and he watched her trail a glance down his nose to his mouth vulnerably.

“Spencer, you’re being too kind,” She whispered, and he swore his chest lurched.

He cleared his throat, and moved to roll over towards her too, hoping to disperse some of the energy that was clogging between them, only for it to become dialled to a hundred, trapping them in a tiny box where they were looking at one another, laying on the bed they were being forced to share and almost holding hands, because committing to full thing was scary like they were ten years old in a playground. 

“Of course that makes sense. It’s much healthier to form intimate relationships with people we trust and feel safe with than rushing into things,” Spencer tried to breeze past the tension, but her breath was fanning over his face, almost tripping him over his words, because she was still looking at him like he knew all the answers. Because he usually did. Except for this time. This time, he felt like he was walking blind towards his point, “Not that one night stands should be shamed or anything, but it’s much better to engage in sexual intercourse with someone when it feels right,”

She breathed out deeply, licking her lips, and her finger movements stopped. 

“So it’s just a when you know, you know, kind of thing?” She asked, her brows pulling together in a saddened frown, “I’m not, like, broken or anything?” 

He sat up on his elbow, grabbing her wrist tight enough she would listen the minute he said it to her, because he never wanted to hear her say that again, “There is nothing wrong with you, you hear me?” She looked up at him with glassy eyes, wide and shocked to see him so desperately insistent over her, “You feeling secure is more important than any guy out there, no matter how nice they are, got it?” 

She nodded after a beat, because she thought her brain might have stopped working with the way he was leaned over her, looking down at her with a glimmer of the harshness he’d been drowning in when she first met him. These days he seemed to have mellowed out the tiniest bit, except the straightforward tone he held with everyone else who wasn’t her, or the general heavy handedness he didn’t seem to realise he was capable of. Like in the way his warm, rough hands gripped the skin of her wrist, his expression somewhat frustrated though not with her as he looked down at where she was half beneath him.

“Spence?” She whispered into the electricity between them, her eyes trailing over his nose again and ghosting over his half attempt at facial hair. They were just whisps, but they suited him embarrassingly well. He didn’t reply, just stared at her to wait for her response, “I feel safe with you, you know that?” 

He swore his heart was thumping out of his chest. She looked divine under his hand, sweet like a pudding begging him to taste, and he couldn’t help it when his thumb trailed up the side of her jaw, brushing just under her bottom lip, and she seemed to press herself further into his touch, a cat being scratched behind velvet ears.

“You’d tell me if you ever wanted me to stop, wouldn’t you?” He murmured, gooseflesh crawling up his arm when she nodded, her eyes boring holes into his soul when she looked up at him like that.  

“Always,” She answered honestly, blinking at him once, twice, before she took a deep breath for courage, “But what if I never wanted you to stop?”

Spencer nearly moaned when he crashed their lips together, and he heard her squeak in delight beneath him, his large hand cupping her jaw, weaving into her hair, tugging her closer. She felt like her was consuming her whole, and she had no qualms about it, not when she reached a hand up to his shoulder and tugged him even more on top of her, the weight of him on her chest comforting and achingly right. 

He pulled away to breathe for a moment, but she was chasing his lips, her touch maddening and he swore his brain switched off when she ran a hand up his spine, slipping under his shirt and tracing over every one of his vertebrae making him shiver. Her lips were stronger than any craving he had ever felt, the instant dopamine rush embarrassing for a man of his age, so hardened by the world reduced to putty, ready to beg for more because now he’d had a taste of her ambrosia, he didn’t think he could ever think straight again. A man sent crazy by forbidden wine.

He pushed her hair away from her face, using his long fingers to wrap around the back of her head and pull her impossibly closer to him, his other arm skirting down to her clothed waist and pressing their bodies together. She whined in his mouth, and Spencer thought he could finally die happy.

He pulled away to let her catch a gasp, her fingers carding through his long, brown curls, scratching against his scalp in a way that drew a low growl from his throat. He needed more, needed her, more than the air he gulped down ravenously and he found himself kissing at her soft neck, her head tipped back in bliss as he kissed every inch he could.

“The reason I didn’t want it with Taylor,” She choked between manic breaths, her hands holding onto him so tight he knew she didn’t have any intention of asking him to stop, “Was because it didn’t feel like this,”

Spencer wove their fingers together, pushing her hand above her head as the other came up to tilt her face towards him, looking into her bleary eyes for a second, their noses ghosting past one another, her mint breath delicious on his lips.

“It never feels like this, baby,” He whispered, their foreheads pressing together before he gave into her again and pressed his lips against hers so hard she whimpered into his mouth.

And she believed him.

--

[codtrashsammy]

This is... love? (Simon Riley x Reader)

- SMUT SMUT SMUT - MDNI MDNI MDNI -

First time writing smut in a loooong time, so bare with me. Had an idea and ran with it. I hope you like it tho!

Simon Riley can fuck. But what about the first time you make love? Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader/You

Warnings: crying during sex (not the bad kind tho, promise), explicit sex, p in v, praise (heavy heavy like on god), gentle love making <3 bc our boy can fuck, but what about other stuff too?!

Of course, you’ve fucked. Simon has been your boyfriend for 3 years now, you’re definitely comfortable to explore that part of your relationship now.

Simon has had you bent over every piece of furniture in your flat, has had you in every bed in your house, in the shower, on the floor, a couple of times on the balcony even. He’s had you pinned to walls in sketchy bar bathrooms, he’s had you in the back of his nice looking truck, the bed of that same truck- fuckin’ everywhere. That’s all it’s been, it’s been fucking. Rough, fast- always fucking godly, of course, but it’s primal. Animalistic, and you love it- you truly do love it. But this time you want to do things different. You want to slow it down, you want to fucking relish in the man you’re lucky to call your own. You don’t want to fuck, you want to make love to him. Simon has always been… not exactly averse to your softer affections, as he’s always a very willing participant, but you sometimes notice he seems… overwhelmed. Like he can’t quite handle the raw, genuine emotion behind a soft, tender, lingering touch. His cheeks heat up, he gets this certain look in his eyes, and while he’s never been mean about it- he backs away from it. He shies away from it. 

You’ve tried talking to him about it- you’ve tried many, many times to bring it up to him. And yet the bastard always has a way to switch up the conversation, to change things around, to slip past the topic so easily- he can spin straw into gold with that mouth of his.

So, you’ve decided to take matters into your own hands.

You’re laying in bed, cuddled right up to him, your leg thrown over his hips and an arm thrown over his chest while you lay on your side, your head nestled perfectly in the crook of his arm. Simon’s hand idly plays with the ends of your hair, his arm wrapped around you, simply holding you to him as if to make sure you don’t slip away. 

Simon is seemingly lost in thought, eyes closed and body more or less relaxed- as relaxed as Simon can be when the man is always seemingly on alert to every little sound. 

“Hey, Si,” You murmur out, your fingers idly tracing random shapes against the fabric of his shirt. He hums to let you know he’s heard you, but otherwise doesn’t really react. Fuck, you love this man. You love every inch of him, everything about him. You even love that he always leaves the toilet seat up (you swear he does it out of spite) because you know you’d miss it if he wasn’t around to keep doing it.

“Can I try something?” You ask, tone soft and relaxed, casual. Not at all portraying the thoughts in your head, your secret little ‘mastermind’ plan. 

“Tha’s quite vague, ain’t it, love?” Simon grumbles out, voice low as if to match the atmosphere of simple peace and quiet. “Hmm…” You trail off, a playful smile growing on your face- not that he’s looking to see it, “I think it’s pretty simple. Either yes or no.” You quip with a nod, moving to lean up, resting your weight on your elbows so you can look down at him with a soft, gentle smile. And of course at feeling you move, his arm moves from around your shoulders to around your waist- always touching you, never wanting you far when he’s finally home. (You don’t realize home is you- but of course he’s never quite told you that). Simon’s eyes open at your movement, too. Pretty brown eyes, half lidded in his more-or-less relaxed state as he looks up to meet your gaze, his gaze soft in the way it only ever is for you- his mask resting along the nightstand by the bed. There if he needs it- but it’s rarely needed with you around. A warm light, easily able to lighten up even the darkest depths of his mind to keep his demons at bay.

“....yes?” Simon offers after a few moments of contemplation, a curious look in his own eyes as they scan over your face- looking for a hint of what possible fuckery you could be up to at this point. Your soft smile stretches out into a soft grin as you lean down, pressing your lips to Simon's and letting your eyes flutter shut. One of your hands come up, tracing softly up his chest, up his throat, along his jaw before settling to cup his cheek.

You can feel his breath hitch the slightest bit at the soft touch, the lingering touch. This is the kind of kiss that usually overwhelms him, but maybe he’s in a good mood tonight. Your thumb softly caresses his cheek while your tongues intertwine, and you can feel the moment Simon tries to speed it up.

You pull away, eyes still closed, your lips brushing against his as you speak, “No, no,”

And you promptly place your lips back against his own, not giving him time to start spitting his bullshit about how he’s going to make you see stars if you don’t stop teasing him- because that’s not the goal here. 

You shift your body, moving to straddle Simon's hips (a feat in its own right), keeping one hand cupping his cheek while the other moves to the hem of his shirt, slowly running over the skin above the waistband of his pajama pants, before delving under the fabric and feeling the softness of his tummy, touch so soft and gentle, so loving against his body.

Simon doesn’t know what to think, his own hands seeming to hesitate before they come to rest along your thighs, squeezing the fat there a bit roughly- but that’s okay, you can teach him. 

“Love your hands, Si,” You murmur as you finally pull away from the kiss, only to trail kisses down his jawline, slow and soft, occasionally nipping at the skin.

Simon let's out a grunt, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs before moving to cup your ass, pushing your body to force your clothed cunt to grind against his already hard cock, and a breathy moan leaves your lips from the stimulation- but damn it, you’re doing this your way this time.

“I’ll stop,” You warn, voice still soft, but there's… an edge to it for once, one stating that you really will.

A soft groan leaves Simon's lips, along with a scoff at the absolute audacity of you, “Love,” Simon says, in warning more than anything. 

“I don’t wanna hear it,” You’re quick to say, before leaning back to meet his pretty, brown-eyed gaze, your hands moving to lift his shirt which he eagerly enough helps with, throwing the fabric away and down to the floor like it was the very thing that killed his family.

…a bit much, but you can understand his eagerness.

“You’re so beautiful, Simon,” You murmur out, eyes filled with nothing but adoration as you trail your hands across the familiar expanse of his chest, fingers running through his chest hair, thumbs brushing over his nipples before trailing down his sides. Your palms run over the subtle softness of his belly, where you know there is muscle hidden underneath.

A hiss leaves Simon's lips, and you can feel his cock twitch from where you’re perched in his lap. “Bloody ‘ell, love, the fuck ya doin?” Simon mutters, hands moving to grab your hips.

“Jus’ be good for me, yeah?” You murmur out, a soft, adoring smile on your face as you finally look up to meet his gaze.

The sight alone is enough to make you pause slightly. He’s not like this when you’re fucking- and you don’t even have his dick in you yet! His cheeks are flushed, not from exertion, he’s just flustered, his bottom lip between his teeth, brows pinched together with pretty glossy eyes. Almost like he could cry- but not quite. 

“You’re always so good for me, Si,” You murmur, grinding your hips against his own and letting out another breathy moan at the feeling, his hands tightening their grip of your hips in response. Just one look and you can tell he’s overwhelmed already- or at the very least getting there. But he hasn’t once told you to stop- he’s simply tried speeding you up, which you have no interest in. Not this time.

You grab his hands, kissing each of his knuckles before slowly dragging them underneath your own shirt, placing his palms against your breasts, his thumbs already swiping at your nipples, at the already peaked buds there. “Always takin’ such good care of me, my love,” You praise, and you reward him with another slow grind, beginning to set such a slow, but lovely pace, just enough friction to make you want more- but that’s the goal. A slow build, no rush, no desperation, just… slow. Loving. Gentle. Tender. Simon visibly gulps, his hands squeezing the flesh of your tits with a groan before he’s tugging your shirt off and adding it to the growing pile on the floor. He tries to buck his hips, tries to get your movements to speed up- but you simply lift up, ending the contact altogether, and send him a pointed look.

“Do ya not want me to fuck ya, love? What’s all this then?” Simon says with a huff, eyes narrowing slightly as they meet your own. Anyone else would say he’s frustrated- and yeah, partly he is. But you know your Simon, you can see that glossiness to his eyes, can see the slightest twitch of his brow- he’s overwhelmed- he’s not sure how to handle this, the softness, the gentleness. Simon likes to say he can’t be soft, can’t be gentle, can’t be loving. But it’s been 3 years with this man- you know he can. He just needs to be taught- it’s simply something he’s never had before, it’s not like he was born with the knowledge. “No,” You answer with a pleased, breathy sigh, resting your hips back against his own and beginning that slow grind once more, feeling his cock twitch at the action. “Don’t wanna fuck, Si. Jus’ be good for me, baby. Jus’ sit here, look pretty for me. Always so good for me. Jus’ let me love you, sweet boy,” You murmur out, eyes meeting his own and holding their gaze.

You trail your hands down his arms along his shoulders and collar bones, quite literally loving every inch of his skin.

Simon’s cheeks get hotter, the look he gives you is entirely overwhelmed, spooked even. Like the thought of being loved is absolutely horrifying alone.

“Be good? Kinda kinky, innit?” Simon mumbles out in response, looking at you with a quirked brow.

But you don’t stop. And he doesn’t stop you.

Clothes continue to fly off, positions change, but somehow you manage to remain in full control for once. And he lets you. Sure, you have to correct him at times, have to remind him to slow down, all with soft smiles and gentle praise- and he eats it up like a starving hound.

Even now, as moans and breathy praise leaves your lips, Simon being vocal, a rarity on it’s own, at least to this extent.

“Feel s’ good around me, love, fuck, so good,” He fucking babbles, his cock dragging along the walls of your drooling cunt at a slow, but steady pace. You’re underneath him now- stereotypical missionary- but it’s divine.

You pull Simon’s head down, pressing his forehead against your own, your legs wrapped loosely around his hips as his cock drags deliciously over all those sweet spots inside, the soft mound above his cock pressing against your clit with every. Single. Thrust.

It’s a slow build up, so slow, and while he focuses on clenching his fists into the sheets above your head, resting on his elbows on either side of it, you focus on touching him, praising him.

“Always so good to me, baby,” You practically purr the words.

“I love you so much, Si, so much,” You say, breathless as your back arches, forehead pressed to his and eyes closed in bliss of the slow building pleasure.

“Like you were made jus’ for me, sweet boy,” Your hands move to wrap around his shoulders, one of them tangling in his hair.

“Love how you make me feel, Simon,” You moan out, legs tightening their grip around his hips.

If your eyes weren’t closed, you’d see how Simon is looking at you right now. Simon is looking at you like you’re a fucking goddess… but the vision is blurry, from the pure overwhelming, unshed tears in his eyes. God, he’s pathetic, isn’t he? Crying? During sex? But he can’t even entertain the thought- thoughtful praise continuing to spill from your lips as he continues his slow, languid, deep thrusts. 

He focuses on the feeling, on the way your words are soothing parts of him he didn’t care to recognize were broken, he focuses on the way your hands trail across his skin so fucking lovingly- as if he’s actually worth something. As if he’s someone and not a monster. As if he doesn’t have hundreds of lives taken by the very hands you praise for touching you.

No- no, none of that matters right now, as for the first time in his fucking life Simon Riley doesn’t fuck- he makes love. 

“God- g-gonna make me cum, Simon- fuck- love the way you make me cum-” You whimper out, back arching into him and fuck, Simon can’t take it anymore.

Simon doesn’t know what to think. Sure, the pleasure is mind-numbing, your pussy always feels so fucking good when it’s wrapped around his cock like this, but it’s damn near tripled by the pure feelings you’re forcing him to feel. The way his chest burns, but it’s so good- he can fucking feel the love you have for him, the way you hold him in your heart, the way you think of him as though he put the very stars in the sky for you and you alone. And he would- fuck he absolutely would. He’d give you the world should you ask for it- fuck he loves you, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

He doesn’t speed up- he wants the slower build up, too, doesn’t want to rush it, but he’s going to shatter if more praise leaves your lips so he presses down, slotting his mouth against your own, a minor distraction really.

You can feel the wetness to his cheeks.

You know it’s not sweat.

Your hands move to cup his cheeks so softly, so lovingly, so gently. You moan into his mouth as the pleasure builds until that band finally fucking snaps, and you’re on cloud nine.

Simon buries his head in the crook of your neck, his hot, thick cum shooting ropes into you as your cunt squeezes his cock like a vice, truly milking him for all he’s worth.

You’re both panting, but Simon's head stays hidden- you know why, you can feel the tears against your neck, but you don’t say anything.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you come down from your high, nuzzling your cheek against the top of his head.

“Love you so much,” You whisper out, running a hand through his hair, still slightly breathless.

You can feel Simon place the softest kiss to your neck, arms squeezing you almost too tightly, but you don’t say anything. 

You know your Simon. He’s not a monster. He’s not a killing machine. He’s a man- your man. Simon’s not unlovable, he’s not broken. He’s not stupid for simply not knowing. He’s not stupid for simply needing to be taught.

And you love him. Gods, do you love him. You’ll teach him. You’ll teach him it’s okay, he’s safe here, in your arms. He’s safe to love, to cry, to breakdown, he’s safe to get the very things he’s never had- and you’ll give them willingly.

You don’t know how long you stay like that. His now soft cock still buried in your cunt, his tears have subsided awhile ago, but he’s still unwilling to move from his spot- not that you’re complaining. 

It’s so quiet you barely even hear it, but fuck, you’re so glad you did.

“Love ya,” Simon mumbles against your skin, his voice so quiet, hoarse and rough. But so very soft, so very gentle. Yeah. Simon Riley can fuck like a god. But Simon Riley is learning how to love you fully, how to make love to you fully- and he wouldn’t change a thing. Neither would you.

[iicarused]

##let us adore you

jeff the killer x reader / eyeless jack x reader / ticci toby x reader / UNEDITED

synopsis: general headcanons in which how you met them

beware: DARK THEMES / yandere traits, stalking, implied manipulation, mentions of murder &&* gore //: if there is any that i missed, please let me know !

envelope from the author: masky, hoodie, and kate chaser will be pt 2 of this:)

JEFF THE KILLER

he met you at a convenience store, how funny. this man planned on killing the cashier, take the cash and leave a meal for his cannibal friend out back, then hop to the next town over. yet, you walked through the aisles of the store at the dark of the night. do you know what kind of creeps are out here at this hour?

he waited for you to leave before he got the job done. you should feel relieved, you should feel like the most luckiest person in the world and it’s because he spared you.

“no, i’m staying back.” he would tell his eyeless friend. “it’s my business to know and for you to fuck off,” he’d argue. “i have a… dilemma.” jeff confessed. for someone he only caught a glimpse of, for a voice he only heard a faint whisper from, he didn’t know whether to stay just for you or to leave while he can.

you were a plague in his mind, because he searched for you. it took three days at most to finally find the dorms you stayed in, and another three to know your roommates schedule. everyone in the area was shaken from the murder, everything including you. but why?

he could not understand why you would lock your windows and double check if the door was locked. both of you lived in a secured building where security littered the grounds and constantly checked ID. jeff would know, he stole a carbon copy of himself (in terms of dressing style) just to make sure of your safety on campus.

“hey, watch it!” jeff barked at the random who sped by you. he fixed his mask and came to your aid, a gloved hand coming over yours to help you up from the grass.

“oh, they’re probably just late to class,” you breathed. “it’s fine, but thank you.”

through the thin lens of his sunglasses, jeff drank in your appearance. “they could’ve bumped you on to the curb side — it really ain’t, sweetheart.” you smell great by the way.

“but they didn’t.” you finally looked at him and smiled. “are you a med student?”

you’re so sweet. so pure, and he wanted to corrupt that. he wanted to see those pretty doe eyes flutter up at him like that again, for the sweetness behind your gaze was enough for him to melt. he wants you, no, he needs you.

EYELESS JACK

you were a curious one, a little too curious in this scenario. a detective in a case of which you were to figure out why bodies were missing organs — or why people were waking up with soreness to their abdomen to only find a stitched up wound.

you took this case as an eager detective who wanted to solve the biggest mystery of north america — but you felt as if you just signed your life away. in the next eight victims that fell to their demise, you made notes of when and where it occurred. it would not be until a night after talking with the sheriff and little too much rum, you found something.

to your horror, the first letter of every street spelled something. two words that nearly sent you running if it weren’t for something stopping you from leaving

“found you.” his voice was a gentle whisper, and almost incoherent if it weren’t for the dead silence in the room. you dared not turn but you felt if you didn’t, it would come closer.

the pistol is on your desk and you’re ready to make a ruckus for anyone on the street to hear. “what? was this just some silly little game for you to show me you could spell?” there were only two regrets you had in your entire life.

the first regret was that you wished you never lied to your mother of who broke the plate that was on the floor. the second regret was turning around and facing a being that was too intricate for you to understand.

“i like playing with my food.” he replied before lunging at you.

you made it out alive — but at the cost of remembering how those sockets were nothing but a void. the liquid that cried on to your face when he was on top of you, and that second, you took your pen and stabbed his side. — but that encounter made you more determined than before

this case turned into a game of cat and mouse, and neither of you know who is cat or who is the mouse. chasing each other became a source of entertainment, and conversations ensued between physical fights

he never intended on killing you, oh no. you were too… fun. the chatting, the hunting each other, the thrill of it all made him go crazy. with time, maybe he can finally sink his teeth into your skin without the murder aspect. he just wants to taste you.

TICCI TOBY

your name appeared on the file of people to “take care of.” why? he doesn’t know and quite frankly, he cannot care. you were just another name on the list that needed to be gone.

he would not lie that it took him ages to find you. the town you were supposedly at was a total flunk, and when he told the boss, he was told to figure it out. at this rate, he wanted you gone for the sake of his own sanity. yet, after a month and hopping two towns, he finally found you.

everything he had on file sprouted nothing but lies because you were a doll, quiet literally if he fixated on your skin. he watched the way you moved and the way you made it seem effortless to walk on two feet. he often tripped over his when gawking over you. your scent is just how he imagined it when he peered over your sleeping form.

you made him forget why he was in search of you in the first place. toby fantasized a lot about you: your curves, your voice, your walk, your life. he often daydreamed of it when watching from afar, especially when you went through mundane tasks such as grocery shopping. the only time he remembered why he was told to end you was when he questioned why you were such a threat.

turns out you were friends of a friend who was a foe to his boss — the eyeless man. he made it no secret when in turn he went to find jack, but he didn’t expect to meet you so soon! oh, this is way too soon, how does he look? is it okay, this setting isn’t the right place, i mean, you were supposed to be

“toby? just toby? that isn’t quiet threatening for a man like that, isn’t it?” you werent speaking towards him, but instead asking jack who snorted in return.

you were a prize on the shelf, and toby wanted to keep you behind glass doors. “listen — pal, friend — how about we make a deal.”

while jack couldn’t see it, your gaze was locked with toby’s the entire time. there was something behind them, something that you couldn’t quite place. you weren’t sure whether if it was a good or bad thing considering the work you found yourself in.

“i give you a useful warning from a boss, and i... tag a long sometimes.”

[lovebugism]

thigh riding Carmy because he isn't paying attention to you please please please 😭

summary: carmy misses date night and finds a way to work and make you feel good at the same time (2.2k)

pairing: carmy berzatto / f!reader

contents: established relationship, thigh riding, public setting (ish), dirty talk, smut with sprinkles of fluff 18+

Carmy’s office is a windowless concrete cage of chaos. There are a million papers stacked and scattered across his desk, half-hidden beneath books that are flipped open to random pages. You’re not sure how he’s keeping up with any of it. Though, to be fair, you’ve never been able to completely understand his mind.

You know him better than anyone else, but he’s still such a mystery to you sometimes — like a language you can read perfectly but can’t speak all the way. 

You don’t know why he runs himself aground with work even though it kills him, even though he swears the enormity of his desire brings him back to life again. You just know to try and save the drowning man from himself from time to time, and not to let him strangle you with his panic in the process.

“Bear?” you call gently into the amber-lit office, knuckles rapping against the opened door. “You ready?”

Sitting slouched over his desk, you can hear the faint tap tap tapping of his pen against the paper, an anxious tick for his ever-fidgeting fingers. “No. Not— Not yet, baby. I’m fuckin’— I’m drowning in this paperwork right now.”

He lifts his heavy head from his tattooed hand and glances at you over his shoulder. The sight of you makes his breath catch — leaning against the doorframe, all pretty in the lamplight, wearing the dress he bought you.

The deep emerald silk drips over your body like summer rain. It dips low at your chest and flows just above your knees, fitting you like a total dream.

Carmy, for a flicker of a moment, forgets to be anxious. 

While his eyes dart over your form, the rest of the world disappears — it could be entirely falling apart for all he knows, but all he can see now is you. Your stormy eyes, your soft skin, and your quiet sensuality. Your ruby lips, your cheeks like wine, and your gentle voice. 

His mouth falls agape to say words he can’t make out. His ocean eyes go wide, glimmering a deeper blue in the low light — which casts dark shadows over the sharp edges of his face. His gaze is like the sea. You feel yourself drowning in it accordingly.

“It can’t wait?” you press gently, lifting yourself from the doorframe and sauntering slowly towards him. Closing the door behind you, you drop your chin to your chest and flash the boy a sheepish smile. “All the restaurants are gonna close soon.” 

Carmy huffs. He knew better than to plan a date. He’s far too busy — or, rather, he doesn’t allow himself to be anything other than busy because there’s a voice inside him that just won’t be still. Working himself to death was an art he did exceptionally well, which hadn’t bothered him so much until he met you.

“I gotta get this done, babe,” he answers sympathetically, tilting his chin to keep his eyes locked with yours as you near him.

Your familiar scent sets the stagnant air aglow. The warmth of your perfume cradles his senses when you loom beside him. Your hand rises to his shoulder, fingers fidgeting with the swathe of curls at the nape of his neck. His wide palm smooths over your hip — softly calloused against the satiny fabric. 

You smile softly down at him. “So I got all pretty for nothin’?” you tease with a scrunched nose.

“Well, you got all pretty for me, actually,” Carmy corrects.

His pink lips curl in a faint smirk. Your grin widens tenfold. The subtle act of possessiveness, coupled with the strong hand on your waist, makes your chest sparkle. 

“Yeah, I did,” you hum proudly, bending at the waist to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. He tastes fleetingly of nicotine and sweet plum wine — a maddening concoction.

You rise to full height again. Carmy pats your hip twice before his fingers fall away. He turns back to his desk, and you feel half-invisible again. It’s hardly his fault, though. There was something deeply intense about his stone-blue eyes. You feel strangely held when he looks at you, left inevitably mourning every time he turns away.

His pen darts across the gridded page in chicken scratch you can’t make out, worsened by his wrist smudging the ink. Your arms wrap loosely around his neck. You bury your nose in his chestnut curls and inhale the familiar scent of grill smoke and cedarwood. 

“You know I don’t care actually about going out, right?” you mumble there.

Carmy hums, half-distracted. “Mhm.”

“Just wanna spend time with you… Don’t care what we’re doing…”

You press a kiss to his temple. He leans instinctively into your touch. “Well, I’ll make you the best damn PB&J Chicago’s ever seen when we get back home, alright?” he muses with a quiet smile. “How’s that sound?”

“I’m holding you to that, Bear,” you say, grinning into his curls.

“I’m countin’ on it.” Carmy chuckles and lifts his free hand to squeeze your wrist. His touch slips away soon after when he turns back to his work. 

Quiet returns, heavy and deafening, filled only by the distant clanging of pots from stragglers in the kitchen. It makes you strikingly aware of yourself — of the space you’re filling in this tiny office, and the distracting weight of your arms around his neck. Feeling more like a burden, you clear your throat and pull away.

“I’m, uh— I’m gonna see if Richie left yet. Maybe he’ll let me bum a smoke or something.”

Carmy mourns your warmth the second you’re gone. He spins in his swivel chair to face you, laughing to cover up his ache. “What happened to us spending time together?”

He knows how you think. You think he gets so involved in his work that he doesn’t spare you a single thought. But really, he’s so strongly devoted to you that it feels like the emotion could rip him open from the inside.

You squint. “Watching you sign a bunch of paperwork while you pretend I’m not here is not spending time together,” you argue, laughing despite yourself.

“Don’t go. C’mon,” Carmy pleads, very distantly begging. He tilts his head and blinks at you with wide, pleading eyes. “Come sit,” he tells you.

“Sit where?” you scoff.

“In my lap.”

“I’ll squish you,” you insist, giggling.

“Shut up and sit down,” he commands, still playful but leaving little room for argument. His wide palms smooth slowly up and down his denim-clad thighs. Your heart lurches into your throat.

You walk the short distance to him with a huff of feigned annoyance, dress swishing around your knees. Carmy pushes away from his desk to give you space to sit. You take a seat on his lap, just like he asked you to, but he stops you with a pair of strong hands grasping your hips.

“Not like that,” he murmurs.

Your brows furrow in response. “What do you mean?”

“On my thigh,” Carmy corrects, swatting playfully at your clothed hip. “C’mon. Sit right.”

You rise slowly, with a hesitant squint in your eyes. “What are you playing at, Bear?” you wonder lowly, legs spread slightly to welcome his thigh between them.

Carmy bounces his shoulder in a lazy shrug. His tattooed hands creep up the hem of your dress to urge you down onto his lap — the proper way. “You’re the one always sayin’ I’m too busy for you, right?” he responds, hardly expecting a real answer, as he helps you straddle one of his thighs.

The angle is awkward. The old chair leaves little room for the both of you. You’re forced to keep one leg on the ground while the other bends at the knee between his legs. You hold tight to his shoulders, trusting him to keep you steady. Your dress bunches at your hips in the meanwhile. Carmy raises his thigh until it’s flush against your clothed cunt. 

Your breath catches, and he smirks.

“So… You’re gonna cum on my thigh,” he continues casually. “…And after that, we’ll go home, I’ll fuck you like you need, and then I’ll run you a bath… How’s that sound?”

Your stomach swirls with a familiar warmth — which you can feel pooling in your panties now. “What about the PB&J?” you joke in a quiet voice that trembles only slightly.

Carmy scoffs a faint laugh. “After the bath.”

“What about in the bath?”

“Whatever you want,” he assures with a smile. “You just gotta ride me first.”

The lighthearted air turns bone-crushingly sensual in a flicker of a moment. His light eyes pierce you mercilessly, peering into the depths of your soul. You melt for him, going uncharacteristically soft and subservient, just how he likes.

Carmy helps you with a few passes over his thigh. You’re obviously unsure, and he can tell by your hesitant movements. His free hand squeezes your hip, urging you up his leg and down again, until you find your own rhythm. Then he turns back to his work and tries to focus. The soft sound of your breathy moans entwines with the scribbling of his pen.

You rock your hips in measured thrusts, trying to find the proper pace. The delicate fabric of your panties ruts along the rough denim of his jeans — catching your clit perfectly when you buck your hips just right. Lightning strikes down your spine, then. Both alleviating the ache between your thighs and creating a new one all at once. 

Your breath hitches. Pitiful whimpers sound in your throat instead. You bury them all in Carmy’s neck as you hide your face in his shoulder, with your warm cheek pressed to his ear and your fingers balling his shirt in your fists.

There was something foreignly erotic about all this. Being in Carmy’s office, the door unlocked, with Syd and Richie meandering elsewhere in the kitchen. The fear of being caught made your movements quick. Careless. Wild. 

And there was something about Carmy, too. The way he’s got you getting yourself off, with little help from the boy himself, while he busies himself with paperwork. You can hear him scribbling away still, flitting through papers with the hand not holding you. All while you hump his thigh, so desperate for attention. It’s pathetic. And something about it made you feel good.

Your pretty whimpers turn into deeper, breathier moans. Carmy smiles to himself. He can feel the warmth of your cunt despite the layers between you. It makes him wonder if you’ve left a stain on the denim. He prays you’ve left a stain on the denim — wants the mark of your honey stamped there forever.

“You close?” he murmurs when he notices your legs starting to tremble.

You bury a whine in his neck. “Fuck, Bear—”

“Hey,” he hums, pulling away from his paperwork for the first time in several minutes to look at you. 

His long fingers rise from your hip and curl into your hair. He tugs softly at the strands to urge your head back so he can admire his work. Your eyes are lidded and glassy, your lips swollen and parted — already fucked-out, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“I asked if you were close,” he repeats, unsmiling.

“Yes,” you manage through a whimper.

His grip on your hair slackens. His touch returns to your hip, encouraging your rapid movements. His pink lips quirk in the faintest hint of a smile. “Good,” he praises. “Good girl. Keep going.”

You bury your face in his neck again, lips curling around your teeth to stifle the moans swelling there. Your hips lose their rhythm as the threat of your orgasm grows. Your clit pounds like a second heartbeat. You briefly wonder if Carmy can feel it, and the thought alone sends you reeling.

“Carmy,” you keen, voice wavering. “I’m gonna cum.”

You feel him nod against you. He licks his lips and turns his head. His nose squishes your temple; his wet mouth brushes your ear. 

“Do it, then. C’mon,” he mumbles against you, coaxing you closer towards your pleasure — not because he’s a pro at the whole dirty-talking thing, but because he knows how much you like it. “Be a good girl and cum on my thigh. Come on.”

You last two more passes up and down his lap before you tense on top of him. Your hips still as you whimper into his shoulder, shuddering hard when your orgasm washes over you.

“Atta girl,” Carmy praises. “Keep cumming for me.”

He drops his pen and finally turns away from his work. He grips your hips with both hands and works you the rest of the way through your orgasm. You let him, for a few agonizing moments, until your high fades and leaves you achingly sensitive.

You inhale sharply through your nose and reach suddenly for his wrists. “No more,” you plead, then exhale a breathy chuckle.

When you part from his neck, Carmy ducks his head to catch your averted gaze. His wide eyes dart over your pleasure-stricken features. “You good?” he wonders. His words have lost any hint of sensuality. He’s always serious about checking in on you.

You nod and swallow hard. “’M good,” you promise, then freeze when your knee nudges his half-hard cock. “Are you good?” you parrot.

Carmy scoffs a breathy chuckle. “I’m almost done here— go bum a smoke from Richie, alright? I’ll out in a second.” 

He kisses you softly. A chaste kiss that’s perhaps too innocuous for such a honeyed moment. You rise on tired legs, and he swats playfully at your side. “How’s that for spending time together, huh?” he calls over his shoulder as you wrench open the office door.

“You’re an idiot, Bear.”

[mehiwilldoitlater]

When you were taken by your original world and sent into some kind of ancient China, full of demons and monsters, you weren't exactly sure why you were supposed to assist the "Destined one." Damn, you didn't even know how this.

When you find out that this destiny one was some kind of successor of Sun Wukong, saying that you were surprised was a joke.

His eyes scrutinized you; they were dark with a tint of gold when the light stricked them. He silently circled you, creating some distance between you, himself, and the other monkeys, curious about the mortals that presented themselves on their mountain.

Every time you tried to keep some distance, he was ready to close it enough to never leave his sight. What a strange situation, and what strange creature was sent to him just at the dawn of his journey.

The stories portrayed Wukong, as the name says, as a monkey kind of guy: cheerful, ready to make some jokes, who liked to make fun of people and laugh. And yet, the destined one was nothing like this trope.

He was composed, serious, and always straight forward. It was like he decided to expel every fun side from him in order to fulfill his duty.

Despite that, he showed more side to you: he was caring, trying to understand your confusion and fear while in a new world, always remembering to keep your peace while walking to make sure that you didn't get lost around. He was your protector, always ready to strike at every danger, and a good friend in the moment of agony.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't cry for these things, but... I'm sorry, so sorry."

You missed home. You never could believe yourself, but you missed your monothone and unsavory life. You missed waking up, going to walk, listening to endless hours of your boss rumbling—you missed even the crappy food of the cafeteria!

Everything seems so far away, without hope of reaching it. And you felt like trash because he was the one that was there to listen. You felt ashame, ashame of the fact that you were there complaining about what you lost while he was there fighting for both of you. You tried to cover your eyes, holding your breath to calm down, but nothing worked at all.

A stream of tears keeps on crashing down, hiccups escaping your lungs without stop.

Then, you felt his arms—two pairs of strong and soft arms, protecting your now vulnerable state from everything and everyone. His tail followed his gesture, keeping you in place and warm—so warm.

"Please." His high peech voice is now reduced to a whisper. "Don't hold it. Don't hold the pain. I can't see you like this. Please, whatever cloud your heart, speak to me."

Soon, you both became inseparable. You followed him like a shadow, carrying pills and balms, making plans with him for your next move. Damn, even Bajie couldn't believe his eyes when he saw you behind the monkey, a little afraid of the newcomer of the group.

You weren't anymore just some random mortal the Destined one had found and kept at his tail; now you were the Destined done caompanion and trusted friend. His journey became your journey, and his task your task. You both became bound by a silent vow.

"Say...why don't you choose a name? A real one this time."

"I never thought about it." He started to play with a leaf fallen from the nearby tree, thinking about your new idea.

You reached his side, holding his hand in yours, caressing the black claws on it. Once those scared you, now you wonder if a nice manicure could make them look prettier than now.

"Well, you can't let me call you Destined One or Monkey forever! You need a proper name! Something nice! ...umm...how about... Yuánfèn?"

"Um? Since when can you name people here?"

"Well," you continued, "it's destiny in Chinese, no? Like..fate!"

He looked at you, then laughed between his teeth a little. "There's no difference in how they usually call me then!"

"Yes, but...this is how I call you! So is different!"

Soon, you start to not miss home that much. You start to hope to be closer to him—to not go back. You hope that, after your honeymoon, you can stay together and that, despite all, there can be a happy ending for both of you. And silently, in his head, he hoped that too.

"May i?"

He gave you his silent consent, allowing you to caress his cheek with your so small fingers. Your lips met his own, your gesture so timid and gentle that you ask yourself if it's still a small image in your mind instead of something that you're actually doing now. He hasn't moved an inch; confusion starts to come to him and yourself, to the point that you need to stop. Now you just feel ashamed; you felt that you crossed a line, and now you don't even know if you can even go back.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

A small shush from him, his finger holding your chin and guiding you against him. This time, he's trying to mimic your gesture, a blush forming from his face to the visible part of his ears. His kiss is trembling but fierce. He waited long enough to see your still puzzled face.

"I...may don't get how you did it...Can you show me...again, please?"

You don't need to let him ask again; soon your lips smash together again, showing him exactly what's happening.

Your fate is sealed with that kiss, and there's no force on heaven and earth to undo it.

@sun-jglim

[notafunkiller]

What if I am too much?

Summary: When Sam's girlfriend calls you clingy, you decide to give Bucky some space. What you don’t know is that he doesn’t want any space. None at all.

Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: 18+, angst, teasing, language, pet names, spanking, daddy kink, metal arm kink, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 2.2K

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I want to thank @marvelouslizzie for her help!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

“Oh, you’re alone?”

You turn your head in the direction of the voice and smile politely. You don’t recognize this woman, but she looks at you like she does.

“Uh, yes. Hello!”

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

You instantly blush, ashamed, and search for Bucky’s face in the crowd. Nowhere to be found. Damn it!

“No, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says before coming next to you. “I’m Misty.” Brunette, tall and beautiful.

“Where did we meet?”

“Sam’s birthday, but I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. You were too busy clinging to Bucky’s side all night.” She sounds serious, and you freeze, having no idea where this came from. She simply laughs, grabbing your arm with some kind of bionic cold hand for a second before letting it go.

It’s not like Bucky’s. It’s more... robotic.

“Clinging?” You ask confused.

“Yeah, you know, always sitting with him, holding his arm, following him around.”

You puff, already annoyed by this random woman. “Following him around? I’m not a dog!”

“Didn’t say you are a dog, honey. Just pointing out the obvious.”

You try to hold your tongue, pushing aside the impulse to start a fight. This is a night about Bucky. Not you or your discomfort. And she is his ex-co-worker-friend’s girlfriend. Your anger can wait.

“Alright, but how does my clinging affect you, though?”

“Oh, don’t take it so personally! I just meant to be friendly. It’s a girl’s advice. Live a little, being insecure is not gonna save your relationship.”

A piece of advice no one asked for. A take you never even considered. You’re not insecure and you’re definitely not keeping Bucky to your side all the time. You don’t… He is free to do whatever the hell he wants.

“Thank you.”

She has the audacity to laugh. “Don’t be so defensive, honey! Gonna get a cocktail, want some?”

You shake your head, feeling a hole in your stomach after she leaves you alone, and you basically run to the bathroom, trying to calm down. What if she is right, though? What if Sam heard or saw something? Maybe Bucky is extra grumpy or unhappy. Maybe he even complained…

You never thought sitting with Bucky is a sign of clinginess. You thought it’d help... he is not the most comfortable person at events. He gets stared at a lot, he hates small talk, and you really like being close to him. Gosh, you are clingy!

The rest of the night passes like a blur. When you come back, Bucky’s waiting for you, and despite your instinct to wrap your arm around his back and let him hold you, you keep a little distance, giving Sam and his nosy girlfriend a fake smile, while Bucky keeps staring at you strangely.

You even manage to avoid touching him all week somehow, except for a few kisses now and then. Your period came, and as he tried to hold you, you had to fight tears while telling him not to. You’re sick and tired and you miss him, but you want to give him some space. You’ve been suffocating him for so long... You make sure to cry only when he’s out because he might hear you even in the shower. He has super hearing after all.

You thought it would become easier every day, but quite the opposite. Every time you’re close to giving up, you remember Sam’s comment that he made a week after you met him about how Bucky always likes his space and what Misty told you, so you fight against your wish.

Until Sunday afternoon.

You’re in bed, scrolling down on Instagram as Bucky comes out of the shower. You try not to stare at him, but how can you not? He looks absolutely incredible.

What you don’t expect is him trying to get on top of you to tickle you with a huge smile on his face. He’s so adorable.

“B-Bucky, stop!” You laugh as his hands get under your T-shirt. He loves making you laugh no matter how he does it. “N-no.”

“Oh, I will,” he says playfully.

But what he failed to tell you is that stopping means sneaking his head under your T-shirt, which starts to rip a little because of the stretch, and resting it on your boobs.

“Bucky!”

He puffs, annoyed. “Why the fuck are you wearing a bra in the house, bubba?”

“Cause it’s a bra?” You ask back sarcastically, but you know this is weird. You always complain about needing to wear it outside. But inside? It’s even worse.

“Unacceptable.” He quickly rips your bra in half, not bothering to unhook it, and you feel his beard on your breast all of a sudden, making you shiver. Fuck, you really miss this.

“B-Bucky, come on, your hair is a little wet!”

“Bubba, please...”

“Bucky! Why did you do that?” He immediately takes his head out of your T-shirt, and you almost cry. He looks do lost and scared.

“Baby, do you not want me anymore?”

“What the fuck?” You groan. This is the last thing you wanted him to think. All you tried to do was to make him happy and feel less pressured.

“You don’t let me touch you. You don’t want to cuddle with me. You don’t wake me up with kisses. You don’t get on top of me You don’t hug me! What did I do?”

Your heart aches for both of you. “Wasn’t that better?”

“Better for who?” He cries. “This was the worst week of my life since Hydra.”

“Unfortunately, that cannot be true, Bucky.” You sigh, getting closer to him. “I thought you like space...”

“I do, but not with my fucking baby!”

You melt at his words, truth be told. He said it so passionately, but you’re so confused.

“I thought I was being too clingy, touching you too much, you know?”

“What? Where did this come from?”

You close your eyes. How are you supposed to answer this without sounding like a petty bitch?

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does!” You feel his hands grabbing your face so you can look at him. “It means I did something wrong.”

You frown, upset that he thinks that. He’s been nothing but kind, understanding, and loving to you, and you hate how he feels like he failed you or something.

“Sam’s girlfriend told me I am clingy... always with you, never leaving you alone to breathe basically. And it reminded me of Sam saying how much you love your space, and I just...” You try not to cry, you really do, but you cannot hold back the tears this time, which Bucky immediately reaches to wipe with his flesh fingers.

“Jesus, baby! I don’t give a goddamn shit about what they say, you aren’t allowed to listen to anyone! Just let me touch you.”

You immediately wrap your arms around his neck, and Bucky lifts you a bit so you can sit on his lap. You can hear his heartbeat, and you find that so peaceful.

“I thought you’re gonna break up with me, honey.” He whispers in your ear. “I was terrified when you didn’t let me cuddle with you.”

“I’m so fucking sorry, baby.” You don’t know what else to say. You hurt both of you for days just because you let some woman get inside your head, but you had good intentions. “I just didn’t want to be a burden.”

“I should be the one saying that, not you, bubba.” He leaves a kiss on your shoulder. “God, I missed you so much, it feels surreal to touch you.”

“I love you, I’m sorry.”

“Promise to never do this shit ever again!”

“I’ll try,” you murmur. “I didn’t realize you want me to touch you so much.”

Bucky lifts your head. “You know I have to punish you for that, right?”

“Punish me?” You ask surprised.

“Yeah, for believing some stranger over your man. For pulling away and giving me a heart attack. And for depriving yourself of my cuddling skills.”

You giggle. “What if I let you suck my nipples for a whole week anytime you wanted?”

“I already do that!” Bucky lifts your T-shirt as he speaks, and you gasp.

“You do not!”

“Yes, I do. Remember when I came home from the last mission and I made you come by-” He lowers his head and licks your right breast, avoiding your nipple.

“Fuck you, tease!”

“I am the tease?!” He snorts, continuing to lick.

“You’re always the tease. Now kiss me and gimmie your cock.”

“I won’t give you anything until I punish you.”

“Jamie!” You scream when he turns you around, ripping off your shorts in half, along with your underwear before placing you on his thighs. “What the fuck?”

“What the fuck to you for keeping yourself away from me.” You feel him caressing your ass for a few seconds before slapping your right cheek with his flesh hand. You squirm, gripping into his hip.

“F-fuck!”

“Count.”

You groan. “Jamie...” He spanks you again but harder, and this time you moan. “T-two.”

“Nope, we start over.”

“O-one.”

“Good girl!”

The third and fourth aren’t as hard as you want and you find yourself wiggling your ass in the air.

“Harder.”

“Harder?” He snorts, amused, and before he can bring his flesh hand in the air, you grab his metal arm.

“Please, daddy, use this one!”

Daddy? It didn’t take too long for you to get back in the mood.

“Can’t use it, baby, I’m sorry.”

“No!” You cry. “I need it, pleaseee. I’ll ride your face as many times as you w-want.”

Bucky still doesn’t agree. “Baby, it would hurt.”

“Let it hurt!”

You want it to hurt because this pain is not unbearable, quite the opposite. It pushes you over the edge faster.

He sighs and listens to you, bringing his metal hand to your ass, but you barely even feel it when he slaps. You groan, upset.

“I said slap! Do you want me to hover?”

“I can fucking hurt you.”

“I told you to hurt me!” You beg. “Please, honey! Please, please, please.”

He does it again, not hard enough for you, but you count anyway. Again and again.

“Jesus, you’re making my thighs so wet. You’re such a little whore for me.”

“I’m your whore. Always, daddy, please!”

Bucky’s moan comes somehow from the back of his throat, and the last spanks are perfect. He gently caresses your ass, cooling it off with his metal hand, and you smile. “You’re so dirty sometimes, but also such a good girl taking your punishment perfectly.”

“I am sorry,” you whisper.

“For what exactly?”

You pout, grabbing his face. “For all of it. But you’re you, Bucky. You’re the greatest guy in the world, I just didn’t want to be annoying.”

“You were annoying when you didn’t let me even hug you.”

You know that, but sometimes you can’t help but do dumb things, thinking about him. “I wanted you to be happy.”

“Well, I wasn’t happy, obviously. And neither were you, bubba. Promise me you’ll talk to me first next time.”

“I was just stupid…”

“No.” You feel his thumb all over your lips. “You were worried. I love you and I really need your touch, okay?”

“I noticed,” you laugh.

“Good, now feed me my boobs, and then I wanna see you riding my face as you negotiated.”

You fake sigh and grab your boob. “Open up.”

*

You’re not sure how to react when Bucky drags you straight to Sam and his girlfriend as soon as you get inside the museum.

“Hey, Buck-”

“Who do you think you are?”

Misty gasps while Sam and you freeze.

“Wow, wow, wow, man. Hold on a sec, what is going on?”

“What is going on, Samuel?” Bucky asks rhetorically through his teeth. “Ask your little girlfriend where she got her audacity from to tell my girl she is clingy. That she basically spends too much time with me. Who the fuck gave her the permission to even speak to her? So she either apologizes and keeps her mouth shut, or we’ll have a big problem.” Bucky turns his head to look at Misty. “From one metal arm to another. Wanna try me?”

“You did what? What the hell?”

Misty frowns, staring at you. “You went to complain to him for giving you a friendly, harmless advice?”

Bucky instantly grabs her metal arm wrist before you can answer.

“You got three seconds to beg for her forgiveness before I snap your hand in half. And I am not bluffing.”

Sam doesn’t even try to get between them, simply watching, and Misty immediately gets teary.

“I’m... sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head, squeezing her wrist. Holy shit! You haven’t seen him like this in ages. “Didn’t hear you.”

“I am sorry. I should have minded my own business!”

“Yes, you should’ve,” you say without regret. “But I forgive you.”

Bucky lets go with a grunt before nodding to Sam and bringing his hand to your hips, leading you toward the exit.

As soon as you are outside, you don’t even care if someone can hear you as you speak. “Fuck, I wanna suck your cock so badly!”

Bucky laughs. “I see. In the car… is that okay for you?”

You get on your tiptoes to kiss him. “Perfect.”

[nouearth]

teach me hard and soft.

pairing. zane phillips x male reader.

part two.

word count. 9.3k.

summary. the constant studying was getting to zane. reader helped his grades up, sure, but was it worth missing out on the parties where he could be dicking down random men and getting black-out drunk? reader's sudden proposition makes him think twice before quitting.

content warning. college!au, jock!zane, top!zane, nerd!reader, virgin!reader, bottom!reader, reader wears glasses, slight dom and sub dynamics, blowjob, dry-humping, rimming, praising, muscle and body worshipping, size difference, breeding, dirty talk, verbal, soft to rough!sex, a build to exposing reader to sexual intimacy!

Tutoring sessions were supposed to bring boredom. Mind-numbing monotony that wore heavy on Zane’s eyelids; weariness that steamrolled his mouth open with a yawn; frustration that made the inside of his head blare as his brain blended your explanations into a pasty mixture of nonsense. One word went in one ear and out the other, and another break would be enforced for the sake of his sanity on the surface. In actuality, Zane knew it was for your own mental soundness.

Yet upon the third meeting of the new week, redoing his calculus homework left him alert and excited—the complete opposite of boredom. It had little to do with the assignment at hand and everything to do with the man who was flipping through Zane’s textbook through brightened and adoring eyes like he was lost in the fantastical world of superheroes fighting for justice from panel to panel. It was you. You and him were polar opposites. Numbers were Zane’s kryptonite, while frankly, they were your super power, and evidently so as you’d complete multiple practice worksheets from Zane’s textbook to pass time. Until Zane was done with his own work.

It had become increasingly difficult to ignore you, especially with the incentive you had offered Zane last week if he completed the extra worksheets you assigned for practice—last week’s quiz was abysmal. Zane couldn’t get it off his mind—the idea of him tutoring you about all of life’s own intimacies. Instantly, an apparition of you; beneath him, over him, kissing, touching, feeling, squeezing, pleading; he snapped back to reality when he felt a warmth over his hand, and another source of heat swarming below his pelvis.

“Done? Looks like you corrected everything.” You peered over the opposite side of the short table, cross-legged on the floor like Zane beneath it.

“Oh—Uh, yeah. I had a little trouble with 4C, but…” Nonetheless, Zane slid the worksheet and a lined paper containing his proof of work towards you.

“Already looks like you’re getting the hand of it.”

It took a lot of willpower to stop himself from smiling when you perked up at the sight of his corrections.

Sunlight squinted through half-turned blinds in your bedroom, the sun bloated and content over the sheets of paper as you scanned them, comparing his answers and work to your own, and surprisingly marked them correct afterwards. Zane had a sigh of relief whenever you did, through briefly, because it would cycle again as you analyzed the next problem. Sometimes a little too long, though. Your brows would scrunch in confusion on how Zane came to that conclusion on a problem, but with a fix of your glasses, you tightened your gaze to analyze his work closer, and you marked it correct. That would repeat until you returned the worksheet with a score and a comment on top.

83%, Nice work! 

It was like you were born to teach. You went over what Zane did correctly, what led to incorrect answers, what was missing in the formula, and what process that could save him the headache of memorizing. Every word came out of you like a story—a purpose to make sense of the world, of the problems you had given him. Your lips were distracting, minted breath tingling the inside of his nose—and god, how he wished he could taste it right now. And so, Zane endured a little longer, opened his ears, and made sure he was attentive, because he certainly wasn’t going to get that reward if he was slacking off. 

“Nice job today! I’ll let you relax since you’ve been working hard. I know you have a match coming up, so…” You flipped through your binder of worksheets, unclasping it with a routine tug, and handed it to Zane. “Just finish problems one to four, is that okay?”

“Yeah. Perfect. Thanks.” Again, it took a lot of willpower for Zane to keep himself from smiling, especially since it seemed like you remembered his upcoming wrestling match. Like clockwork, he failed, blessing you with those pearly whites of his. As according to plan, you couldn’t spare a single second holding his gaze before feeling some type of way. Zane had picked up on your fidgeting—fingers, toes, and all—it was adorable.

Though, what wasn’t adorable was that you seemed to have treated this session like every other session, as if you hadn’t proposed that damn incentive that Zane had been working towards. 

Did (M/N) forget? He couldn’t have, right? He was practically whining his way through when I began teasing him and—

And Zane would’ve been on his way out if he wasn’t so determined and unabashedly brazen.

“I thought I was going to teach you how to kiss.” Zane directly stated. Not as a question, but as a fact. You promised me this. 

You caught your breath before you could choke on the water you were sipping. Instead, your shock was fleeting in the brights of your eyes.

“Oh—I… thought you forgot—“ You stammered through your surprise, and it only made Zane want you even more. Maybe there was regret that you had even proposed the idea, but it seemed like it wasn’t getting in the way of your conscience with how you stumbled to sit on your bed.

Zane followed, a pleased grin growing across his face, almost predator-like, because you were just as eager as he was, and it was exciting to know that he caused you to fidget for another round. “You couldn’t possibly think that I did your worksheets for…” Then, he looked over his shoulder, at the empty bowl on the table. “—a bowl of strawberries, right?”

“Well… strawberries reduce inflammation in the body, and I know you probably get tossed around a lot on the mat—” 

God, his rambles are cute.

“I don’t get tossed around. I do the tossing.” Was that a threat? Zane didn’t mean for it to sound like one. He was merely playing a game of intimidation, to see if you were a man of his word. Even with the fleeting fear that heavenly passed from one eye to the other, whether it was from his taunt or from the evident size difference between you and him as he sat himself next to you, you seemed assured in your decision.

“Sorry, I’ve never been to your matches—“ Instead of acknowledging his presence, you stared at your folded hands, clammy in your lap.

“That’s fine. It gets boring pretty quick. I end up winning them.” Zane edged himself closer to you, in hopes to lift you from the enchantment of your palms.

“Really? Whoa, that’s cool—I would love to see it for myself. I’m sure I won’t get tired of it.”  Knees touching now, and you still won’t look at him. Somehow, concentred even more now, on your fingernails this time. Biting them, pushing your cuticles back. Zane would’ve been annoyed with anybody else, by this inconsiderate lack of attention, but not you. 

Never you.

A drop of silence fell over the both of you. One body hesitated, while the other was quietly pursued. Cicadas buzzed outside your window, passersby laughed in turn from a joke, and multiple vehicles roared, presumably racing each other down the street of your apartment. Zane watched you through all of it; the gentle inflate of your cheeks because you felt hot in the mouth, the bite of your lips because you were about to speak but ultimately rescinded; the curl of your toes into your socks because Zane suddenly put a hand over your lap to tear your gaze back towards him.

When you did—with those quivering eyes—Zane whispered, “Can I?” A permission that lit a twinkle in your pupils, stars mirroring the bright blues of Zane’s eyes. He leaned in because he was immediately pulled in like some kind of spell, a tilt to his head that you naturally countered, and pressed his lips to yours. “Follow my lead.”

Your lips were soft, incredibly supple flesh unfortunately stiffened by fear, an inexperience that Zane would cherish from this moment onward as he adapted and stilled until you’d adjusted. 

“We’ll go slow, okay? Soft. Gentle. All of that. As long as you work with me.” Zane pulled a centimeter or two away from your lips, mumbling while making sure his breath compelled your lips to move. “Your turn. Kiss me. A small peck, can be a smooch too, your choice.”

“Y-Yeah, okay…” You nodded. You turned your body towards him for proper positioning, cross-legged, and Zane followed in turn. Then, you leaned in. A peck to Zane’s lips, your glasses bumped against his nose in the process. A chaste, pure moment of affection that Zane wished could have amounted to more, but he didn’t want to rush you. 

Another one, a smooch like Zane had suggested, and a rather puzzled one at that because Zane was smiling from ear to ear, and you were confused, almost embarrassed as to why. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no… you’re just…” He couldn’t keep himself from laughing. First, at the absurdity of this mutual settlement. Second, at the luck he was given because it had to be you, someone he’d briefly discounted as merely ‘an awkward nerd’ upon first meeting. Lastly, because you were more than ‘an awkward nerd’ to him now. A cute guy, a smart person, an incredibly pure and sweet boy that he would more than love to—

Zane was getting ahead of himself. Just kissing. For now. 

You weren’t going to learn efficiently this way. This step-by-step process only worked on paper, on problems, on math problems, and Zane was done adapting your style of teaching. Zane was a demonstrator, it was how he taught wrestling to the younger kids at his part-time job. And man, were you in need of a good demonstration. 

“—so cute…” With one hand to your cheek, he guided you closer, and pressed his lips to yours again. A bit harder this time, but enough to pull a gasp, a breath, a sound out of you. You parted your lips, and Zane seized the opportunity to claim the soft flesh as his own. He could feel a gentle buzz festering among the joined lips, a spark that compelled you to take its voltage in and pass it off to Zane with a gentle nip. Then, a suck when the bolt of electricity returned back to you tenfold, and your hand—you didn’t know what to do with them, curling them into your shorts for the meantime, but Zane had the experience to know. He held one, squeezed to let you know that you were in good hands, then guided it towards the underside of his jaw, letting you hold him. 

“Hold me if you feel lost.”

“Okay…”

It continued on like this for a while. The passing of electricity, of sparks. Eyes closed, lips held and parted away from one another for a breather, then reunited with a thin string of spit bridging warmth between the two mouths, mutual devotion climbing from one end of spit to the other.

“Just like that…” Zane whispered, encouraged, praised. He was referring to the ease of your tension, seemingly melting away baby the second, but also the sounds coming out of your mouth. What was once desperately vaulted in the back of your throat in fear of sounding too eager, moans had now fallen dramatically off your tongue like they were meant to be, and Zane sucked it right off in fear you’d restrain yourself again.

“Was that okay?” You paused, muttering into his lips. It tickled when Zane chuckled, the soft, thick hair of his mustache aiding the quiver of your lips. 

You pulled back to give him space, to take in the air around you, but Zane had a sudden hold on you, on the back of your neck, gentle but firm, and gazed proudly into your eyes, past the crook of your glasses. He haunted you to the core with that smile of his, stilled your breath for a long moment when he squeezed at your nape, something knowing and mischievous, like you had been branded with a hot iron, his name engraved into the now bruising hold on your flesh, and you knew you couldn’t go back on your word now even if you tired. 

As if you wanted to.

“A natural…” It was distracted, Zane didn’t mean for it to sound half-hearted, but that only meant that he was telling the truth if he dove immediately back to kissing you again, without bothering to fix the slant of your glasses.

You got it. It was as simple as that. The swapping of lips, of saliva, of licks, Zane made it all so easy, and all you had to do was follow his lead. He kissed you until you begged for a break. You kissed him until the rush of blood in your southern region had calmed. 

And it never did, even when he kissed you goodbye. He could spot your erection from a mile away.

It was like this for Zane’s meetings from then on. Tutoring went on as usual. He brought in his worksheets, you lectured him through the problems he’d missed, and you’d check off the problems he’d fixed. After, Zane would have you practice on him, learning how to lead for once.

As Zane returned with better scores, so did you with kissing. You’ve learned that touching was just as important as kissing. Zane liked his neck and chest rubbed, while you liked your nape held, controlled. Eventually, the two tutoring sessions a week doubled and became four, then it became six, until Zane found himself visiting you every day, with fluctuating hours depending on his schedule and yours. Though, you two made sure to free up your time to accommodate. Your lessons remained consistent, but Zane’s, however, had gotten longer. It was his excuse to make up for your inexperience. 

In reality, he really wanted to be your every ‘first’ as selfish as it was.

You never knew there were so many types of kissing. Zane’s lips on your neck were your favorite. The softness of his mouth. The warmth of his tongue. The nuzzle of his mustache. As much as it was a struggle to hide your erection, he knew. You felt comforted by his words that it was only natural and couldn’t be helped. 

And excruciatingly helpless when he confessed, “I’m hard too.”

Zane found you had a surprising knack for french-kissing, and that ultimately became a normalcy between you and him. Once you felt the slip of his tongue exploring your warm mouth, you were a goner. Kissing with just lips didn’t feel right anymore. You needed tongue. You needed his spit covering your tongue. You needed to suck at his own wet flesh. You told him that, through breathless pants, that you needed to explore more of him.

And Zane resonated with an astounding, “Me too,” and left you blue-balled, like always, on the bed.

And like always, you found yourself rubbing to the thought of Zane, wondering if he was doing the same, if he could find a way to during practice.

You would think about the new lessons for the week: kissing positions. It started off simple—making out on the couch, tenderly sharing tongue while you sat on the kitchen countertop. You naturally felt an inclination to touch him, it was the right thing to do, and the longer your hands were on Zane—squeezing his shoulders, caressing those built muscles that had been sculpted through sheer hard work and dedication—all the more ramped up these feelings for him had gotten. 

He preferred you sitting on his lap, the perk in your posture meant that you had too—the warmth of his cupped palms around your ass being a constant reminder. 

You kept it to yourself, but you were at his disposal.

It sounded naive. Wrong. And to be frank, cliché, but it was fluttering to feel so wanted. A nest of honeybees festering in the pit of your stomach, all because Zane’s attention was on you. Praising you for doing so well, when in actuality, you simply allowed him to ravish your neck that day until he was certain that hickies would blossom across the cavas of your neck overnight. Admiring your tainted skin the next day by topping his bruises with another round of painful, but welcomed sucks, because marks had never looked so beautiful on someone. Thrilling because you were a work in progress, and would be labeled as so until Zane had the final say. Whenever that day would come, you dreaded knowing it could end soon.

Zane kept it to himself, but he liked knowing that he’d branded you as his so easily.

It was common for both of you to end your visitations blue-balled—panting into one another’s mouth. Bodies collapsed onto another on the bed at the sound of Zane’s alarm, and every day, you found it increasingly harder to give into surrendering his body for practice. For his friends. For classes. For parties. He was a popular man, and this was the first time you’d cursed him for it, as much as you had been envious of it from the start.

When Zane unwillingly tore himself away from you, he felt his heart jolt with a spark, that same spark that had been passing from lip to lip, and festering in his veins to yours.

You looked at him with such distraught, a silent plea for him to stay. Disappointment laced in those pure pupils, and emphasized when Zane catalogued the mess he’d made on your body. Wet reminders of his presence on your neck cascaded over your collarbone, and down to the middle of your chest. The first few buttons of your shirt had been unbuttoned—the most visible skin you had bared so far, yet Zane had never felt his balls tightened up for such little promiscuity. It was like you were teasing him, pushing him towards the edge to see until when—just when he would crack and take you as he pleased.

That night would be an aide-memoire that you had captivated Zane, just as much as he had a control on you.

“Relax for me,” he whispered into your lips, ignoring a call from his friend with a toss of his phone before using the same hand to push you onto your back.

“Wait, but the party—“ Cold yet warm, that was how it always felt when you were with him. The draft hit your skin when Zane lifted your shirt to smother your stomach in tiny, fleeting kisses. Your goosebumps conflicted whether they should owe their arrival to the drop in temperature, or to Zane’s worship on your body.

“I know. They can wait. You’ll be quick.” Everything was moving at rapid pace. A beast in Zane suddenly unleashed from as he began removing your pants. An impatience you found yourself unsettled by, yet just as equally as desired with the way you followed every one of his command: to spread your legs wider, to keep your shirt on, to lean back on the pillows, braced on your elbows, to look at him, to watch him.

“Quick with what—“ Your mind was cluttered with so many demands, dazed by the sudden chaos of it all. 

He barely gave you a chance to react before pressing his mouth to your hard cock. You instantly puzzled what all of this had amounted to the more he enveloped your length with a sudden gut-punching heat you had never experienced with your entire being. “Zane—“

“Just hold still.” He guided your shudders to his blonde locks, forcing a gratifying grip to his hair before power-washing your cock with his tongue.

Zane thought he heard your moans. Thought he knew them from flesh and bone from the times he’d devour neck and lips like an insatiable scent. But no—these were the sounds he was in desperate search for. Staggered, guttural, straight from the stomach and raw out your throat, as you begged for mercy from the suction of his mouth.

“S-stop, I’m going to c-come in your mouth—“ You desperately pleaded, rock-hard in his mouth and throbbing at the pulse of his tongue. The tip of his muscle flicked endlessly at your slit, beating it with the spit that had been over-compensating for his dry mouth.

“That’s the point.”

You tugged on his hair harder, not away, but towards you. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t muster the strength to watch him, and restrain yourself. That was absolutely impossible with the way Zane’s blue eyes locked with you, determination in his gaze that signaled that this had no longer been a demonstration. Sloppily sucking you off. Beating your wet dick off until it was swollen. “W-wait, Zane, stop—I’m really going to—“

Repeating, cycling, spitting, moaning, praising, urging, kissing, repeating until the thick release of your cum satisfied the grit of his throat. Drinking every ounce of purity out of you because it was a sacred resource. Until you felt completely drained with Zane’s throat at your disposal, the salty taste of your loads nearly costing him his sanity had you not pulled him up to ground him with a kiss.

Or maybe his sanity had already been broken, because he pushed the thick of your seed back into your own mouth when you two connected, and it drew out the most beautiful symphony of sounds from you: the shock of it all, the salty and bitter taste embarrassingly spreading thick over your tongue, and then the exaltation, when Zane sucked it right off of you as a way of saying, ‘I’m yours too.’

No, this had been done out of pure love—one that had been kept in reserve for you, and only you.

It was an open secret to how prone you were to bruising. Zane remembered the shock of returning the next day to an onslaught of hickies on your neck. Marks that you comically hid behind a scarf despite the summer season. Bruises that earned him a knowing side-eye when one of your roommates answered the door to let him in.

“Does it look bad?” You instinctively bared teeth, sucking in a gasp when Zane curiously poked at one bruise to the next.

“Sorry. I got carried away.” He remembered that night vividly—beating off his dick to it after practice. He’d left hickies on many people before. For you, he didn’t know why he felt so fascinated by the wear of your skin—the break of skin solely caused by him.

“Not your fault. Kind of the reason why I never played sports.” Popping open the cap of the soothing cream in your hand, you then began to apply the thick mixture onto your wounds. Well, one of them, before Zane took it out of your hand.

“I’ll do it… Let’s take a break today, yeah? We can cuddle, watch a movie? Anything you want.” Ann apology seeped into the kisses he brought around your neck before applying the cream onto your bruises, finishing what you’ve started.

Not too long after, he’d take you into his arms, your head comforted by his chest, while you went on with your free-time: scrolling through social media, laughing at videos that appeared on your feed with him, chatting, kissing, chatting again.

“Do you date a lot?” You asked one day, knowing the answer without Zane having to speak. Though, you really just wanted to hear it from his mouth, to clarify, instead of assuming everything.

“In high school and first year in college, yeah. But it’s been mostly hookups so far.” Zane found that your hands looked perfect in his: smaller yet equally veiny as he compared, then examined your intricately cut nails. Perfectly trimmed with little whites baring.

“Hm…” You nodded, letting him play with your fingers, stroke your hair, kiss at your neck, until your silence was deafening.

It was like Zane read your mind, because he’d spare you that smile of his—one you had been intimidated earlier on in your life before all of this—and your heart felt like it surged over hurdles during your pursuit to him. He laughed in your neck at the glimpse of your pout, and he would tease you with several pokes to your body, introducing various notes of levity until you broke out into a laugh yourself.

“Before you say it, no—you’re not a plaything.” Zane assured with a kiss to your lips. Whether he was telling the truth or not, you’d rather delay the revelation for a little longer.

You never realized that you and Zane barely did this. Getting to know one another was an interest that had been vaulted from the back of your mind as things were ramping up. There were times where you needed it. A break from everything, even if it meant that you’d fall deeper for him. For Zane, it was always on days where he had too many events to juggle on his plate. Venting to you came first, then you’d pacify his frustration at his friends, at his professor, at his teammates, with a semi-homemade meal, and a movie in bed.

You two would compensate for the lack of knowledge about each other by coincidentally pulling all-nighters. Somewhere among one of those nights, you two found the perfect balance of understanding each other from in and out.

“I came to watch you practice the other day…” His hand was roaming under your shirt, lingering over your stomach, and then up your chest to toy with your nipples. You groaned into his mouth at a tug of one of your nubs, mirroring his actions onto his own body. Though, you were always distracted by how big his chest felt under your palm, preferring to explore the muscular plane.

“What—“ Zane pulled away, breathless and baffled at the admission, because who would want to watch him practice? His previous partners never did that for him. “Why didn’t you say hi?” You looked so delectable under him. Swollen lips, tongue peeking to taste at the lingering residue of spit.

“Wouldn’t I throw you off your game?” You ran your hand over his forearm. Memories of Zane’s sweaty muscles bulging as he pinned a guy down coming to mind, thick veins charging the muscle fibers with a pulse. If those veins had telepathic capabilities, you’d assume the erection in your pants was from their own command.

“Don’t think so. I would’ve introduced you to the team too. They would like you.” Another kiss to your lips before he rolled onto his back, switching positions with you to pull you onto his lap.

“Really? I didn’t think I would have anything in common with them!” You’ve gotten more brazen in your touch. Affectionate. You gave Zane’s shirt three tugs, a magical number to him, and he tossed it off his body and to the corner somewhere, removing the obstacle between your lips and his temple of a body.

“Maybe. Maybe not? I don’t know, some of them are struggling in their classes right now. I mentioned to them that you brought my GPA up, so—fuck…” The steady progression from being anxious to greedy was fascinating in Zane’s eyes. He watched you tongue his pink nipple, assaulting one after the other until either had stiffened, and then his armpit—he never thought you would warm up to practically burying yourself into his hairy musk, licking again, inhaling him with awakening ferocity that Zane wanted to tame. After all, that’s what he’d been doing to you, right? Taming the baby pup.

“I have some free time… Just mention my rates…”

“Yeah—god, you drive me crazy.”

You and Zane explored each other effortlessly—no labels, no commitments, simply out your own free will, and maybe that was the reason why Zane cracked.

There was a droning sound in your room, somewhere in the vent, but you’d never noticed the monotonous buzz before until now.

Zane was angry. You could decipher it from his fist, the cushion of mechanical pencil comforting the clasping grasp. You’ve never seen him angry other than being slightly annoyed or inconvenienced, but the tension in your room weighed heavy enough to pull his gaze anywhere else but towards you. No welcoming kiss, no bantering, no playing footsies under the table—only work.

“Zane, what’s wrong—“ Your voice was gentle. Maybe if he would look up, he would soften at the distraught etched onto your face, fine lines wearing you down with worry, with deep dejection because it wasn’t about second-guessing whether you did something wrong. 

When he reeled his hand back from your touch, you were absolutely positive that it was your fault.

“Are you done grading yet?” His voice was tempered, methodically calm while his gaze never left the screen of his laptop. Scrolling through an endless pit of web pages.

“Yeah…” You pushed the paper towards him, and he glanced at it.

64%. The lowest marks he’d received since you started tutoring him. He was doing so well. Constant 80s. His peak being nearly a perfect mark, and it was all crumbling because of a man.

He sucked in his teeth, a familiar feeling of contention seething in his stomach.

Two men.

It only happened in his matches, and when it did, it signified his victory.

“Hey, what’s—“ Another attempt quickly stolen with a sudden biting kiss. Rough hands roamed around you, a touch that you had already felt nostalgic for upon Zane’s absence the past few days, and then a bite to your neck, a painful mark, an answer as to why you had felt so deprived of energy in addition. “Z-Zane!”

“Nico and Austin,” Zane muttered bitterly into your clavicle. Your shirt was then unbuttoned at flying speed, and his eyes were searching, pupils dilating upon the scan of your skin. Marks of want, of pleasure, faded into your chest and neck like foam to coffee. “—these are theirs, right?!”

“W-what? No! Are you crazy, what?!” You gulped hard, your neck straining as Zane began to match several bruises to his mouth, renewing the plump skin out of spite, out of greed. Traces of his spit matched the outline of your mark to perfection, yet he continued, relishing himself into the warmth of your skin, to the sounds of your panicked moans as you rubbed at his back to pacify his sudden burst of anger. If they hadn’t made a mark on you, then they will soon. You were his territory, his worshipping ground, and he needed evidence that he’d claim you first. “What’s going on…”

“They…” Embarrassment crept his way up to his neck, then his cheeks as Zane settled upon assessing at what he’d done to you. Windswept, that was what he’d described you as you lay breathless beneath him. He’d missed this, yet it was frightening to know that the withdrawal symptoms from not seeing you every day resulted with an uncontrollable need to ruin you. The calm of your breathing consoled him in meantime, and also lowered his blood pressure a few beats. He refused to release his grip around your wrists, but loosened for your comfort, and breathed, “—keep talking about you. It’s been a few weeks since you started tutoring them, right?”

“Yeah—they usually come together… What do you mean they keep talking about me?” On first impression, you’d assume it was about the way you presented yourself. Guarded and reserved to most, but you always made sure you had good intentions, right? That couldn’t be the right assessment, though. That wouldn’t have made Zane riled up, practically eating at your neck from a comment about how you were standoffish.

“Don’t make me say it,” he squeezed past tight lips, forewarning with tense eyes because you were smart. You were supposed to know what he meant by now. 

Clueless.

“It can’t be that bad—“

“They’re animals, (M/N). The way they talk about you like you’re a piece of meat.” He muttered bitterly warm at the underside of your jaw. Yet, a part of you felt like he was kissing to the thought of their ridiculing, whatever they were, and you let him do as he pleased, with restrained silence to hear him, to let him know that you were listening, to let him know that it was getting dangerously hard to focus on his words because—you had no idea when, but his hand had slipped inside of your shorts now, massaging you through your boxers.

He continued after carrying you to the bed, his shorts kicked off to the side, your own after, and pressed himself to you, practically into you as you felt him throb against your erection without missing a beat. “—keep talking about how pretty you’d look sucking them off. How they would like to see you struggle taking their cocks inside of your mouth, both at once. As a reward or something, for doing those damn worksheets.”

“I—“ Your mind felt foggy. All of this information was overwhelming you, plus the friction of your cock against Zane’s much larger erection held your mind hostage, harassing it with violent yet pleasurable rubs as you felt the tip of your cock constantly brush against the scratchy fabric. This was new, and you needed to focus and fixate on Zane’s worries. “Zane…”

“They’d blow their loads inside of your mouth. Over your face. Inside of your ass—“ Zane grunted hard, stroking a hand over your head while rocking into you with his broad body, with a rhythm led by greed and lust. The weight of his motion reflected onto the creaking of the bed springs, and his eyes searched looming repugnance. “—wouldn’t shut up about that ass of yours. How it filled out those shorts of yours so nicely. How they wanted to breed you with their cum, one after another, then another round, and another, until your body had given itself up.” 

None. You were fucking hard, throbbing and solid as he rocked into you, polished his cock with yours, and your eyes—he could see how much you’d want that fantasy to come true.

“Zane, I wouldn’t—“ You whimpered when he pulled your boxers off, freeing your embarrassing boner for him to delight his eyes on. You stripped yourself completely for the second time, top to bottom. It triggered the memory of baring it all for the first time, where you received your first blowjob. You watched in silence, in between hot pants, as Zane stripped his muscular body of his clothing, one by one. Like a performance, a stage that was approaching its curtain call, because you knew Zane only had patience for one more lesson to teach you. Fuck me, please…

“And you know what’s worse? I thought they were just playing around, that typical locker room talk. Told them you were a virgin, never even kissed a boy in your life, and that it would all be too much for you…” You shuddered, feeling the warmth of his eyes analyzing you like a scanner, taking copies of your body and inking it into his mind. The sink of your stomach as Zane caressed your body downwards, the gentle hairs below your belly button, all delectably leading to the unkempt hairs of your pubic area, surrounding the twitch of your cock. 

He could take you right now, but Zane liked playing with his food. Loved seeing the sweat form on your forehead and on your neck; loved watching your chest rise and sink when he wrapped a hot hand around your cock; loved hearing you whimper when his large cock joined his fist, stroking you and him together as one large mass.

“And you could practically see them come alive from that. Drooling, rubbing their dicks through their pants, because all they want to do is break you. Wreck that tight little hole of yours. Make your first time memorable. Two cocks fucking inside of you. Who could say that they got double-penetrated on their first time?” You could feel his heavy balls jump. He wanted to see that too, didn’t he? To see you wrecked like this. After all, he was a saint for holding back for as long as he did. 

“And god—baby, would you call me a monster if I wanted that too? To see you take cock for the very first time? To see you crying out about how it wasn’t going to fit? But you’re a good boy, right? You’d relax for me? And take my cock in? No complaints?” Fingers. You could feel him rubbing at your rim when he brought your legs over his shoulders, one on each side. It was wet with spit, cold against your pucker as his cock jumped at the thought. Your own dick leaking pre-cum in turn.

“N-no—would want you to.” You gulped, a grit in your throat you tried to pacify. Then, a grit in your mind, because you reached over to replace Zane’s hand over your cock and his with your own. God, he was a handful. You could barely wrap around it with your fingers, let alone both of your rubbing cocks. But you tried, and your efforts were met with a shuddering moan from Zane, a shiver rolling up his spine tenfold compared to his hand. “I think I can take it—I’ll be good. I promise—“ 

“You’ll be good? You’re smart, (M/N). There’s no ‘thinking’ when it comes to this. Only an ‘I can’ and an ‘I can’t.’” His blonde locks hovered over his eyes as they casted downwards, addicted to the way your pucker kissed at the pad of his finger. Enamored of your beautiful hand holding his cock and yours as tightly as if your sanity had depended on the two throbbing erections. His hips buckled when you began thumbing at his slit, spreading your pre-cum with his, and that was when he knew he was devoted to pleasing you—when he pushed a lubed finger inside of you without warning, watching the way you struggled to swallow the length of his finger. “Which is it?”

You broke out into a staggered moan. The introduction of his digit collapsing the gears in your mind, having been conquered by nothing but an empire of pure lust, and you resisted, with a tension around the first knuckle.

“I-I can!” A guttural gasp when his finger began maneuvering inside of you, working you open little by little. Past his cuticle, then he would pull out. Then down to the first knuckle, you would then pucker. Then plunged deep to where the webbing of his fingers met, and you would gape. He cycled through with little alternations, fingering you while providing your cock and his the warmth and friction they desperately plead, stroking in sync. 

“You can, what?” Two fingers inside of you, your hole sticky and slick with a generous amount of lube, pistoling past initial limitation. You shut your eyes with strain when Zane pushed a third into your heated hole. He had you holding your legs up now, splayed out with your feet in the air as he flattened himself onto his stomach to watch your hole with an inquisitive, yet lewd mind. Every now and then, he’d pull himself out to taste you, sucking his fingers clean, then endeavoring upon his curiosity with focused licks to your hole, flicking and swirling around your rim, then entering to dig inside of you.

“O-Oh, god—I-I can—“ Your cock throbbed at the sight of his imposing body—flushed with heat and sweat, splotches of red on his body from where you grasped and held onto him previously. You stilled, but your hands moved to tangle within Zane’s full locks, pulling, yanking, tugging, at the magical plowing your hole was taking from his wet tongue. “C-Can take your cock, Zane—“ Upon those final words, he ended his rimming with a loud slurp, then a sudden splat of spit to your hole—perceptive to the lube drying out on your body. 

It was grand. Watching Zane’s broad body crawl back into position, onto his knees, then forward as he lined your smaller body with fleeting kisses. Kisses to the tip of your dripping cock, to your happy trail, to the supple skin of your stomach and chest, to your nipples, to your neck, then finally to your lips, where he spent majority of his delight upon. His questing fingers snuck to tend to his muscular cock, applying a thick amount of lube in midst, a mess on the sheets you’d figure you could later scold him for, and pressed the slick, wet head to your heated rim. You whimpered at the imposing taught, your hole puckering obscenely in apprehension.

“Going to make love to you,” Zane mumbled into the kiss, the other hand fondling your cock to ease the tension in your ass, in your legs, in your back, in the grasp you have on his shoulders. “Gonna make sure you feel full with my cock. Make you think about nothing but my cock. Make you mine with my cock. Make your hole ruined with my cock.”

“Ruin me…” You said with a pleading whine. Your hands caressed his large back, squeezing whatever came to your palm and under your fingertips, and you gazed into Zane’s promising eyes, your own imploring in case he were to turn on his words.

The scent of desire filled the air—one more yearning kiss, to quench the drought of your throat, and Zane loved you like this. Folded in between his embrace, his arms tucked around you as a safety net, rubbing your hole with his cocked, making small circles, your feet over his shoulders—he blessed a kiss on both ankles—quivering, fear and want dancing in the light of your eyes, and he finally pushed, slowly until the head of his cock slotted in.

Your chest lift upon the intrusion as you strain your head forward and groan with distraught. “O-oh, f—“

“Relax… Just relax…” He was barely in, his cock almost slipping out as you sealed yourself shut and kept pushing himself out, but Zane resisted, countering with a persistent push until you’d open yourself up for him again, allowing him to enter you a centimeter more. “You got this…” His words were comforting, the kisses on your chest and neck soothing the burn beneath you, and you loosened bit by bit, though with difficulty. 

“M-mm, u-ugh…” It was lewd, fucking erotic with the whimpers that came out of your mouth, the heat remounting from their bodies reflecting with a fog on your glasses. Zane didn’t want to, but he had to shut you up with another loving kiss. Another peep out of you would’ve unscrewed the armor that had been holding him back from ravishing you completely.

Your scent drifted to Zane, potent and intoxicating, and it was upon impulse when Zane decided that he needed to be selfish, and take you for himself. Your entire groan tingled, the pressure on your opening suddenly too harsh, and your hole protested, the ring of muscle clenching tight when he pushed in more of his cock. “Need you, need you so fucking bad. Need to fuck you. Need to make love to that sweet, tight hole of yours.” Words spilled out of your mouth, his tongue sloppily tasting the corner of your mouth, then chin, and his cock fondled your balls and cock, squeezing, tugging, stroking, because he had to over-compensate. Zane was strong. Determined. And broken. Your body defied any reason to refuse his cock in any longer, opening for him, and inviting hm in upon the force of one long, deep, and guttural thrust.

“That’s it. I know, baby. I know. It hurts. I know… Just… Fuck… Relax for me…” His words were gentle, almost cooing when you instantly caught your breath, and then paused his thrusts with your hands on his toned thighs. Even so, the undeniable proof of your arousal, the throbbing and twitching of your cock, spilling thick strings of sticky pre-cum, was the sole evidence that allowed him to plunge himself deeper inside of you, past your resistance, until his pelvis met your ass. “There we go… Not so bad, right? Fuck, you’re so fucking tight…”

“M-mm, full—“ You felt so full, the discomforting pleasuring hitting you like a lightning bolt when Zane pulled himself completely out to watch your hole deliciously gape, then flushed himself back inside of you with one thrust. Your ass felt like it couldn’t handle any more of Zane’s cock. You clenched tight around his thick girth, feeling the veins throb with imposing lust, feeling his balls jolt and twitch as you squeezed even tighter when he began officially thrusting, whimpering louder.

“So full, right? Your ass taking my cock right now. God, I wish you could see it, baby…” Zane had brought himself up, his posture straightened to feast his eyes upon the sight of the tight ring swallowing his thick cock whole. He was practically salivating, the self-restraint he has had unlocking with every thrust, kissing at your ankles, your feet, as your legs remained hooked over his shoulders. His muscular body—sweating bullets, draining yet feeding him with heat while he flexed his stomach upon moving his hips against you. He made you feel loose and hollow, and your cock agreed with a desperate plea to be touched. Some form of friction around its veins, and you fulfilled it with a wrap of your hand, stroking yourself to the lewd sight before you, to the beastly groans Zane thickened the air with, to the smell of musk and sweat radiating from bonded bonds, to the glorious drilling your hole was enduring. There was wild fury in Zane’s face, of strength and passion, thick veins surging through his arms, biceps, neck, as he held the lower-half of your body higher, and fucked into you. You feared him as you wanted him, taking him like you had promised. 

“Z-Zane! God, you feel so—g-good!” Fierce and untamed, Zane powered into you upon that confession. A slur of sounds you’d make, beautiful in his ears, embarrassing to your own, but Zane made you feel so wanted, so loved, that you didn’t mind baring it all for him. He downed your moans with a kiss, a gulp, a sloppy open-mouthed kiss as he was desperate to hear more of you, licking inside of your mouth while he stretched you open and filled you with his cock. “H-harder—Want your c-cock…” You’d give it to him, delegating those pretty whimpers that he’d happily starve for and feeding it to him tenfold. Whimpers, grunts, and moans ripped out of your mouth while tiny tremors and tingles explode from your overfull guts. You were taking him. Taking his cock. Taking him like a good boy. Wetness trickled out from his pounding, a leak of lube splattering upon the connecting impact of Zane’s hips to your ass.  

“So good. That’s my good boy. Fucking take it. Good boy. Fuck. Take my cock. You like it, don’t you? You love being filled with my thick cock, don’t you? Been thinking about this since we’ve met, haven’t you?” Zane reminded you as your eyes rolled back in their sockets, leaving only the whites of your eyeballs visible. It felt like a punishment for asking him to do all of this with you—this mutual tutoring. But god, if it truly was, you needed to find more ways to make his blood boil. 

“C-close—“ That was how you always jerked your cock off. Rubbing the sloppy, swollen tip of it against the palm of your hand. Rough and smooth, you liked it that way. You would accidentally rub at the most sensitive spot at your cockhead, ramping up closer to your inevitable climax, and that was what you did in this current moment. You rubbed your cock to the heavy weight of Zane’s dick inside of you, the tickle of his mustache on your lip, the crooked, fucked-out position of your glasses, the tantalizing depth his cock had reached inside of you. Zane’s hand skimmed down your chest, stopping over your nipple, where he tugged and pinched with a thumb and a forefinger. Close. You were so fucking close. One hand reached up to Zane to hold his nape and keep him from pulling away from you—because you needed him to watch you, to see you crumbling upon his very eyes. 

“Come… Keep stroking that cock. So close, baby. I’m so fucking close, hm? Look so beautiful—god, I could do this all day. Could spend forever doing this with you. Fucking your ass. Making love to that hole… Making love to you.” Every word that came out of his mouth was a spell that took you higher and higher to your climax. He had his hands around your hips now, his biceps bulging as he powered you down onto his thrusts, and right there—Zane felt it, you felt it. You both hissed when his slick crown dipped to your sealed entrance, your prostate. A little more. Just a little more and—you felt him.

“S-shit, Zane! R-right there—“ You choked out. 

With a subtle angle change of Zane’s hips, you felt his throbbing cock struck your prostate like it was rock, mined it as it you’d been concealing gold and life’s greatest treasure from the world. In a way, you did because you unleashed an unholy moan that sent tremors to the goosebumps on Zane’s body. He’d branded you now, ironing you with his cock, deep plunges deep into your hole, into your prostate. If his hickies was not enough proof of his devotion, you were convinced with the absolute euphoria Zane had sent your body in with the weight of his cock. You thought you knew ecstasy, thought you knew what it was like to be pleasured and fulfilled—but this was an entirely different level. 

“Shit, baby. I need to come inside—“ He was ruined. Zane was fucking ruined. HIs hips on autopilot. Large, rough hands roamed your body, squeezing whatever came into his palm. He helped you in stroking your cock with one hand, the other playing with your nipples, or squeezing your waist, or squeezing your throat. He didn’t know what to do. He was delirious, fucked out of his mind, and all that mattered was that it was with you. 

“P-Please—Come inside me, please—“ You managed to gather yourself and plead with him. As if he would ever deny that opportunity. But you needed Zane to know that you desperately wanted him just as much as he did. You wanted him in there. You wanted his loads desperately sticking inside of you, filling and keeping you warm even if his cock had abandoned your hole.

Your pupils were blown out, Zane’s blue eyes glowing as the size of his shaft stretched your flesh out, stirring the inside of your hole, kissing your prostate with every thrust. He held you close, arms clasped around your neck to fold you toward him. He had you whimpering with overwhelming sensations, the stretch of your legs and back forgiving because Zane was deep inside of you, turning you in and out like he had promised, overpowering any pain in your body while he circled his hips. Upon watching him, you’d never seen someone looked so pleased, so determined, impaling you with his cock over and over, brushing your body with his rough hands, and on the nth stroke of your cock, so relieved as he indulged on your endurance for as long as he could, before spilling his thick load inside of you. Not a second after, you chased after him in pursuit, your cum sprouting from your cock in six shots, Zane doubling that amount in your ass.

You both shared a deep, guttural moan, wallowing in your shared orgasm with a long, gratifying kiss while Zane continued to dump himself inside of you, panting, refusing to catch up on his breath, and stripping you the chance to do the same as he began moving his hips again. Languidly for the rest of time, but you felt his cum pushing deeper into you, warming up your guts with the help of his cum-covered cock. Your body was at his disposal, and he seized the opportunity to remind you that it was no longer your body, but his.

“You okay?” Slowly, he unfolded your body until it was flattened with the weight of his body collapsed on top of yours. You could feel his heartbeat, his muscular chest slick with sweat pressing to yours, slowly but surely coming down from its high. He was unwilling to pull himself out of you, the warmth of your hole around him nearly lulling him to sleep. Exhaustion in his eyes, but he mustered up enough strength to take care of you, stroking your hair back after licking your cum off your body in midst of repositioning.

You kissed him again, wanting to taste yourself off his tongue, and Zane accepted that as an answer, laughing into your mouth. “I’ve taught you well, haven’t I?”

“Couldn’t have asked for a better tutor.” You mumbled sleepily, hiding the blush in your cheeks into his shoulder while fatigue struck the muscles in your body until it begged for a rest. You wrapped your arms around him, embracing his large body into your own. His warm smell, his soothing voice, his adoring touch—you couldn’t fathom going back to a life without Zane in your life, teaching you about anything and everything, just as you did for him. It made your chest swell at the thought, your heart twisting itself until it began to hurt. But Zane kissed you once more, something that felt perpetual, and you’d calm.

“What are you doing for the summer?” He whispered, nuzzling his mustache against your cheek like you liked. He fixed the crook of your glasses with a twist, impressed by how they hadn't fallen off the entire time he was fucking into you.

“Working… Tutoring’s still in session for the summer classes, so I’ll be here.” You nodded, and he hummed in response. There was a brief silence, you’d reckon that could hear him thinking if you had the skills to.

“So… you know how I wanted you to meet the team? Maybe we could do that over the summer. What do you think? Think it’s only right to introduce my boyfriend to my best friends.” Nibbling on your ear now. You squirmed, ticklish as the tiny bristles of his mustache brushed against places that had never been touched. His smile only made it worse, the curve of the hairs grazing over your lobe and the shell of your ear.

“I’m your boyfriend?” It was impossible to stop yourself from smiling from ear to ear. The label made you feel fuzzy and warm on the inside.

“You didn’t think I did this all because I wanted to have sex with you, did you? I mean, it’s been months—“

“No, no—I was just…” You shook your head to shrug off even trying to reason with your confusion. “What about Nico and Austin? They were being kind of—“

Deceitful fingers spidered over the span of your belly. Lower, and lower. A roguish smile slowly formed on his face as he began fondling your sensitive flaccid cock. He then turned to you, gently pressing your nose to his. 

“We can talk about that when the time comes.”

“When the time comes for—“

“You’ll see.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[ddeunbi]

──── DATING DOWNBAD!HEESEUNG

PAIRING heeseung x gn!r WC 192 GENRE fluff, established relationship WARNING kisses, lmk if there's more BOOKSHELF

downbad!heeseung who told you to snap pictures on his phone just so that he can look at them when he misses you (and maybe post some on his story; by that i mean the close-up pictures that you took)

downbad!heeseung whose instagram account became a fan page for you after you guys started dating

downbad!heeseung who went to your dorm right away when you called him to meet up

downbad!heeseung who's obsessed with your lips, sometimes steals kisses from you as if you wouldn't give him one if he asked

downbad!heeseung who you rarely have arguments with

downbad!heeseung who treats you better than any of your exes could

downbad!heeseung whose existence reminds you to not lower your standard for a man and is only making it higher day by day

downbad!heeseung who needs to cuddle you every night or he wouldn't be able to sleep (his words)

downbad!heeseung who sends you 'i love you' texts every day

downbad!heeseung who sends you random pics every day because he wants you to be included in his day

downbad!heeseung who loves you so much

NANA'S NOTE hi... im sorry for disappearing... i don't know what to write,,

[rubysunnday]

#random gwaine gifs because i miss him

[cllightning81]

The Drivers - Part 1

Series Title : Younger Sister (TBC)

Summary: Being Lando Norris' sister made it surprising that it was one of your only visits to the paddock. Ollie made sure to introduce you to all the drivers and show you about.

Pairing/s: Oliver Bearman x Norris!Reader, Lando Norris x Sister!reader , Grid x Norris!Reader

Word Count : 1.2k

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Oliver Bearman Masterlist

Lando Norris Masterlist

It wasn’t exactly hard being Lando’s sister, especially when you hardly went to races. Silverstone just never matched up with when you could take holidays from your part time job and the break from school but now you were close to finishing high school and had left your part time job to travel with Lando -with him paying for literally everything because what else should brother’s do?- 

The last couple of days of school and you finally decided it was time for you to change your phone wallpaper back to your favourite picture of yourself and Lando. When Lando got moved into F1, you changed your phone wallpaper back to a less obvious picture of yourself and Lando, so you didn’t get people wanting to be your friend just because of Lando. 

Now you were at the first race you had been to in a long while -Silverstone- sat in the Mclaren garage just wanting to annoy Lando as a little sister should do but he was interviewing and you didn’t want to be in front of the camera. That’s when you saw Max walk past the garage alone. Max was basically a brother he’d been about since as long as you could remember. 

“Max” you called before jumping on his back 

“Missing LN, are we?” He asked, and you nodded 

“Lan left me in the garage alone” you pouted, and he chuckled 

“What are you going to do when you’re the only one with him?” He asked, starting to walk again. 

“Where are you going?” You asked him, resting your head on his shoulder 

“Going to find your brother to return his property” He joked, and you slapped his arm. Max laughed as he walked to the media pen, stopping next to Lando and dropping you onto the floor 

“Your property, I believe” Max tapped your head before walking away

“Lan I’m bored” You whine, and his PR manager laughed 

“You didn’t bring anything to keep her entertained?” His PR manager asked 

“I thought she’d find some random F2 driver’s girlfriend to talk to, but obviously not” I pouted, shoving him away 

“I don’t know if they’re just random people or girlfriends and family” You shrugged, and he nodded 

“Fair point, I guess. Come on I’ll introduce you to Ollie he’s over there” You nodded, following behind him as he walked away, gripping onto his wrist 

“Y/N no one’s gonna kidnap you” He laughed, and you gripped his wrist tighter

“But it’s so busy, and I don’t know where I’m going” You whine as he comes to a sudden stop, causing you to bump into his back. 

“Ollie” the older sibling smiled at the younger boy, who was just happily sipping on his drink

“Oh hey Lando. Y/N” He smiled, looking up 

“Hey” You smiled back at him

“You already know Ollie?” Lando questioned, and you nodded

“I’ve not been avoiding Formula racing all together or living under a rock” You shrugged

“And he knows you?” Lando looked between the two of you.

“Ollie follows me on instagram. I became quite the popular girl at school” You giggle thinking back to prom when you were being questioned on how you were now followed by not only Lando but Oliver Bearman. What Lando didn’t need to know is that you two were secretly texting and had plans to go for ice cream after his sprint race while Lando was doing whatever practice. 

“Okay well bye. I’ll see you in an hour” Lando walked away, and that’s when it became awkward 

“You’ve definitely not been to a race in a while” Ollie chuckled, taking your smaller hand in his larger hand and moving you out of the media pen.

“They’re scary. There’s always so many people here, and I never know who I’m allowed to be talking to” you pouted 

“Come on I’ll introduce you to the drivers, some of them anyway” Ollie led you back into the paddock and in between all the different motorhomes starting with Ferrari as he was meant to be in there anyway.

“We’ll start with Ferrari because at least if you get lost, you can’t miss the bright red” He grinned, leading you inside and over to a couple of people talking. Charles and Carlos. You obviously knew who the drivers were. They just didn’t know who you were. 

“Done with your interviews?” Charles asked, and Ollie nodded

“Yeah, I finished those. Now I’m showing Y/N about the place” He smiled as both the Ferrari drivers looked at you. 

“Girlfriend?” Carlos asked, and Ollie shook his head as you laughed 

“Lando’s sister. I don’t know how I ended up with her” Ollie replied, and you looked up at him slightly offended

“Lando’s sister?” Charles repeated, and you nodded 

“Lando has another sister?” Carlos asked. 

“We didn’t meet while you were teammates. I was still quite busy with school. It’s been my first race for a while. I don’t know many people here” you replied as he nodded slowly 

“You look like Lando, to be honest” Charles tilted his head 

“It’s the curls” You shrugged as Ollie took your hand again 

“Next garage” He cheered, pulling you out. You gave a polite wave to the Ferrari drivers as Ollie pulled you to the Red Bull garage. You knew Max. When you stayed with Lando during holidays or lockdown, he would stream with Max. 

“Hey Y/N” Max smiled, wrapping you in a hug

“Finally! A familiar face” You hummed hugging him back 

“What happened to me introducing you to everyone?” Ollie asked, and you smiled, turning to look at him as you pulled back from the hug 

“Max and Lando are like best friends. Lando has a thing about people called Max” You joked as Max Fewtrell walked up behind you

“What about us Max’s?” He asked, causing you to jump and let out a scream 

“Bog off Max” you replied 

“Ohh not the Tracy Beaker line” He joked, and you rolled your eyes. Both Lando and Max still had a thing about you swearing, not like you were legally an adult, so you resorted to saying ‘Bog off’

“Are you lost? Do I need to carry you back to Lando”? He asked, and you shook your head

“Ollie is showing me about and introducing me to different people” You smiled, and he nodded, ruffling your hair 

“Well P is lost, so I’m gonna go find her. Be safe” Max walked off as Checo joined 

“Ah Checo this is Lando’s youngest sister Y/N” The Dutch man introduced you, and you smiled at Checo 

“Nice to meet you” you hummed, looking at Ollie for help. Checo and Lando weren’t exactly the best of friends. 

Ollie continued to introduce you to different drivers until it was time for him to return you to Lando - that was Lando’s words - so now you were following Ollie back to the Mclaren garage. He stopped outside, and you smiled at him 

“Thank you for showing me about” You thanked him, and he nodded

“Are we still up for ice cream tomorrow?” He asked, and you nodded 

“We are. But you’re coming to me. I still don’t know where I’m going” you replied 

“Then I’ll meet you outside here?” You smiled with a nod as Lando walked out the garage 

“Home time” He cheered, and you laughed, waving bye to Ollie as Lando walked you out of the paddock as he talked to Oscar. 

Next Part

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[darnell-la]

Please I need more “drive-by sniffing” It’s so funny to me but also I’m into it

warnings: jealousy, hiding keys, sniff-by (drive by sniffing), lying, teasing, trapping, kissing, carrying, oral (fem receiving), etc.

note: perv!logan???? FUCKIN’ HELL.

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

“They’re just a friend, Wade” y/n sighed as Wade kept complaining about where and why she was going. She was trying to find her keys and he knew for a fact he took them.

“Where are they, Wade? I told you I was leaving before I took a shower and now they’re off the kitchen counter so — Where are they!?” Y/n yelled at the man, making Logan choke on his beer.

“I don’t know, peanuts. Maybe it’s lost up your ass,” Wade shrugged as he got up and slipped his shoes on. “Shame on you for leaving mister I have no life and I hate everyone and everything, over there. Maybe you couldn’t take him on a date,”

“It’s not a date!” She yelled at the man, knowing this might be, but it was none of his business. “Yeah, sure it’s not, but since it’s so not a date, why not take Grandpa with you? He hasn’t seen the sun in a while,” Wade whispered.

Before y/n could say anything, he left, shutting the door hard and singing as he skipped down the hall, ready to go see Vanessa. “Dick shit,” said under her breath.

“Language, young lady,” Logan chuckled as he took a sip of his ninth beer. “Who are you? The god of prohibited language?” Y/n rolled her eyes at the man before she continued her search for her car keys.

“Lookin’ for these, bub?” Logan’s voice spoke after a few minutes of silence. She wanted to ignore him, but once she heard her keys jingle, her head snapped towards him.

“Bro, you had it the whole time!?” Y/n wanted to yell at the man, but he was Wade’s guest. Y/n only stayed here at times when it got too late for her to drive home. He’s somehow friends with her elders and he needed a “full-time babysitter for his dog” that he had just picked up and left with.

Her parents and grandparents insisted she didn’t help Deadpool and Dogpool. They were all big fans, but y/n wasn’t planning on working for him.

Wade had something behind what he was doing after y/n served him his food at bingo night. She was young but not too young, pretty, went to college, and was hard to deal with. Right up Logan’s alley, but did Wade tell him his secret evil plan? No.

“Yeah, because you’re lying,” Logan put the keys back in his pocket after she came over to him to take back what was hers. “What? Bro, give me my keys,” y/n was annoyed.

“You are going on a date, ain’t ya?” He asked. She could do all the washing she wanted, but he could still smell her. “No, for the love of god. Can you guys stop asking me that shit? It’s annoying!”

“Last time I checked, it only takes you ten minutes to shower, not thirty,” y/n was surprised he paid attention to her shower times. She’s only been in and out of Wade’s shared apartment for a couple of months.

“Your point is?” She asked, knowing he wasn’t dumb, but she hoped he’d give up. “I don’t know, you tell me,” he got up, now towering over her. Her neck ached from the sudden new angle she had to look at him.

“I can smell you, you know,” Logan admitted. “What do you mean?” She genuinely asked. “I can smell you leaking. It’s hard to miss when you smell like that every time you leave to meet up with your friends,”

She wanted to call out his perverted activities but had nothing to say. He was old, but she wasn’t a minor, so what could she say to make him feel uncomfortable for invading her privacy.

“How good is he? Seems like he fucks good if you’re soaked right before you leave,” Logan had y/n cornered on the wall. She didn’t know she was backing up that much until she had nowhere else to go.

“How about you let me meet him. Lemme watch how he fucks you so I can show you better,” his hot breath blew on her face. He was so close and intimidating. Where did all of this come from?

“Sometimes I can smell him on you. I hate it so much, you know why, bub?” Logan asked as his finger cupped her chin. Y/n softly shook her head. “Because I can do better,”

Before she knew it, his lips were all over her, barely letting her process before his tongue slipped into her mouth.

Usually, she found that nasty, hating the sloppy kisses, but this time — Fuck, it felt so nice.

Y/n kissed back, whines escaping her mouth as she now felt needy. She was already turned on, knowing she was going to meet her boy toy tonight, but Logan seemed better. He was always the better choice.

“Greedy slut,” the man spat, sounding angry, but she knew that’s how they talked when they were turned on. She could feel his hard on through his jeans. He was grinding up and down her body like a pole.

“Always leavin’ to fuck another man, like I’m not here, baby. I don’t like that disrespect,” Logan pulled the girl off of the wall and now carried her to his room that they sometimes shared.

Wade’s apartment is a two-bedroom, so if she slept over, she’d sleep on Logan’s bed, and he’d sleep on the small couch in the room.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t sleep better when she was right across from him. He’d also be lying if he said he would switch the sheets because he loved her smell.

He never did anything like this back where he was, but something after that fight made him switch. He was turning into a small pervert for a young lady in who’s barely the legal drinking age.

“Smellin’ like candy,” Logan sniffed, loving the new lotion she had bought a few days ago. “Gonna go through all that work when I take you on a date?” He asked as he slowly took the girl's clothes off. “Maybe,” she shyly said, surprised he wasn’t thinking about this as a one-night stand.

“Doesn’t matter, bub — Ima still eat that pussy till you cry,” he said as he spread the girl's legs. She felt so smooth. She was ready for him, not that dickhead she was getting ready to meet.

Logan slowly slicked up the girl's slit, taking in how close he is to her smell. All the days of smelling her getting ready for another man, just for her to get pulled back for him.

“Bet this cunts sweet,” the man said before diving in for a few seconds. Her mom got stuck in her throat. That was amazing, and he had more.

“Sure fuckin’ is,” Logan quickly went back in, arms wrapping around and thighs to pull her into his face. He wanted to suffocate in between her thighs.

[notjuststardust]

One Piece Monster Trio: Calling them husband when you're only dating

A random drabble I thought of after seeing a tik tok of this random girl calling her boyfriend husband. Enjoy the firstfruits of my madness >:)

Monkey D. Luffy

-You say it in passing to some random guy while apologizing for Luffy causing a scene and Luffy doesn't even realize.

-You're just like, "Sorry, my husband is a little excited," and now he's just trying to figure when the wedding was and if he missed your anniversary or not.

-Man is gaslit so hard he forgets that you aren't even married and somehow all the townspeople are suddenly referring to you as "the straw hats wife"

-After all, just like he will be the Pirate King you will be his wife.

-Only gets brought up when some lady asks to see your ring and Luffy starts freaking out when you say you don't have it.

-"Did you lose it during the fight?!"

-Man is actually sweating until you assure him you didn't because YOU NEVER EVEN HAD ONE.

-"Well, do ya want one?" After some blushing and nodding he tears off the drawstring to his hat and ties that around your left ring finger as a placeholder.

-You better start introducing yourself as the Queen of the Pirates.

Roronoa Zoro

-Sanji was making some comment under his breath about why a goddess like you chose to be with human shrek and before Zoro could even rerack the barbell to argue you were already defending him, "Don't talk about my husband that way you overcooked spaghetti haired-"

-Zoro is so shocked by the word 'husband' leaving your mouth he doesn't even recognize that the sass you'd exuded was borrowed from his own insults to the cook. The barbell just drops clean onto his chest and hes fighting for dear life to get it off.

-You've never lifted a weight in your LIFE so Sanji has to help you save him.

-Right after Sanji's yelling, Zoro is so quiet. He's just staring at you like you've got 3 heads.

-"Great, you broke him!" You yell when Sanji sees the dumb awe on Zoro's face.

-"You did that yourself, my dear. Look at the dumb look on your husbands face-" Now you're blushing and stammering because you realized what you'd said thinking you'd offended the swordsman.

-"Not my husband-"

-"Yet." Theres the tiniest smile on Zoro's face when he says it.

-HES LOOKING DEAD AT YOU TOO WHICH IS MAKING SANJI AUDIBLY GAG.

-"If you don't die from a barbell first."

Blackleg Sanji

-He calls you wife all the time but he never expects you to try to get him back for it.

-He's literally in the middle of serving dinner when one day you just drop, "Yeah, my hubby's the best cook!" After some rando Luffy had invited on the ship starts glowing about the taste.

-He hits the deck.

-Literally.

-But also the edge of the table on the way down.

-Chopper actually thinks hes had a heart attack because this man went TACHYCARDIC.

-Wakes up with a concussion and the ability to speak fluent french.

-You know he wakes up and starts mumbling nonsense like, "mon cher je suis honoré d’être votre seul et unique!" (My dear, i'm honored to be your one and only).

-I haven't taken french in years so please correct me if you're fluent.

[fear-is-truth]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐘 . . . hc .ᐟ ⭑ 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐡𝐞𝐰

⟢ tags — fem!reader﹒headcanons﹒domestic fluff﹒nsfw﹒mdni﹒smut﹒kinky rp﹒blasphemy

a/n: requested by… i’m pretty sure i remember who sent the req but not confident enough to @

you’ve mastered the art of meal prepping for him—chicken breasts, egg whites, protein shakes etc. he’ll sneak up to you from behind while you’re cooking, kissing the top of your head as a thank you.

his “controversial” youtube channel, where he films fitness and cycling classes, is something you secretly love to watch him record. you’ll often peek from the doorway as he’s filming, watching as he passionately leads the class, shirtless and full of energy, talking about strength and spirituality.

the two of you have a growing collection of houseplants that charlie swears he’s responsible for watering (even though you know you do most of it). he’s also been talking about getting a pet dog—and he gets excited just thinking about it.

you have a ritual of watching true crime documentaries in bed. he’d throw in some commentary during the episodes, pointing out details others would miss and making sarcastic remarks about the criminals’ poor decisions. you can tell he’s fascinated by the psychology of it all, even though some of his comments make you playfully swat his arm for being a bit too dark.

he’s dedicated to his morning jogs and always tries to convince you to join him, but on most days, you’re still in bed when he gets back, all sweaty and smug. he’ll kiss you awake like sleeping beauty and tell you that he’s already done your workout for you.

he’s super buff. strong enough to lift you effortlessly, and loves showing off. charlie would sweep you off your feet at random moments—like when you’re about to leave the house, or after a long day when he insists on carrying you to bed. he always jokes about how he’ll never get tired of it, no matter how many times you roll your eyes at his over-the-top gestures.

nsfw — mdni

after groundbreaking sex, you’ll be snuggled in bed, and suddenly, he’ll ask, “so, if you had to commit the perfect crime, how would you do it?” charlie loves watching you try to come up with a serious answer, and then he’ll one-up you with some morbid trivia or a clever solution.

one day he got his hands on a nun’s habit, and casually suggests you try it on. the whole thing was more than a bit blasphemous, considering his position, but you decided to humour him. as soon as you put it on, he was all over you.

confessing (in great detail) to him in the confessional booth about how you touched yourself when he’s not there.

christening your shared apartment by fucking you in every room, and on every available surface.

when you’ve ran out of surfaces, it extended to the church.

he has fucked you in the confessional booth at least once.

charlie has crazy stamina—partly because he works out and partly because he’s “blessed by god”.

you have a stash of homemade porn videos that you’ve filmed together.

talked you into wearing vibrating panties to mass. sitting in the front row for him to admire the tiny expressions in your face.

using holy anointing oil to give you full-body massages.

rehearsing his sermons while you cockwarm him.

charlie likes to leave the bathroom door slightly ajar when he’s taking a shower, knowing you’ll peek in. more than often, you join him, the sound of your clothes dropping to the floor muted by the running water. steam fogs up the bathroom as his hands find their way to your hips, pulling you under the water.

he’d scoop you up in his arms, pinning you securely between him and the wall. you’d cling onto charlie like a koala, wrapping your legs around his waist while kissing him, fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed you back with equal fervour, him slipping his tongue past your lips and exploring your mouth lazily.

when he senses your impatience—the telltale tightening of your grip on his hair or the small whine that passed between your connected lips, he’d waste no time lining himself to your entrance and filling you with one deep thrust.

MLIST  fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.