#the rest of the bookshelf I use as a bookshelf

[cerisesparadise]

still with you - park jongseong

genre - romantic drama, contemporary romance, lovers to exes (to lovers again? I’ll let you guys decide <3), slight angst?

pairing - idol ex bf!jay x fem!reader

warnings - none? It’s quite nostalgic and melancholic, fitting to the rainy fall weather (and this week’s theme on bjnet!) does an open ending count? (definitely does for me lol) - lmk if I should add any!

wc -  2.1k

synopsis - In a cosy café where they once shared quiet moments, she now sits alone, missing Jay—an artist whose career has skyrocketed since they mutually parted ways. Though she supports him from afar, she can’t help but wonder: is their story truly over, or is there still a way back to each other?

a/n - hii! welcome to my first official post under bjnet! this week’s theme is “A rainy day”, and since it’s been pouring this whole week, my rainy days playlist came back. On shuffle, Jungkook's Still With You started playing–my absolute favourite song–so I was inspired to write about Jay! Hopefully the weather’s been better for you guys, and enjoy reading! | bookshelf

The rain drummed softly against the café windows, each drop cascading down the glass like tiny rivers tracing a path to nowhere. It was one of those quiet, overcast afternoons when time seemed to slow, and the world outside became a blur of muted colours. Inside the café, the warmth of freshly brewed coffee and the soft murmur of low conversation wrapped around you, but none of it reached deep enough to distract you from the thoughts swirling in your mind.

You sat at the same table by the window, your fingers tracing invisible lines on the surface, where your books used to lie scattered. Back then, this corner had felt like your own private world—yours and Jay's. You could almost see it now, like a film playing out in front of you. He would sit across from you, his notebook open, guitar resting against the chair. Sometimes he’d hum under his breath, scribbling down lyrics, lost in the melodies that only existed in his mind until he could give them life.

You, on the other hand, were always hunched over textbooks and notes, eyes heavy with focus but heart light with the simple joy of being near him. The two of you didn’t always talk; sometimes, hours would pass in comfortable silence, with only the soft scrape of pen on paper or the occasional tap of a key on his laptop breaking the quiet. But it was a silence you cherished—a language all its own, one that spoke of contentment and understanding.

That was before.

Now, you were alone in that same café, staring out at the rain-soaked streets, lost in the bittersweet haze of what was, and what could have been. The weight of the empty chair across from you seemed heavier today, more tangible. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was the song softly playing over the café’s speakers—one of his. The familiar notes tugged at something deep inside you, each lyric a reminder of the memories you still carried.

You missed him.

You missed the way his voice would gently pull you out of your thoughts when he caught you zoning out during a study session, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled at you from across the table, as if to say, I'm here, I'm with you. You missed the way he would sneak a lyric or a phrase into his songs that only you would recognize, something small, something that connected just the two of you in a world where he was meant to belong to everyone.

But life had demanded more of him than just this corner of a café, more than just you. It had demanded his passion, his ambition, his heart. And you had your own path to follow. He was chasing his dream—music, the one constant in his life since long before he had met you. And you had your own dreams too, though they felt a little lonelier now. The decision to part ways hadn’t been easy for either of you, but it had been mutual. Logical, even. You both had careers to build, lives to shape. And you knew, deep down, that holding each other back wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Some days were easier than others. You kept busy with your studies, threw yourself into projects and assignments, and told yourself that this was how it had to be. That it was right. You still believed that. You both deserved to chase the things that made you feel alive. But there were days—days like today—when you’d find yourself back here, sitting at the same table, looking out at the rain and wondering.

Wondering if it was all worth it.

You watched the raindrops slide down the window, each one chasing the other, much like your thoughts. There was a time when you believed that no matter what life threw at you, the two of you could weather it together. But then the opportunities came knocking for him—the tours, the interviews, the endless nights spent in the studio. He had made it. You watched him rise, his name lighting up stages and screens, his music reaching people in ways he had always dreamed of.

And you? You cheered him on. Always. From the shadows, from a distance. Every time you saw his name in the headlines or his face on your feed, a small, proud smile would tug at your lips. That was your Jay up there, living the dream you had seen him work so hard for. You had always known he had it in him. And now the world did too.

But what the world didn’t see was the quiet ache that lived in the spaces between. They didn’t see the way your heart clenched every time his voice filled the room, reminding you of the nights you spent here, when his music was just for you. They didn’t see the way you’d trace the letters of his name absentmindedly, lost in thought, wondering if he still thought of you too.

But sitting here now, with only the rain and the memories, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made the right choice. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t think like that, wouldn’t let yourself slip into that spiral of what ifs—but it was hard. Hard not to believe, deep down, that you were supposed to be together. That despite everything, despite the distance, despite the lives you were building separately, you should have found a way to make it work.

A sigh escaped your lips as you picked up your coffee, now lukewarm, and took a small sip. The bitterness matched the mood settling over you, but it was a familiar comfort. The door to the café opened, and you looked up instinctively, your heart fluttering in your chest, just for a moment. There was always that sliver of hope, wasn’t there? That maybe, by some twist of fate, he would walk in. That the universe would bring him back to this table, to you.

But it wasn’t him. It never was. You smiled at yourself ruefully, shaking your head at the foolishness of it. Jay wasn’t coming back—not in the way you hoped, anyway. His path was set, and so was yours.

And yet, a part of you would always be here, in this café, waiting. Waiting for the impossible, for something that felt unfinished, unresolved. You could support him from a distance, as you always had. You could celebrate his successes, take pride in his accomplishments, cheer him on silently from the sidelines. But there would always be this ache, this quiet longing for the life you imagined, the one where you didn’t have to choose between love and dreams.

The rain continued to fall, a steady, rhythmic patter against the glass. And as you sat there, lost in thought, you knew that no matter how far apart your lives grew, no matter how much time passed, a part of you would always be with him. Just as he had said once, a long time ago, when things were simpler: “I’m still with you, even when I’m not.”

And in some ways, you still were too. Always with him.

As you continue to sit there, lost in the rhythm of the raindrops against the window, the café seems to melt away, taking you further into the labyrinth of your memories. You could still hear his laugh, feel the warmth of his hand when he’d reach out to touch yours, grounding you in the moment.

But now, that warmth is gone, replaced by the distant hum of the café, the clinking of mugs, the murmur of people around you. You sigh for the nth time, gripping your coffee cup tighter as if holding onto something that was never meant to stay.

Suddenly, a familiar voice breaks through the soft chatter. You blink, snapping out of your thoughts. It’s coming from the café’s radio–a voice you’d recognise anywhere. Jay’s voice. Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding as the barista turns the volume up just a bit. You hadn’t heard his voice this way in months, not like this–so close, so familiar.

“...and that was Jay Park’s latest single, Still With You, topping the charts yet again. An instant hit since its release, fans are raving about the emotional depth and the heartfelt lyrics. We actually have Jay with us on the line. Jay, congratulations! Can you tell us a little more about the song?”

Your chest tightens, and you sit up a little straighter, pulse racing. Still With you? That can’t be. That was your song. The one he’d written in this very café, the one he’d promised was for you. He’d never intended to release it, or at least, you thought he wouldn’t–especially after the two of you had parted ways. But here it was, playing on the radio for the entire world to hear.

You lean forward, your heart pounding louder than the rain as Jay’s voice comes through the speakers again, soft but steady, like a familiar embrace.

“I wrote this song a while back… for someone special in my life,” he begins, his tone thoughtful. “She was… she still is special, even though she’s not by my side anymore. Without her, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I wouldn’t have found the courage to chase this dream. So I guess this song is my way of saying thank you… and maybe hoping for another chance. I don’t know if she’ll ever hear it, but—” He pauses, and for a moment, you could almost imagine him looking down, smiling softly the way he used to. “—I hope she’s still out there somewhere, hoping for another chance at love, just like I am.”

The radio host fills the silence with congratulations and questions about his tour, but you’re no longer listening. The world around you seems to blur, fading into the background as your heart races in your chest. His words echo in your mind, crashing over you like the rain against the window.

“She’s still special. I hope she’s still out there, hoping for another chance. Just like I am”

Jay. The song, the message—it was for you. It had always been for you.

The rain outside felt heavier now, or maybe it was just your pulse beating in your ears, drowning out everything else. You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady yourself, but it was impossible to ignore the sudden rush of emotion rising inside you. He hadn’t forgotten. Even after all this time, all the distance, he hadn’t let go. He was still thinking of you, still hoping, just as you had been, quietly, all this time.

Could this be it?

For a moment, you wondered if this was the sign you’d been waiting for—the universe’s way of telling you that maybe, despite everything, your story wasn’t over yet. It felt surreal–like something out of a dream. Jay, the one person you couldn’t forget, was reaching out, even if he didn’t know it.

You glanced out at the rain-soaked street beyond the café window, your reflection staring back at you with wide eyes and a heart full of questions. Could it really be that after all this time, Jay was still waiting for another chance? And more importantly, were you ready to find out?

The rain continued to fall, but for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel so heavy. Instead, it felt like the beginning of something—something you weren’t quite sure of yet, but something that made your heart beat just a little faster.

You inhaled sharply, trying to ground yourself. Was this the sign you had been waiting for? A second chance? You had been so convinced that your story with Jay had ended, but now–now, it felt as if the universe was pulling you back together, one note at a time.

You stood up slowly, gathering your things, mind racing with thoughts of what to do next. Maybe today, you’d just walk home. Maybe tomorrow, you’d listen to his song again, really listen. And maybe, just maybe, you’d find the courage to reach out.

But for now, the café door opened with a soft chime, and you stepped out into the rain—unsure of where it would lead you, but feeling, for the first time in a long time, like the world had offered you a possibility.

A possibility of a second chance.

© cerisesheaven — please do not plagiarize, repost, translate, copy, or alter any of my works. thank you angel!

[causeimanartist]

Post League meeting thoughts

[they-didnt-last]

anyone interested in talking about the iconic 2000's middle-grade-bordering-on-ya book series gallagher girls??

[kitwilsonsass]

i think it's very brave of me to use one of my only two days in a row off for the next two weeks to do more cleaning even though i'm already sore as hell from yesterday

[faithfulcat111]

I got a bunch of Jancy Polaroids along a bulletin board in my room. Except for the season 4 set. Cause I ran out of tape. I bought more tape, but in that time, that piece became a bookmark. So now it is marking my place in book 23 of The Odyssey. Why do I do this?

[dredshirtroberts]

okay. i cleared out the space under my bed so the princess will have so much MORE room for activities than she previously did. at least until Saturday and we move to the new place and she can decide if she's going to play nice with the boys finally.

[truckloadoffrogs]

signed the lease for my first apartment today!!!!!!

[jedi-bird]

It is currently raining and will only get worse as the day goes on, which means my energy and ability to focus on tasks is almost nonexistent. Still managed to get some stuff done at least (set up shelf inserts in the kitchen, added felt sliders to the new chairs, moved the rest of my partner's new office stuff upstairs, moved some more of my stuff out, and got some more things ready to donate). Going to try writing later but not going to force it. Tomorrow should be better since the rain should start tapering off.

[neverendingford]

,

[toji-bunny-girl]

You don't go to the library to study. You go there to have your cunt stuffed, by nonother than librarian!Gojo.

He works there 5 days a week, and you made sure to be there by your corner every single one of those days, carefully staring at him through the side of your book. Of course, he's well aware of your interest in him. You're so preoccupied with him you don't even realise you're holding the book upside down.

He doesn't realise it yet but he's slow to share the same amount of attraction to you as you are to him. He'd note the way your eyebrows would adorably scrunch together when you're actually doing your assignment for once, and you'd collapse face down onto the table when the frustration and exhaustion caught up to you. Or how your favourite colour seemed to be pink, your stationery and laptop covered in different shades of the colour.

He's used to your presence by now, having spent the last couple of weeks observing you just as you stalked him through the library. And truth to be told, he actually enjoyed it—he's got a cutie following behind him, too shy to strike up a conversation with him and too dumb to hide your little crush any better.

You quickly became the only part of his job he would look forward to, questioning what kind of crap you were going to pull up to just right before his shift. Until you're gone all of a sudden.

Maybe you were just late, he thought on the first day of your absence. Or maybe you're sick by the second day. Perhaps you're just busy with school…or maybe some another guy—

Why does he even care in the first place? You're just some stalker with a pretty face, nothing special out of the sea of girls in his DMs. Gojo doesn't like how he's fretting over a girl who he hasn't talked to before, your presence doesn't control how his day goes anyway.

Until it does.

It exasperated him by how he allowed himself to be subjugated under you. He can't focus on his seminars when the voices in his head wonder about you louder than the lecturer's, he can't flirt with the chicks on campus without thinking about that fangirl from the library and he can't sleep if his head is filled with the images of you with another guy.

What kind of spell have you managed to put him under?

He was completely and utterly chafed by the next week when he entered his shift, a frown seemingly marked permanently upon his face as he went through his chores, putting away the books back to their categorised shelves. That was until he heard a familiar pit-pats of your shoes, and saw your figure stupidly hiding behind a bookshelf from the side of his eye.

His playful spirit returned when he noted your presence, and he wandered further into the library, where no one could see the two of you. As expected, you shuffled along his steps before slipping yourself into the aisle behind him, pretending to flick through the choices of books on display.

Those were Chinese novels, and you majored in Biochemistry. Idiot, he thought with an internal chuckle.

Unbeknownst to you, he had strolled to your back, waiting for you to turn to face him. Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when you found him standing right in front of you, and you froze then and there like a deer in the headlights.

"I know you've been stalking me around here," he had a shit-eating smirk on his face as his arms rested by your sides to trap you in between them. "Freak," he whispered next to your ears, sending a tingle through your nerves.

"I-I, ah—" you stammered, trying to collect your words to sound coherent. Your face was flushed bloody red with embarrassment, and Gojo was sure he'd burn himself if he were to touch you.

"But that's okay…" he drawled. "I won't spread the word if you listen to me."

Your eyes were wide, gaping at him through your lashes as you nodded.

Fuck, were you adorable.

"You like me, huh?"

"Uhm…I, uh…"

"Hm?"

"Y-Yes," you blurted with your eyes squeezed shut, too embarrassed. Your breath was hot, and they scorched his cheeks red upon your words.

"What do you like about me?" oh god does he love teasing the hell out of you.

"Your f-face…"

"My face?" he feigned dumb. Of course, he's well aware that girls would only come chasing after his looks. But he absolutely enjoyed torturing you with his stupid questions. "Which part of my face?"

"Huh…?" your eyes were spinning, your hands raising to push his frame a little away for your comfort.

"My eyes? My nose?" his bigger hand captured the two of yours into his grasp, his fingers were icy cold against yours, and his face neared yours once again, merely a breath away. "Or my lips?"

You didn't dare to answer, the sound of your throat gulping filled the air as a few stray hairs of his tickled your cheek. His eyes peered towards yours, catching your gaze that fell upon his lips.

"There, huh?" Gojo's smirk widened, his grip on your wrists tightening a fraction. "Wanna try them?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words left your trembling lips, except for a silent gasp. He took the shift of your feature as a sign for him to advance onto you, his lips gently sucked on your soft flesh, the tiniest amount of your saliva flowed onto his tongue and they tasted better than the finest honey.

A string of your mixed essence connected his lips to yours, red and swollen as a sign of his kiss, when he pulled away. Your knees weakened in enfeeblement, and Gojo caught you before you could fall to the ground.

"You're done?" his arms are strong, and you could feel his muscles flex under your hand when you gathered your strength to stabilise on your feet. "I'm not."

His touches slowly trailed down from your arm to your hips, and you subconsciously rubbed your thighs together when his gaze fell onto them. In his eyes you could see a growing hunger that lurked beneath his bright blue eyes, it was the darker gradient that hung low in his orbs.

"Do you touch yourself here when you think of me?" your teeth sank into the flesh of your bottom lip and your eyes peered down to between your skirt, where his hand was as you vaguely nodded; hoping that he didn't see the faint motion of your head.

How wouldn't he know when all his attention is on you? His eyes scanned the faint shifts in your features when he pressed against your heat, making sure there wasn't any hint of dissent to his touch—and mostly searching for the muted salacity behind your pretty eyes.

"Sometimes…" your voice was meek, but it was audible enough for his ear to twitch at your words. His chest almost burst to your confession, and the images of your features twisting into lewd faces flashed past his mind, calling out his name with that sweet voice of yours.

A soft moan left your lips when his fingers slipped past your pink panty, drawing slow circles upon your clit. Your hips bucked as he teased, his other hand coming down to palm your ass.

"What about I make you feel good?" he gently asked, and you drunkenly nodded to your pleasure. His thumb grew charge of teasing your hardening bud, his two long fingers dipped into your already-slick cavern, reaching the sensitive parts of your inside.

Your lips tensed into a line to quell the moans that drew from your itching tummy, and your hands rested on Gojo's chest, gripping onto his shirt for support.

His fingers grew greedy for more of your whimpers, stroking past your walls, searching for the velvety spot in you. You threw your head back when he found the part he was looking for, pumping out and into the spongey surface, stimulating your nerves to their limit.

Your eyebrows furrowed and your eyelids flew shut when he expedited the speed of his slick-coated digits, his arm growing slightly sore as he carried you to the height of your orgasm. His cock twitched when you drew out a cry of pleasure, your breath stuck in your throat as your mind went blank from your high.

Your grip on his clothes loosened, and you panted as you rest your weight against the shelves, Gojo's damp fingers evident of the pleasure he delivered to you. He watched as you collected your remaining breath, your cheeks flushed pink in arousal and your eyesight slowly blinked clear.

A bolt flash of surprise ran through his eyes when you carefully pulled his pants down, gripping his hardened girth with your warm hands. Gojo stopped you with a grab of your wrist, your whole body tensing in creeping embarrassment—he doesn't like it when you touch him?

Your thoughts flew out the window when he spat onto your palm, before guiding your hand back to his throbbing cock. Your mind grew blank as you began fisting his length, his breath hitching when you rubbed over his pinkish-red tip.

Your touches were filled with careful inexperience, and Gojo found it absolutely fucking adorable. The soft squelching of his saliva in your hand as you pumped his cock filled the air, and he inched closer to kiss you once again.

His groans flowed into your mouth as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, drinking in the taste of you as you pleased him. You seemed to be a quick learner on your own, pumping his pulsing cock faster, gripping onto him tighter, and rubbing his sensitive tip of all.

His hips stuttered along with the movements of your hand, a sign of his close release and you were clearly relentless to please him. Your pace doesn't falter, but fastened instead and his moans muffled through your sloppy kiss, your mixed drool dripping down your chin and onto your chest.

"Fuck," his voice cracked as his cock twitched, before ejaculating his hot semen onto your clothes, slowly dripping down to your thigh. Your breaths mingled in the sultry air, the smell of your essences filled your nostrils as the both of you cooled from the aftermath of your highs.

You recognised the dirty smirk on his face when you flicked your gaze up at him, and you sank into the bookshelf in preparation for what he had conjured up in his mind.

"The library closes in 30 minutes, we'll get the whole place to ourselves by then."

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

I figured it out.

The only thing keeping me from cleaning my room is the allure of my bed

So if I put my rats on my bed,

I can't lay on my bed

And I'll clean

I'm so fucking smart

[plusultraetc]

don’t worry you still have time

[ovaryacted]

SECONDHAND SMOKE

─ Logan Howlett/Wolverine x mutant f! reader || WC: 2.2k

SYNOPSIS: Waiting for Logan back at the X-Mansion, he welcomes you into his arms and enjoys his cigar with you on his lap.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUTTY. Thigh Riding. Dirty Talk. Kissing. Scent Kink. Light Oral (f receiving). Established Relationship. Older! X-Men Logan implied. Age Gap Implied [Logan looks to be in his 40s, Reader is in their 20s]. Reader is a telepath & telekinetic mutant with a human appearance. Telepathic communication. Logan is a tease and a lover boy, he uses multiple terms of endearment. They match each other's freak.

A/N: I've been meaning to upload another Logan fic especially since watching the D&W movie on Friday, and I wanted to share this with y'all. This story is also technically part of a larger idea, but that will be talked about later. I have other things planned for Logan as well for X-Men Logan, old man Logan, and variant Logan. That man is not going to be safe on my watch. Thank you to @ozarkthedog for the proofread and the motivation to keep writing for this man, and shout out to @zloshy for taking part in the aesthetics and the encouragement with the yap sessions. I adore you both. Anywho, likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoy! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You’ve been waiting for him all day while he was out with the rest of the leading group of X-Men, something regarding a history lesson that needed to be handled. You stayed at the mansion on Xavier’s orders, tending to the younger class of gifted mutants until the veterans arrived by nightfall. To keep yourself occupied, you perused the many books Logan kept on his shelf towards the far end of his bedroom, picking up a well-loved novel from Hemingway to delve into. 

Carefully turning the pages, the wording and storytelling entranced you, each paragraph manifesting into visions that played in your head like a live-action film. Half of your senses remained in the book while the other listened for the familiar creaks of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hallway.

You sensed him before you saw him. Halfway into the book, you lift your head at the sound of the door opening, spotting Logan standing by the threshold of the room’s entryway. Closing the door behind him, he steps towards where you sat on his bed, holding your chin upwards to face him. Bending forward, he placed a soft kiss on your lips, followed by a content sigh that made a smile creep up on your face.

“Hey,” you said, meeting Logan’s softened gaze as he moved away from you to the other side of the room, plopping down on the leather armchair in a heap. He exhaled heavily through his nose, throwing his head back along the edge of the chair. “Long day?”

“The fucking longest,” Logan grumbled, his brow bone creasing before he relaxed.

“I thought you liked hanging out with Scott?” you questioned, the end of your voice trailing off into a playful tease as you sat up on the mattress.

“Sweetheart, that man has a pretentious stick up his ass. You couldn’t pay me to spend time with him.” You laughed at his mild irritation, knowing Logan’s faux vexation towards his friend was a facade to cover his true feelings of fondness.

Reaching for a box of cigars to his right, Logan clipped the cap off a fresh one and popped it between his lips, holding it by his teeth. He glanced at you, the corner of his lips curling up in a mischievous grin.

“Come here, you gotta light this for me.”

With a smile, you obliged, quickly rising on your feet and striding to where he sat in the chair, swinging your legs around to situate yourself over his denim-clad lap. Straightening your back, your eyes briefly flashed black as you materialized the metal lighter from its place on the bookshelf before Logan, flicking the spark wheel until the red flame brightened his chin. The foot end of the cigar sizzled as it burnt to ash, the familiar scent of finely aged tobacco filled your nose as he drew in his first breath.

“Sneaky.” He mumbled around the cigar, taking a harsh pull of air before curling his fingers to hold it, huffing the smoke out on the next exhale.

“I call it being efficient.” You grinned to yourself, accepting the reciprocated hum rumbling through Logan’s broad chest. Your fingers skimmed his collarbones that peeked through the white tank under his flannel, admiring the bob of his throat and the steady rise of his body whenever he breathed.

“What were you up to in here? Snooping through my shit?” His sight darted to the burgundy button-down you wore, ending right at the top of your bare thighs. He brought his free hand to caress your leg, running circles over your skin and feeling you shiver slightly under him. “I was looking for this shirt last week, you know?”

“First off, this was gifted to me,” you stated with a roll of your eyes, smacking Logan across the chest and forcing a dry chuckle out of him. “And secondly, I was waiting for you to come back.”

“Hmm, so you’re saying you missed me?”

“Surprisingly, I did.” You sneaked your other hand towards Logan’s neck, curling your fingers around the thick hair at his nape. He almost purred at the touch, smoking his cigar and looking at you from the corner of his eye.

“Besides, it’s nice and quiet here. You also gave me permission to be here for your information.” 

Since dating Logan, it has been a slow start to accomplishing milestones for either of you, taking things one step at a time to avoid scaring the other off. Now that things have been good between you, he gave you free reign to be in his bedroom at the mansion, usually spending the day here for some solace or sleeping in his bed instead of yours on the other side of the estate. On a mental note, he intended to make your presence in his life more permanent.

“Damn, I forgot I gave you permission to take my stuff,” Logan quipped, somehow becoming more cocky than he usually was. You loved him for it either way.

Asshole. Although you didn’t verbally say the word, he heard your voice in his mind, taking the telepathic route. His smirk widened as he took another drag of his cigar, the smoke heavy in the air as it circled the two of you.

“All yours, darlin’.” He offered you a wink, squeezing your thigh with his other hand to keep you in place, seated on his thick thighs.

You spent a few minutes talking to him, giving him a rundown of your relatively calm day and mentioning the book you read earlier. It was oddly domestic, something that most mutants would not be able to partake in, and Logan silently thanked whoever granted him the opportunity to experience it.

A comfortable silence occupied the room once Logan was halfway down his cigar. Enjoying his company, you nuzzled into his neck, taking in his natural scent. A mix of pinewood and leather filled your senses, musky and so clearly him, your belly twitched at the warmth of his body against yours. Absentmindedly, you began to litter kisses over his skin, placing a few more along the base of his throat and moving upwards to the corner of his jaw. He could smell the shift in your behavior; arousal mixing in with the lingering haze heightened his senses, and his attention was directed back to you.

“Need something?” His voice dropped an octave as he asked you, running lines up and down your leg, the sensation making you squirm.

“Need you, smartass.” Holding his face, you kissed him on the cheek and once more on the tip of his nose, reaching his lips along the way. His eyes closed at the touch, wanting nothing more than to feel the caress of your tongue and sink his teeth into your bottom lip. 

“I want you too, but I’m on my smoke break.” You were ready to pout at him before Logan adjusted your positioning, shifting you more off to the side so your pelvis sat on one of his thighs. The thickness of the denim covering the hard muscle of his leg rubbed against your underwear, a moan settling in the back of your throat at the contact.

“Get yourself off while I finish this. Promise, it’ll be worth it, hun.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, knowing what he was asking for, yet your cheeks warmed under his stare. He merely shrugged, raising an eyebrow and patiently waiting for your next move.

Doubtfully, you pivoted your hips forward, dragging yourself across the vast expanse of his thigh before drawing backward. The first few passes felt strange, but you quickly found your rhythm, rocking your hips in even thrusts. The material of his jeans rubbed just right against your panties; the thin fabric that separated your body from his added more friction to your sensitive clit. Your lower spine grew warm with Logan’s free hand idly holding your waist, calmly guiding your movements over him until he was confident you got it handled.

Logan leans back into the chair and plants his feet on the floor, giving you more leverage to work with. His keen eyes take in the way you flutter yours shut, eyebrows furrowing in concentration at getting the perfect angle and drive. He can hear your heart beating in your ribcage and can feel the pumping of your blood flowing through your veins to rush between your legs.

Muffled moans pour out of you, gripping the fabric of Logan’s shirt and tilting forward a bit more, digging your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. The secondhand smoke from his cigar amplified the incessant throbbing down South, a second pulse that pounded through your body with a need clawing at your gut. The motion of your hips grew more persistent as your slick seeped into your panties, known to Logan when his nostrils flared to catch your scent in the air.

“Feeling good, princess?” You heard his voice filtering through the light mess of your thoughts, focusing on making yourself feel good under his orders. You hummed against his neck, nodding and keeping your even pacing as you leaned into his muscular body.

“Yeah, I know it’s good. Bet your pussy is just crying for me now, probably tastes just as sweet too.” Logan’s vulgar mouth only motivated you to grind your hips harder against his leg, reminiscent of a bitch in heat the more you moved over him.

There was something erotic about getting yourself off while Logan observed and enjoyed his smoke. To him, you were quality entertainment, a sight for sore eyes after a hectic day full of learning things he was trying to retain. Your mind grew clouded, full of the many ways Logan handled you, things like this that kept you on your toes the way he knew how. Flashbacks of this morning flickered before your eyes, reminiscing the feel of his tongue slipping inside you and his bicep tucked under your neck as he fucked you from behind.

Logan could picture it too, traces of your daydreams passing by in his head, instances where he made you feel so good you had nothing left to give. He wonders how wet you are, could taste your cunt on the back of his tongue, missing it since he left you with a weary grin on your face as you slept in his bed. He hopes you stained the worn denim that separated the two of you and prays that you leave your mark on him, no matter how temporary.

“Getting close?” he asked. He didn’t hear you respond, but your voice remained floating in the confines of his skull.

Yes. Fuck yes. So close. Fuck me. Fuck me. Please.

“I will sugar, promise I will.” His hand ran up the curve of your spine and gently curled around your neck, pulling you backward to hold his gaze. Your glossed-over pupils dilated at the sight of him, irises darkening and filling with ink. The embodiment of your powers made him curious at first, with blackened eyes at the indication of specific actions, but he quickly got used to seeing the signs every time he made you fall over the edge.

“C’mon, sweet girl. Make a mess on my jeans, and I swear I’ll treat your pussy the way she deserves, the way she needs. Let me feel it.”

Logan. Logan. Logan.

“Fuuuck…” You whined under your breath, doing three more harsh passes over his thigh before your body abruptly tensed, legs shaking and pressing into his hard body as the wave slammed over you. Mind clear and body lax, you hummed against Logan’s throat, pulse thumping against your lips as you placed a light kiss.

He took one last pull of his cigar before smudging it into the ashtray on the end table to his left, ideally saving whatever was left of it for after he fucks you. Wrapping his thick arms around you, he brings you closer to him, pulling your hips over his to hover over the growing bulge in his jeans.

“Need something?” you taunted, parroting his earlier words with equal tone and sarcasm.

“Yeah. Need to clean up the mess you made.”

Crashing into your lips, he kissed you deeply for the first time that night, curling his tongue around yours in affectionate swirls and releasing an audible groan. Holding you close, he stood up on his feet and picked you up with ease, strolling towards the bed in three strides. Lighthearted giggles tumbled out of you, making Logan’s heart beat in tandem with yours. The sides of his face creased as he mimicked your smile, tugging hastily at your sodden underwear and tossing them to the side. Rough fingers curled around the soft flesh of your thigh, parting your legs to admire his handiwork as he heard your voice in his head again.

Greedy.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” As if to prove your point, he licked a broad stripe up the length of your cunt, your wetness coating his tongue as he placed a complimentary kiss on your sensitive bundle of nerves, re-igniting the fire he started.

 “Now be good and let your old man have a taste.”

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

astarion ancunin hcs {pt. 1}

once he's comfortable with you, he adores non-sexual physical intimacy

playing with his hair will calm him down almost instantly

he's protective and possessive, so he'll keep a hand on you at all times, usually on your back

loves when you initiate any kind of physical contact

always asks to do something before he does, in either a sexual or nonsexual context

he's easily jealous and can sometimes get very possessive; for the first time in 200 years, he has someone who genuinely loves him and he hates the possibility that he might lose you

that possessiveness is obvious when he marks up your neck with bites and hickeys

if he feels like his place in your relationship is threatened in public, he will not hesitate to touch, hold, or kiss you in front of whomever is making a move on you; after some bearing of fangs, whoever it is usually scuttles off very quickly

he definitely feels very undeserving of you and your love and has his days when he's convinced you're going to leave him for someone better when you get the chance, or that he's keeping you from; that insecurity lasts for a very long time

constantly buries his own feelings, so you have to coax them out of him and teach him how to set boundaries and stand up for himself

astarion absolutely LOVES bathing together; he can be very vulnerable with you without sex being expected when you bathe together and it absolutely helps him regain some control and bodily autonomy

he loves gifting you things: jewelry, clothes, weapons, little knickknacks he sees that remind him of you

his elven ears are so sensitive and he absolutely will whine involuntarily when you brush your fingers over them (either on accident while you're touching his curls or on purpose)

speaking of which, astarion loves having his hair played with, it's a huge comfort to him (and another form of physical touch that isn't inherently sexual, so it's one of the ways to ease him back into being intimate and physical)

sexually, he's very switchy; some days he wants to be in control and giving you all the pleasure you deserve, but other days he's more than happy to let you take the lead and love on him

he loves staying up late to have deep talks and watch the sky (sun or moon and stars, it doesn't matter which to him)

cuddle this man. all the time. he's absolutely a cuddle bug. if you don't cuddle him while you go to sleep, he'll be very huffy, and you'll wake up to him curled up around you anyway

he also likes to be the little spoon sometimes, once he's comfortable with you seeing and being wrapped around his back

he will sew everything for you instead of teaching you to do it; he likes being useful in some little way for you (inspired by @aethes-bookshelf's post here because I saw it and went "you are absolutely right")

he commonly speaks to you in Elvish whether you understand it or not; it's absolutely a comfort to him, especially when you start picking up words and understanding some of what he says

contrary to the performances he puts on, astarion is a very gentle lover when he can finally be comfortable and genuine with you. he's quieter, softer, he takes the time to learn you and himself, he lets himself enjoy it; he learns to become a taker, not just a giver

he likes to hold you, however he can, and at the very least always be touching you. an arm around your waist or shoulders, a hand on the small of your back, holding your hand or twining your pinkies together. he can't be touching you, he's standing so close to you that he could be touching you if he moved a centimeter more

he likes to hug you randomly; one of his favorite ways to do it is to come up behind you while you're cooking or talking to someone or looking at yourself in the mirror to get ready so he can surprise you by putting his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder

astarion has a habit of kissing your neck whenever he can, sometimes it's a way to let you know he's hungry, other times when he wants to be intimate, other times just to remind you he loves you

on the same hand, he doesn't always say 'i love you' but instead makes it known through his behavior around you (and the fact that he's constantly looking at you like you are his whole world, because you are)

on the nights when you can't sleep, he reads to you until you drift off because he knows you find his voice soothing

he likes tucking his head into your neck and shoulder when the two of you sleep (which he finds out he actually likes doing every now and then)

the first thing astarion does when he wakes up is pepper you with little kisses on your shoulders, collarbones, cheeks, and forehead

when he's nervous and with people he's okay with knowing that, he'll reach for your hand and touch your fingers to calm down and ground himself. if you wear a ring or multiple rings, he'll play with those

astarion loves it when you call him by a nickname, either a shortened version of his name or a pet name. if he's fed recently and had enough blood, his cheeks will turn this adorable shade of pink when you call him "Star" or "my love" or something similar

how he wakes up from a nightmare changes constantly. the worse the nightmare, the worse his reaction when he wakes up. sometimes it's just a little gasp and his eyes flying open, sometimes it's a yelp and tears, sometimes he's crying before he even wakes up; but every time, his biggest comfort is to cling to you until the panic fades and then curl up in your lap (you've learned to light a candle or summon lights with magic when he wakes up from a nightmare; the shadows make him feel worse)

when you fall asleep outside of bed, he picks you up and carries you to bed and tucks you in—all without waking you

if you are injured at any point and there is no certainty that you'll pull through, he panics. he stays at your side the entire time, even if the smell of your blood is driving him mad, and holds your hand and talks to you, often begging you to wake up, to come back to him, to stay with him; more than once, you've woken up to find him with tears streaked down his face

every time you wake up from an injury and he realizes it, either because he's watching you or because you say hi to get his attention, he smothers you in kisses

once he's no longer starving, he likes to feed from you very slowly, to take his time and enjoy your taste; now that he's promised food, he doesn't feel the need to rush. feeding becomes very sensual, intimate, and personal for the two of you after that

he also loves leaving bites and drinking from you in places the others won't see; it makes him incredibly giddy to know that you let him bite you in places only he will ever see

if he's taller than you, he loves to kiss the crown of your head whenever he can

he will sew up your injuries whenever you need his help with it, even if the sight and smell of your blood makes him salivate

he loves touching your body to see how you react and lets you do the same to learn his own likes and dislikes

matching. outfits. he loves it, loves seeing people realize that you wear the same material and colors and realize what it means. he's very smug when people come to the realization that you're together

he frequently gives you his shirts to sleep in

if you are apart from him for any amount of time, expect to be tackled with a hug the minute you are reunited again

when you have the time, he likes to just lay in bed with you and relax together, half-asleep and cuddling and sometimes mumbling to each other pt. 2 coming soon

[reiderwriter]

I Won't Let You Forget

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: When you wake up in a familiar yet unfamiliar bed with no memory of begging your long-time work crush to sleep with you, you have even less recollection of him actually agreeing. Small memories of pleasure haunt you as he tries to figure out why you're suddenly so distant.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!!!! Alcohol use (whole BAU team, and as a precursor to sex), implied smut, on page (?) smut, dom-ish!Spencer, male masturbation, marking, nipple play/torture, edging, penetrative sex, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, semi-public sex/ make out, creampie, reader is very into male moans. That should be it.

A/N: I forgot about this fic TWICE, but it's here!!! Posting again for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB challenge, and I feel like this one slightly misses the mark but it works anyway. Gif inspiration is at the end for anyone familiar with Business Proposal lol

Masterlist

Being an FBI Agent means you'd slept in - and woken up in - some sketchy places on jobs. A number or motel and hotel rooms across the backroads of America, planes, cars, and office desks. You could usually orient yourself pretty well upon waking, and remember how you'd gotten yourself there quickly.

There was something strange about that morning in particular, though. The bed was comfier and warmer than any motel you'd ever seen, and the fact that there was one meant no jet or desk. It was pitch black outside, though, so visually, you were out of luck. The sheets smelt fresh and familiar, and if weren't for a small warning bell in the back of your head, you'd have shut your eyes again and huddled against the large body pressed against your back.

‘Ah,’ you thought, inwardly cringing. ‘That would be it then.’

Slowly, you pulled what you assumed to be a man's arm from around your midsection, trying to extricate yourself quietly from the bed without any notice.

Whoever was asleep behind you, though, was a lot stronger than you had bargained for, and he quickly pulled you back into him.

Your back hit his chest as he nuzzled into your neck, and you heard his groan out a greeting before stilling and returning to the land of rest. If anything, for your troubles you just came to an understanding that whoever was behind you was just as naked as you were, and based on the way your body seemed over stretched, and well-rested, you had no doubt about the events leading upto your discovery.

You just had no memory of it either.

You wracked your brain, trying desperately to recall where you were, who you were with, and what you were going to do to get out. Unluckily for you, your brain was at about half capacity as his hands worked their way between your legs, even as he slept.

His hands were soft, his touch light on your skin, as if he were tracing words along a page. You twitched under him, stomach flipping as your hips bucked backwards, and your eyes dropped closed again.

You hadn't a clue who you'd climbed into bed with, you simply had the greatest regret that you'd likely never see him again, and would not remember what was likely a deeply, deeply satisfying night.

In abject mortification, you tried once more to free yourself from the very pleasurable prison you'd found yourself in.

Thankfully, his hands chose that moment to fall limp, and you took your chance, hopping up and searching the floor for at the very least your underwear before chancing a glance around you.

Like an arrow through the heart, you realised the room was familiar because you had slept here before. You'd slept over at Spencer's house many times, after work ran late and you needed a place to crash.

Never naked, though. Until now.

You pulled on your clothes as fast as you physically could and tried not to squeak out your disbelief. You almost wondered if you hit your head hard enough against the bookshelf, some braincells would knock together and produce the memory you'd been desperate to make for half a year.

You had finally succeeded in bedding Spencer Reid. And you didn't remember a moment of it.

It was grief that drove you out of his house at 5 am. on a Saturday morning, and definitely, absolutely no regret.

Stepping outside the dark building and being greeted by the first hints of a sunrise, one single, trifling memory slipped back into your brain.

“Something casual,” you giggled, every 's' sound slurring together with each letter touching them. “Something casual and naughty, and fun.”

You didn't remember his exact reply, but though a flicker of arousal ran through you at the memory of the deep rumble of his voice. He had been close, his mouth next to your ear.

You supposed now that his reply hardly mattered when you knew the outcome anyway. It'd been the man himself wrapped around you in bed that morning, his fingers grazing your skin, his cock hard against your ass, his dreams obviously clearer than your own memories.

“It's not like we have the time to see other people,” you'd said to him the night before, hand pushing up his thigh to signal your intent. “We can have some fun. Share a motel room now and then.”

Four sentences.

Four sentences were the extent of your memories, and each one of them had been said by you. Not even a single reply flittered through your brain anymore, a single reaction.

You'd have thought it all a dream but for the fact that you were hunched outside the main entrance to Spencer's building, sans pair of panties you couldn't locate, thanking the gods that your very expensive bra was still around and that you'd worn pants the night before.

To say that Spencer was similarly disorientated when he woke hours later was an understatement. Of course, with the caveat that he remembered every word, every breath, every touch and movement. Instead, he was surprised to find you gone, without a word.

You'd promised as much last night, though.

Casual sex. That's what you'd asked for, and what he'd spent the better half of an evening trying to talk you out of, first with words and then with actions.

It didn't take a night together with you for Spencer Reid to realise that what he wanted quickly bypassed casual. Even now, alone in bed with the memory of you, your scent buried deep in his sheets, the history of your lips branded into his skin, he felt an overwhelming longing.

His body protested against his interrupted plans. He'd hoped to wake you up much the same way he'd put you to sleep the night before, limbs tangled, his cock buried deep inside of you. Instead, he swung his legs out of bed and looked for any trace of you.

It didn't take him long to find your accidental gift. He'd been the one to remove them from you the night before, and he had a good grasp of what the room was supposed to look like, so spotting a pair of fire truck red panties tucked by the door wasn't hard.

It was less spotting them and more staring at them until he convinced his body to calm down, which in and of itself was like fighting a losing battle.

He'd woken up hard, which he didn't doubt was due to dreams of you. He tried his best to ignore it, but before he knew it, he was laid back down with your discarded panties in his hand, pressed up to his mouth and nose as he worked out his frustrations.

Usually, he tried to get himself off as quickly as possible. Time was a commodity, and he always had to be somewhere doing something. That morning, though, he gladly sat back and indulged.

His brain queued up the memories of the night before, playing them chronologically so he could enjoy the feeling of your lips on his, your legs gripping around him, your tongue flicking at the tip of his dick. When he finally came, it was with the disappointment that he hadn't gotten to the best bit yet, finally pushing inside of you.

But after a night of activity and a lonely morning, he let himself rest again and turned his mind to other objectives.

1. Get your panties back to you without being put in handcuffs for indecency.

2. Have enough casual sex with you that you realise you no longer want casual, but something more.

3. Change the bedsheets.

The following week at the BAU was - thankfully - a blur of cases, consultations, and computer files. You were swept off on another case by Sunday evening, back in two days and off again by Thursday morning. Before you knew it, an entire week had passed, and you hadn't had to discuss anything with anyone.

Every morning walking into the bullpen was like walking on shards of broken glass. Willingly.

You'd said less than four sentences to Spencer since you'd accidentally on purpose thrown yourself into his lap, and you found yourself suddenly lacking the vocabulary to actually bring it up.

Instead, you'd simply chosen to sigh after him as he did anything at all in the office, with a single thought in your head: ‘Did he keep the glasses on while we fucked?’

He'd been wearing them all week, and you always thought they made him look hotter than he already was. A little nerdy, but in a Superman way. You couldn't for the life of you get the memory to pop back into your head, though, despite prompting it with many out of pocket daydreams.

“What's got you all introspective?” Derek asked, striding up beside you in the office kitchenette.

“Nothing in particular, what makes you ask?”

“Well, Princess, you just poured salt in your coffee, and from memory, you don't take it that way, so maybe there's something going on with you.”

You cursed and emptied your cup quickly as the man laughed.

“Take it what way?” A voice called out from the doorway, and every hair on your body stood on high alert. There was something about Spencer saying ‘take it’ that should've been so casual, but sent shudders across your body as you heard the words whispered into your ear.

“Take it like a good girl, that's right. So good for me.”

Your cup almost went crashing to the floor as your ears pricked, but you refused to turn around for fear he'd read the truth on your face.

“Nothing kid,” Morgan said, chuckling as you rinsed your cup and kept rinsing it until you felt yourself cool down a bit.

“What's up with the glasses? You've been wearing them a lot this week.” Derek asked, and you cursed his sudden onset curiosity, knowing there was no way to dismiss yourself from the room without garnering an entirely new set of questions.

“I just ran out of contacts,” Spencer replied, but you heard the grin in his tone without even having to look at him.

“You should just throw out all of your contacts,” you'd said, as you nipped at his throat. “I swear I'd jump you every day if you looked at me like that down your glasses.”

You tried to remain composed as the memory of straddling him and grinding down against his hard member hit you like a freight train. You felt you managed it well until you looked down to see another ruined, salty coffee.

“If you ever want to fuck me, just, like, come in wearing the glasses. I'll know,” you'd moaned as his hands gripped your hips controlling your rhythm and pressing you harder into him. “Fuck, I’ll know.”

“I give up,” you mumbled and took off, avoiding all eye contact as you left the small space.

A small part of you had wished that Spencer had your memory of the night. The smallest, teeniest part of you that didn't want a do-over that was. Getting possible confirmation that he remembered everything you'd said while drunk on dick (and tequila) was a lot to take on at 2 pm. on a Friday.

As you walked away, you sent up a prayer to every deity you could think that the memories came back whole and intact, and quickly, and preferably while you were alone and not in company.

Because you wanted nothing more than to relive that brief bite of pleasure you'd been granted.

The weekend came and went fairly obstruction free, even if your dreams, waking and not, were filled with the image of Spencer's head tipped back as you raked your teeth and tongue over sensitive areas.

It took you all the way until Monday morning, when you'd returned to work and seen Spencer in the glasses once again, to remember the meaning of the words you'd thrown at him.

Spencer wanted to fuck you again. Still. Continuously?

The thought made you a little apprehensive - he already knew your body, from the sounds of it, he'd definitely been competent enough, and you was left stranded on the desert island of short term memory loss. He wanted to fuck him you again. Was there a reason? Was there something you did that he enjoyed? What were his boundaries? His kinks? What positions did he like?

Half your days now, it seemed, were filled with questions about sex with Spencer. So it wasn't a surprise you'd kept up your staring. You couldn't fault him for having his eyes trained on you more times than not as well.

You were so glad that your emotions on the subject were so tangled and crossed that no one else could read them there.

BAU 0-1 EMOTIONAL TURMOIL

It was lucky, though, that you were watching him near constantly and were the first to notice the flash of purple against his neck as he loosened his tie.

You stood with a startling bang, hitting your knee against the table as you sprinted over to his desk.

Leaning over him, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and, tugging him around so he was facing you, began buttoning it for him.

“Y/N,” he whispered, looking up at you and trying to play this off as a daily occurrence, to not alert the room full of human lie detectors to suspicious behaviour.

“What are you doing?”

“Your tie is loose. Strauss is always visiting these days. Let's not give her petty reasons to penalise us.”

He relaxed more into your touch and let you work, tilting his head so your hands could get where they needed to be.

“So you're being a good friend?” he asked, and despite the obvious bait, you answered.

“Yes.”

“Good friends help each other out.”

“We can still be friends, Spencer,” you'd begged as you fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to get it off so you had more skin to taste. “Good friends who help each other out from time to time. Like this.”

“Your neck is still purple,” you whispered, changing the subject and moving on to his tie as you untied it and levelled it again, ready to twist back up.

“Is yours?”

“You can see my neck, it's fine.”

“That's not what I meant.”

You met his eyes finally, completing the last loop of the knot as you challenged him.

Or rather, challenged yourself to not drop your eyes to his lips.

“Say what you mean,” you glared, straightening his shoulders and brushing off non-existent dust as you attempted to slip away.

“The purple marks on you. I didn't leave them on your neck. Are they still… bright?”

You looked around you. Emily and Derek seemed to be giving you slightly weird looks, but both seemed trapped on business phone calls that wouldn't end anytime soon.

You'd noticed the marks straight away, of course, across the tops of your breasts and surrounding them, as if that area had been the coordinates for a targeted assault. Now, though, with his eyes burning a path down from your eyes to your chest as loudly as a person could ever look, you knew just how true that was.

“Spencer, fuck YES!” You had moaned the second your back hit the mattress of his bed. You'd been drinking together on his sofa, but were ecstatic to graduate to the bedroom and lose half your clothes in the process.

With greedy hands, he'd ripped away your bra, and immediately he'd latched on with his mouth, sucking, biting, licking, fondling. He bruised one spot with his mouth while his hand tortured a nipple, first ignoring it, circling it but not touching it directly, and then pulling it to the border of pain and pleasure before switching hand and mouth and repeating the process.

Back in the present, you looked down at Spencer in his seat, breathed deeply, and replied.

“You know as well as I do that you made them to last.”

“So we match, then?” he asked, and you gave a quick nod before escaping back to the relative sanity of your desk. His eyes didn't leave your chest though, and for the whole afternoon, you wondered if he'd invented a way to look so hard that you bruised further.

If you had to give one reason why you loved your job, you'd probably say because you spent your day solving riddles and puzzles and getting to the bottom of situations. You liked clear-cut explanations for things and couldn't stand the roundabout ways people in other professions had to talk to each other. You'd listen to Hotch walk laps around other lawyers in legalese enough times to know you were no fan of espionage or double talk.

So there was only one downside of the job, and that was having to be covert. If you'd wanted to spy, you'd have joined the CIA instead.

Your most recent case, unfortunately, had landed you doing exactly that. It had also landed you in a closet, chest to chest with Spencer Reid, as you listened into a conversation between two likely suspects.

In the first five minutes, you gained the important information you needed, and the next forty-five was a waiting game to see when they'd finally get out so you could escape.

If you'd been alone, you wouldn't have minded. But with Spencer's 6 foot something frame practically wrapped around your own, your spine was ramrod straight, your thoughts turning back to frustration as you urged your brain to give back the night of memories you'd lost.

Because if he felt this good just stood next to you, you would go crazy imagining how good he felt inside you.

The most you managed to squeak out, after nearly an hour wrapped around each other, though, was “Do you get a sense of Deja Vu here?”

It was the first time you'd turned your head to look at him, having been looking to the door the entire time. But your gaze returned to him, and even the shadows of the closet couldn't hide the obvious list dripping from his eyes as he covertly stared down your shirt. Your breasts had popped up a bit more with him squished up against you, and your hands were pinned to the wall beside your waist should you need to draw your gun quickly if found.

Your companion, instead, was in a world of his own, and you were suddenly grateful that he'd kept at least an inch of space between your hips, knowing that you, too, would be a goner if you had to stand against the hard line of his cock for this long.

“Hmm?” He whispered, still staring at the little speckles of faded yellow and purple that popped out of your suddenly too low shirt.

“Deja vu?” You asked again, slightly breathless and dizzy, a side effect of his lusty gaze.

He raised an eyebrow and gave a slow nod, his hands gripping your waist and pinning you more firmly to the wall as he debated giving into temptation. “We've definitely been here before.”

A snippet of a memory caught you unaware, and you gasped in response.

He pinned your hands above your head against the wall as you crashed your way into the bedroom, his fingers too impatient to undress you to start pleasuring you. Without a warning, he slipped a hand up your dress and down your panties, keeping you in place with one impossibly large hand as the other skilfully drew out moan after moan with soft caresses.

“So fucking wet for me,” he groaned against your lips, as your memory melted away to reality.

You were being edged by your goddamn frontal cortex, and you had absolutely had enough. As soon as the suspects left, you raced out of the closet as fast as your feet could carry you away from the torment.

A week of solid case work, avoiding Spencer and hitting your head against a brick wall in your spare time later, and you found yourself attending a hasty work celebration with the team.

A murderer had been caught job well done, or whatever excuse you needed to unwind after work over a few large pizzas.

“All I'm saying is, a deep dish every now and again would be appreciated. We're never that far from Chicago.”

“We're 613 miles away from Chicago.”

You laughed at the tired face Derek flashed the team before biting into his slice, your other coworkers similarly tucking into the late night meal.

You'd landed at 11pm, and starving, had come to your last resort.

“Is anyone else's pizza wet?” Emily asked, picking up her slice and letting it drip onto her cardboard plate.

You shrugged at the comment, just happy to finally be filling your stomach with something other than coffee for the first time in what felt like forever.

But there seemed to be no rest for the wicked, and you caught Spencer's eye as you tugged the cheese into your mouth.

“Mhmm. So wet.”

There was no reality in which you stopped yourself from choking on your food then, as he kept a quiet smile on his face as the others offered you drinks and tissues.

Perched next to him, you shot him a dirty look out of the corner of your eye and were about to turn back to your meal when he moved again.

Bringing a tissue to your lips, he wiped away the grease from the corners, quietly berating you as he cleaned you like a child.

“So messy. Don't choke on it next time.”

The double entendre didn't go unnoticed, as Derek piled on quickly, not noticing the unsettling mix of deep, bitter embarrassment and utter arousal warring on your features.

“Kid, you don't have to tell the woman to swallow. I'm sure she's perfectly capable.”

Each memory that hit you came with a wave of matching mortification, as you tried to keep every reaction to yourself.

But remembering the feeling of Spencer Reid's cum shooting across your face was something you'd much rather have experienced privately. You stayed trapped into much too intimate eye contact with him anyway as he kept tending to your small spills. He wiped away the drops of grease on your legs, gripping your thigh much tighter than you could ever have possibly needed.

Evidently, your coworkers had found some satisfaction with the pizza, as they all seemed to not notice the tension a simple touch had snapped between the two of you. Using their hunger as a shield, you quickly excused yourself from the table to clean yourself up.

The door to the bathroom was only a step away from the door to the alley, and you quickly let yourself out into the crisp night air. Not even two minutes later, Spencer was with you.

“Y/N?”

“Oh god, it's happening again. I can hear his voice!”

“Y/N, please, come back inside.”

“Sure, if you stop trying to eye fuck me in front of my boss!”

With the words finally out in the open between you, you stood still for a best or two, letting Spencer pick up the slack in the conversation.

“The… The others were talking about going to get some drinks,” he started carefully, afraid you'd spook at any moment. “After pizza?”

“Drinks?”

“Alcohol.”

You gave a short bitter laugh and brushed a hand through your hair as you turned your face away from him.

“I seem to make a lot of mistakes when I'm drunk.”

“Mistakes?” He said. The word was so quietly hurt that you instantly winced, realising your mistake.

“No. No. That's not how I meant it, Spencer, I just…” you grabbed your hair in frustration again, trying desperately to find the words to explain the gaping void where pleasing memories should've been.

“Everyone… everyone is still inside, right? No chance of a surprise visit from anyone.”

“They're debating Hawaiian pizza, I think we have time. Why?”

Another minute passed as you thought through your next actions, leg shaking as you processed every possible emotion.

Lunging toward him, you grabbed a hold of his shirt and pressed up to meet him in a kiss. Responding quickly, his hands gladly claimed a hold of your body as he walked you back against the wall, his mouth furiously engaged with your own in a battle of lust.

“I don't-” you gasped between kisses, unable to get more than a word in as his tongue works his way into your mouth. He pulled away eventually, but only to distract you further with a wandering tongue exploring the plains of skin already on show. Neck, lips, cheeks, collar, nothing is safe from the hear of his tongue tracing up and down the length of you..

“Don't what?” He said, finally finding the willpower to pull back for more than a millisecond.

“I don't remember. Any of it, I can't remember. God, I'm so stupid. Why don't I remember?”

For a second, his tongue kept up its journey, and you moaned as he nipped at the edge of your ear. That was until your words hit his ears and his hands flew up faster than you could've ever pushed them off.

“What?”

“I don't-” panic surged in your voice as you felt it tremble and shake, gulping it down to continue.

“I don't remember anything. And I woke up in your bed, and it felt so good and nice, but I couldn't remember it until you started doing things, and then I remembered… small parts?"

He raked a hand through his hair and took a deep breath as you continued, desperate to get every word out as fast as possible.

“I-I-I, shit Spencer, I woke up feeling so good, and then I saw you there, and I couldn't remember a thing. Do you know how long I was waiting for something to happen? I couldn't even remember one stupid fucking kiss, let alone anything else we did-”

“You seriously don't remember anything.”

“That's what I've been saying.”

He nodded and let out a shaky breath as you stepped closer to him, desperate to explain your predicament.

“You don't… you didn't just regret It and decide to leave?”

“I can't regret something I don't remember.”

Worrying his lip, he looked away for a minute and looked back, and you found yourself creeping closer again until his hands were gripping your hips again as he looked back to you.

“If you could remember, would you regret it?”

In a heartbeat, you had your answer.

“No.”

His lips crashed into yours again, and you gladly moaned into this one. With one hand buried in curls and the other pulling him closer by his loose tie, your hands stayed fastened to his body, clutching him like there was nowhere else you'd rather be.

His hands followed suit, falling down to your thighs as he spread your legs further apart, holding you against the wall and lifting you just slightly, angling your hips together in a way that numbed your senses.

Everywhere you touched left you craving further exploration, to be closer to him, and you whined in his mouth as if to let him know what you so dearly craved.

He listened and gave in, his fingers pushing to the centre of you, mere centimetres away from where you wanted him.

It was as if God was laughing down at your struggle, though, as just as he was about to make contact, a shout of your names rang out around the corner. Just as Penelope rounded into the alleyway, you shoved Spencer away, accidentally flinging him to the ground as you desperately righted yourself again.

“There you two are. What are you doing out here?”

“Earring,” you gasped, praying it was just dark enough for Penelope to not notice that your lipstick and Spencer's lipstick were the same shade.

“I dropped an earring, and Spencer is helping me look for it.”

Slightly confused, Spencer quickly went along with your lie, patting the ground where he'd fallen to look for the imaginary jewellery.

“Okay. Well, we're hopping over to the bar next door, and no! This is not optional, Emily already ordered the first round.”

Without another word or explanation, or anything to really help you figure out what was going on with you and Spencer, the two of you awkwardly followed Penelope into the bar and to your seats.

You stuffed yourself into the seat beside Penelope, and were not at all upset when Spencer climbed into the booth right beside you, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you knees bumping every now and then from the movements.

And just like that, you found yourself drinking for another two hours, unable to process any of the emotions you'd been through in the alley.

Elation. Desperation. Sadness. Arousal. All stuck in your tiny, tiny brain as you tried still to remember any small detail you could about your last encounter.

Your look of concentration didn't go unnoticed.

“Y/N, what's with the pensive look?” Derek shot at you across the table as he finished the last dregs of his beer. “Is it perhaps the melancholy of singleness?”

“That's not a word,” Spencer mumbled into his own drink.

When Penelope joined in, you knew you'd been backed into a corner.

“Are you not seeing someone?” She asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“There was that guy you mentioned last week, right?” The sound of betrayal came directly from the other side of you, and your head whipped from Penelope to Spencer so fast, you were sure you'd be feeling it in the morning.

“What? What guy, Y/N? You never mentioned a guy to me! Spencer knows, but I don't know. How is that fair?”

“No, Penelope, he's-”

“Spencer, what do you know? What's this guys name? What does he look like? What does he do for a living? When you say she mentioned him last week, was it a mention mention, or just a mention?”

“Penelope, slow down.”

“Well-”

“Spencer! Do NOT answer her.”

“You don't want me to tell her about the guy you wanted something casual with. You said you were around him a lot, so you might as well try it at some point.”

Your face burnt in shame as you narrowed your eyes at him. Had you really said that? Had that honestly been your opener for hitting on the man you'd wanted for the longest time?

“Mhmm, really? And what else did I say?”

“I don't think you'll want me to say-”

“No, please, jog my memory.”

“You said, and I quote, that he had a ‘very rideable face.’ You followed up with, ‘it would look very pretty buried between your legs.’”

The chorus of laughter that rang out only set you more on edge after the flush of memories that hit you once more. He had looked very pretty sat between your legs licking your cunt, lapping up your cum as your legs shook and you fucked yourself against his face. He had simply pressed a hand to your stomach, held you still and kept up the good work. His eyes sparkled with passion and his lips glistened with cum. It was quite the picture, now that you remembered it.

You were just annoyedeniugh, so you had to shoot back a retort. You were just too slow to realise “yes, well, I can recall that I was, in fact correct,” wasn't the right retort.

Another half hour of questioning later, and you'd finally been allowed passage out of the bar, into a taxi, and back to your apartment, alone but for the shame.

Spencer, perpetually sober-ish, had been put on designated driver duty to get others home, and it wasn't as if you could protest.

You threw yourself down onto your bed as soon as you got into your apartment and stayed there until you were about to fall asleep. A knock at your door pulled you back into the world of the woken, and you dragged yourself to the door.

You weren't surprised to see Spencer back at your side an hour after you'd left him. You knew it was a possibility, though you thought you'd be waiting another 12 hours or so.

It took less than 12 seconds for his searching eyes to find whatever silent consent he was looking for before he stretched out and claimed you. He softly cradled you as his lips met you, his gentle touch delicate where his soft lips were hard and insistent. He closed the door. He pushed you back a step at a time until you were out of the doorway. Pausing, he pulled away and took off his glasses, putting them down on the side table, before cupping your cheek and stealing your breath. Again.

You moaned into his kiss, and he slipped his hand down to your neck, gently squeezing as he moved you back towards the bed.

“Spencer…” you begged wordlessly.

“Remember now?”

“N-No.”

He nodded and continued, his other hand loosening his tie once more, as you clung to him like glue, hands not daring to move from the holds you had on his shirt, afraid you'd trip and lose sight of him all over again.

You reached the bed, and he sat you down, tearing his lips away at last, but still choosing to keep hold of your neck, standing above you.

“Are you sober?” He asked, as though he hadn't watched you drink only virgin cocktails all night. You shook your head, yes.

“Good.”

“Are you going to fuck me?” You blurted out, unable to help yourself, even without the liquid courage.

“You wanted the experience, right? And then you forgot all about it, so it's only polite…” His hands began massaging your neck, shoulders, pushing down into your shirt to get the top of your chest, too.

“I don't want the experience,” you said quickly. “Not- not a casual experience, Spencer, I want… I want…” His hands distracted you as your shirt stretched to allow his hands to grope your breasts. He slipped into your bra and began his assault of your chest, still looming above you as he listened to your explanation.

“I… don't want a casual thing, Spencer, I want- I want…” you moaned as he pinched your nipple hard, seething as you attempted to not shout out.

“What do you want, Y/N? Be specific.”

“I want you!” You moaned, chest pushing into his touch, trying to avoid the mixture of pain and pleasure pulsing through you with each flick of his finger.

“For how long?” He asked, and your brain short circuited as you whined and pouted up at him, his fingers still tugging at your nipples, still kneading your skin, and pretending his touch was nothing.

“D-don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Don't make me give this an expiration date.”

Spencer's eyes locked with yours, and you found yourself on your back swiftly after, his lips pressed to yours as he held himself over you. Instead of assaulting your chest again, he was slower, more delicate as he gently removed your shirt, encouraging you to move further up the bed as he planted himself firmly between your two legs.

Everywhere he kissed and licked and sucked was a distraction from his attempts to uncloth you, to make you forget that he was still fully dressed and you were about to be laid out plain as day before him.

You covered your chest when he stole your bra, but you couldn't push your thighs together quick enough when he got your panties, and his hand slipped between your folds before you could even catch a breath.

“Good girl,” he whispered, as his fingers found your clit, dipping into your wet spot before tracing along your bundle of nerves and rocking his fingers back and forth, eyes always on yours.

He dropped his forehead to yours and watched silently as your mouth widened to an ‘O’ as you grew wetter, more desperate, more aroused, until you hit your peak and came apart on his fingertips. He hadn't even put a finger inside you, and your whole body was awash with satisfaction.

Another kiss stolen ended all thoughts of contentment as he slid in a finger into you while slipping his tongue back into your mouth.

If his fingers on your clit had been gentle, probing, curious about your release, the fingers stretching you out were the opposite. He knew your limits, had taken pleasure in your pleasure and now he was testing it, seeing how far he could push you until you did everything once again.

His free hand reached up to your face, and before you knew it, two fingers had been inserted into your mouth. You sucked instinctively, desperate to please him as your hips jumped upwards, trying to ride his hand. But every time you so much as moved, he withdrew slightly, pulling that pleasure you so desperately sought from your grasp.

“Spencer- please-” you said as he pulled his fingers from your mouth.

“I'm not going faster. I want you to remember every second, I want this to last as long as possible, okay? Can you do that?”

You pouted as he stroked your cheek with his wet fingers, gathering the spit from your chin before pushing it right back into your mouth. You kept sucking.

Every time he felt you tighten around him, his fingers withdrew, or they stilled, or he moved in a slightly different way, and you were set adrift again on the tide of arousal. He edged you for what felt like days to your pleasure addled mind, and you kept up your task, too.

“Good girl. No more cumming. Not yet.”

Finally, he withdrew his fingers, your legs shaking from the tension of holding off your pleasure.

He stood and removed his shirt, unbuttoning his pants just enough to free his swollen cock, but not removing it entirely.

The sight of him almost made you weep in relief, so sure that now you were going to be able to cum, that he'd enter you and your get to release around his cock, to suck him in deeper.

Instead, he got on his knees in front of you and gave another sharp order.

“No cumming, remember Princess.” Without waiting for a response, his tongue dragged across your folds, before reaching your clit. His lips wrapped around your nub and your whole body reacted, convulsing inwards as you shouted your pleasure.

“Spencer! Spencer, no, please - please!!” You clawed at the bed as you fucked his face, hips pleading with his tongue to finish the job he'd begun an age ago with his scant fingers.

You desperately wanted your release, but he was equally desperate to frustrate you, pinning your hips and pulling back to just spit on your cunt when your thrusts became erratic, close to the edge.

He touched everywhere except the part where you needed him, content for a moment to listen to the moans turn to tears, turn to anger and frustration and longing as you clawed a hand in his hair and humped his tongue like a beast.

Finally, you came, more than happy to use his tongue like the pillow you'd stuffed between your legs in your horny adolescence.

He wasted no more time entering you, rigid and hot, and more than welcomed by your aching cunt.

He pushed in inch by inch, and the eternity that passed before that point was nothing in comparison to the millenia caught between one breath and the next, between him readying himself, and him thrusting into you in his entirety.

He filled you perfectly, as if you were born to let him take you, to despoil your cunt again and again, until the scent of him never left you.

He moved, pushing your knees up as you welcomed somehow more of him, as he hunched over you and began.

It was animalistic, and noisy, and messy, and fuck, was it hot. The bedsheets were wet already from your water show foreplay session, but with his cock locked inside of you, you couldn't hold back, and you came with a spurt.

You screamed, not expecting your pleasure to squirt out of you, as he fucked you harder, your breaths mingling with the wet, sloppy sounds of your cunt being used again and again and again.

“Spencer, fuck, I'm-”

“You're what? Use your words.”

“I'm… safe, just- Fuck, just fill me up.”

He groaned into your ear as he made his thrusts more and more shallow, slowing down just enough to pull back from you and let you watch him claim you again and again.

He swiped his hair out of his face, biting his lip as his hips rolled into yours, and you swear if you had it left in you, you'd have came on his cock once more watching him do that.

You committed to memory every line of his body, every bruise, every scratch, every line, every hair, everywhere a bullet had nicked him, everywhere on his body that held pain, every gesture on his body that was registering pleasure. You cared less for your own now and more for his as you bucked up into him, meeting him silently as he sucked in a deep breath.

You watched him forget himself inside of you as he tipped his head back in pleasure and, with a small moan, emptied himself inside of you.

His breath crashed back into his body, and you felt every heartbeat resonate through him and into you.

“If you forget this again,” he panted, wrapping his arms around you again. “I'm not waiting another 20 days for a reminder.”

You smiled as his hair tickled Your neck, nuzzling into his neck as you enjoyed his warmth. You tried your best to memorise his scent, too.

“Wake me up bright and early, then,” you smiled, letting your brain settle as you replayed the day back in your head over and over again.

XXX

The inspo:

(Kim Mingue one fucking chance... one chance Kim Mingue...)

[thef1diary]

Edged | C. Leclerc

Summary: Despite Charles' warning, you couldn't help but continue to test his patience. True to his words, he edges you until you lose your mind.

Part 1: piano punishment

warnings: 18+, smut, dom!charles, bratty!reader, orgasm denial, edging, slight pain play, spanking, pussy slapping, fingering, oral (fem!receiving), blowjob, use of vibrator, degrading words, dirty talk, praise kink, nipple tease, mention of squirting, slight dacryphilia

wc: 4k

masterlist

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

You were solely to blame for the situation you were about to put yourself in, especially since Charles had warned you about it beforehand. But the thought of testing his patience was too tempting to resist.

It started subtly. You began wearing shorter clothes around the house, barely-there shorts and tops that left little to the imagination. Every moment was calculated, every bend and stretch designed to catch his eye.

One evening, you found Charles lounging in the living room. His eyes followed you as you moved around, pretending to be oblivious to his attention. This time, you were wearing nothing but one of his old shirts, barely buttoned.

You sauntered over to the bookshelf next to the couch he was on, your movements slow and deliberate. Reaching for a book on the lower shelf, you arched your back, the shirt rising to reveal the curve of your ass. You could feel his gaze burning into you and a small grin made its way to your face knowing your plan was working.

Straightening up, you let one shoulder of the shirt slip down, exposing the soft mound of your breast. The edge of the fabric rested just above your hardened nipple, clearly visible through the thin material.

Charles' eyes darkened with desire as he called you over. "Que faites-vous?" [what are you doing?] he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of curiosity and lust.

You smiled innocently, holding up the book. "I'm about to read," you replied, making no effort to adjust the shirt.

His gaze lingered on the exposed skin, a spark of something more mischievous forming in his mind. He nodded while he reached out and gently grabbed your free hand, pulling you closer until you were straddling him, your knees sinking into the leather couch.

His hand flicked the edge of the fabric covering your nipple, exposing it fully to his heated gaze. Using his other hand, he revealing your other nipple as well before circling around the sensitive buds with his thumbs, sending shivers down your spine.

"Just reading?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So if I unbutton what's left of this shirt and drag my fingers down, I won't find your pussy wet and desperate for my attention?"

His words sent a jolt of arousal through you, your breath hitching as he unbuttoned the remaining buttons of the shirt with deliberate slowness. He looked into your eyes waiting for your response as his fingers lingered on the fabric.

Resting your arms on his shoulders, hooking your fingers together behind him, you shrugged, a coy smile making its way to your face. "Why don't you find out?"

A knowing smirk played on his lips as his hand travelled down your body, finally reaching the wetness between your legs since you'd forgone panties yet again.

His fingers brushed against your slick folds, eliciting a gasp from you. "Just as I thought," he whispered, his voice low and teasing. "Absolutely soaked." He teased your clit lightly, rubbing circles around the bundle of nerves, making you writhe against him.

"Charles," you moaned, your hips moving of their own accord, seeking more of his touch.

His free hand moved to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him as his other hand worked its magic between your legs. Your shirt had fallen completely open now, leaving you fully exposed to him. His lips found your neck, pressing kisses along your skin as his fingers dipped inside of you, curling to hit that sweet spot.

Your moans grew louder, your body trembling with the need to cum. "Charles— 'm close," you stuttered out, rocking your hips against his palm for added stimulation.

"No," he firmly stated, moving his fingers away right as you were about to reach the edge.

Confused and frustrated, you looked at him, your eyes pleading for an explanation. His fingers grazed over your clit before pinching it harshly. The sudden sharp sensation made you arch in painful pleasure, a cry escaping your lips.

"Don't you remember what I told you?" he asked, his tone firm.

You shook your head, your mind too clouded with need to recall his words. "I don't remember," you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He faked pity, pulling his fingers away from your clit before his hand rounded to your ass, smacking it lightly. "Think, mon amour," he said, his tone both mocking and commanding. "What did I say I would do if you acted out again?"

Your eyes widened as the memory flooded back, realization dawning on you. "Behave, and it won't happen. Act out, and I swear, this was the last orgasm you'll experience for a long, long time."

Already shaking your head in silent protest, you tried to plead with him, but the words were stuck in your throat. He chuckled, noticing the expression of dawning comprehension on your face. "Ah, you remember now," he murmured, satisfaction lacing his voice.

Desperate to convince him otherwise, you ground down on him, your hips moving in a frantic rhythm. "Charles, baby, please," you begged, your voice breathless. "I'll be good, I promise."

His hands moved to grip your thighs, holding you still. "No," he said firmly, lifting you slightly off him so you couldn't grind on him anymore.

Before you could say anything else, his hand came down sharply on your pussy, the sting making you gasp and fall silent. "You've had your chance to behave, but you couldn't help but still try to tease me hmm?" he asked rhetorically, his fingers now slipping between your folds, pressing against your clit with just enough pressure to keep you on edge but not enough to let you cum.

You whimpered, tears of frustration welling in your eyes. "Please Charles," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I need it."

He smirked, his fingers never stopping their teasing. "Oh I know you do," he said, his tone almost sympathetic. "But you're gonna have to wait until I think you're a good girl. This is your punishment remember?"

You could only nod, biting your lip to stifle your cries as his fingers continued their relentless torment. His other hand came up to your tits, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you arch your back.

"You're gonna learn your lesson, mon amour," he murmured, his voice commanding. "And by the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging to behave."

He pressed a firm kiss to your lips, his touch both reassuring and dominent. Pulling back, he looked into your eyes. "Go get your favourite toy from the bedroom," he instructed.

You hesitated for a moment, the heat of his gaze making you feel both excited yet nervous knowing that no matter which toy you choose, you won't be allowed to cum. His shirt still hung loosely off your frame, barely covering anything as you walked to the bedroom, your legs shaky from his earlier teasing.

You made your way to the bedroom, opening the bottom drawer of the dresser where you and Charles kept your growing collection. Neither of you were shy about adding toys to your bedroom activities since it only heightened both of your pleasures.

You scanned the neatly arranged toys: a variety of vibrators, dildos, and plugs in different sizes and shapes. Among them, you spotted the remote-controlled vibrator that Charles could connect to his phone.

With a deep breath, you picked up the vibrator, its smooth, curved design fitting perfectly in your hand. You knew this choice would please him, giving him the ability to edge you to his heart's content.

Returning to the living room, you handed the toy to Charles, who smirked approvingly. "Good girl," he praised. "See, it's really not that hard to behave. But you," he continued, connecting the vibrator to his phone through the app, "are such a slut for me that you can't even think straight when you're needy."

You were still standing in front of him, clenching your thighs together as you thought of how the rest of the night would go.

Charles nudged your feet apart, spreading your legs wide to prepare you for the vibrator. His fingers returned to your pussy, sliding his fingers back and forth, separating your folds as his palm pressed against your clit. Sitting on the edge of the couch, he was at eye level with your sweet pussy, and he couldn't resist the urge to taste you.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin, and placed a soft kiss on your inner thigh. Slowly, his tongue traced a path along your sensitive flesh, making you shiver in anticipation. His fingers continued their gentle teasing, but it was his mouth that drove you wild.

Charles' tongue flicked over your clit, sending electric jolts of pleasure through your body. He alternated between gentle licks and firm pleasure, his mouth working in tandem with his fingers. You moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as your knees threatened to buckle from the intense sensations.

He groaned against your pussy, the vibrations adding another layer of pleasure. His tongue dipped into your entrance, tasting your arousal before moving back to your clit. You could feel yourself getting wetter, coating his fingers, mouth, and even dripping down your thighs.

With one hand, Charles reached for the vibrator, its smooth surface cool against your heated skin. He spread your lips with his fingers, using the vibrator to gather your wetness before slowly sliding it inside you. The sensation of the toy filling you, combined with his tongue on your clit, made you cry out in pleasure.

Your hand made its way to his hair, tugging on the strands as you neared the edge. Charles responded with a playful slap to your ass, making you gasp. He then turned the vibrator on to the highest setting, causing your knees to buckle, a moan leaving your lips as intense pleasure surged through you. He chuckled casually, as if he made a mistake, before turning it down to the lowest setting before you could cum, ripping away your orgasm at the last moment.

"No! Please," you begged, gripping onto his shoulder as you bucked up your hips in a poor attempt to keep the pleasure flowing through your body.

"Oops," he said, a sly grin on his face. "Looks like you'll have to be patient, mon amour."

You whimpered in frustration, your body trembling with need. "Please, Charles," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Not yet," he replied, his fingers teasing your clit once more. "You'll have to earn it."

It took a moment for his words to sink in, but then you realized he was mocking what you had told him when you made him play the piano for you. A playful smile tugged at your lips despite your frustration. "Oh so that's how it's gonna be?" you murmured, your voice breathy.

Charles' smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "That's right. You told me to earn it, and I did, let's see if you can."

The vibrator hummed steadily inside you, just enough to keep you on edge but not enough to push you over. You squirmed, trying to find some relief, but Charles held you steady, his grip firm on your hips.

"Do you remember how you made me play for you, teasing me by playing with your pussy right in front of me?" He asked, and you whimpered in response. "I would've let that go, but you've truly tested my patience, walking around almost naked."

He leaned closer, his lips grazing your inner thigh. "You love being a little tease, don't you? Showing off your body, knowing I can't resist you," he said, his voice dripping with lust and a hint of anger. "You're such a dirty little slut, aren't you? Always needing attention, always needing my cock."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the degradation only adding to your arousal, and based on your expressions, he knew it too. "Baby, please..." you begged, not even sure what you were asking for anymore.

"Please what?" He mocked, his fingers nudging the vibrator set on your clit, gently pressing it into you. "You think you deserve to cum? After all the teasing, all the games?"

You shook your head, tears of frustration staining your cheeks. "I'm sorry, Charles, I'll be good, I promise."

"On your knees," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for an argument.

You dropped to your knees in front of him, the vibrator still pulsing inside of you, keeping you on the edge of madness. Charles leaned back, unzipping his pants and freeing his hardened cock. "You know what to do," he said, gesturing to his lap.

With eager hands, you reached for him, taking him into your mouth, inch by inch. As you drooled on his cock, spreading your spit all over, he played with the controls of the vibrator on his phone. The settings changing erratically from low to high, driving you to the brink and back repeatedly.

His hand found its way to your hair, guiding your movements as you bobbed up and down. The sensation of him in your mouth, combined with the relentless teasing of the vibrator, was nearly too much to bear. Every time you thought you were close to release, Charles would change the setting, pulling you back from the edge and making you whimper around his cock.

"Just like that, mon amour," he groaned, his hips thrusting gently as you took him deeper. "You look so beautiful like this, desperate and eager to please."

You moaned around him, the vibrations of your sounds sending shivers down his spine. His grip in your hair tightened, urging you to take him faster. The vibrator still buzzed between your legs, its low, steady hum a constant reminder of your denied release. The sensation was maddening, like an itch you couldn't scratch, leaving you feeling like your orgasm was close, yet miles away.

Each thrust of his hips pushed him deeper into your mouth, your lips stretching around him as you struggled to take him all. Your hands gripped his thighs for support, nails digging into his skin. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking him harder, your tongue swirling around his tip.

Charles groaned, his pleasure evident in the way his body tensed. He controlled your movements, guiding you with firm but gentle pressure. You could feel his cock twitching in your mouth, a telltale sign that he was close.

Your body screamed, every nerve ending trembling for release that never came. The frustration only heightened your arousal, making you whimper around him as he played with the vibrator controls again.

"Fuck, you're such a good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Taking me so well."

His praises spurred you on, making you bob your head faster, taking him deeper until he touched the back of your throat. Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you didn't stop, desperate to please him.

With a strangled moan, Charles pulled out, quickly telling you to open your mouth. His cock twitched as he came, hot spurts landing on your tits and tongue, catching his cum and savouring the taste. Your fingers trailed down your body, gathering his cum before bringing them to your mouth and licking them clean. The act so erotic, plus the high vibrations pulsing in your pussy, it instinctively made you begin humping the air, desperate for release.

But just as you were about to have an earth-shattering orgasm, Charles turned the vibrator off completely. "No!" you cried out, the denial only making you sob louder. "Please, please, please, need it," you pleaded, words coming out a mumbled mess.

He picked you up off the floor, placing you back in his lap but this time he made you lean your back against his chest, hooking your legs over his so you couldn't close them.

"You still have a long way to go before I let you cum," he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "But that doesn't mean I'll stop playing with your pretty pussy."

He took out the vibrator and replaced it with his fingers,  sliding them into you with ease. "After all, it belongs to me no?"

You whimpered in response, the sensation of his fingers filling you both soothing and maddening. As soon as he lightly touched your overstimulated clit, you arched your back, caught between wanting to pull away from his touch and needing more. Your body made the decision faster than your mind, pressing closer to him despite the overwhelming pleasure.

"You played with it right in front of me, telling me I can't touch you," he continued, his tone a mix of reproach and possessiveness. "Now it's my turn."

You hooked your arm around his neck, reaching up to press kisses to it while crying softly. His fingers began moving inside you, slow and deliberate, curling just enough to brush against your sweet spot.

"Now you're going to remember who this belongs to," he murmured, cupping your pussy with his palm. "You're going to learn your lesson, mon amour."

He set a punishing rhythm, his fingers thrusting in and out of you while his thumb circled your clit. You could feel your orgasm building again, but you knew he wouldn't let you have it. Your eyes dried out due to the amount of frustrated tears that spilled down your cheeks, but he still pushed you closer and closer, only to pull back before you could tip over the edge.

"Does that feel good hmm?" he asked, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Do you like it when I play with your pussy like this?"

"Yes, yes," you moaned, your body trembling. "It feels so good, baby."

With his other hand, Charles began to tease your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers. You moaned, distracted by the dual stimulation, your mind hazy with pleasure. Just as he allowed your orgasm to build again, he suddenly removed his fingers from your pussy.

Before you could process the loss, the sharp pain of his hand landing directly on your puffy clit made you cry out. The stinging slap ruined the building orgasm, tearing you away from the edge brutally. You trembled in his hold while he gripped onto your thighs, holding them open while you desperately wanted to clench them together.

"Don't hide it from me, what did I say? It belongs to me." Charles words were punctuated with another slap to your sensitive clit.

You gasped, the sharp pain mingling with a strange pleasure. He didn't give you time to recover before his hand came down again, and again, each one aimed at different points. Your hips bucked, trying to escape the onslaught, but his grip on your thigh was unyielding.

To your surprise, the slaps began to bring a different kind of pleasure to your body, one you didn't know you would like. But Charles knew your body better than you did. Each sharp sting sent electric jolts through you, mingling pain with a deep, intense pleasure that had you trembling in his hold.

This time, the growing release felt different, an intense pressure building in your core as if you were going to squirt. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your body quivering with anticipation and need. But once again, Charles knew your telltale signs.

Just as you were on the brink, he brought his hand down one last time, the slap harder than before. He then cupped your pussy, the constant pleasure turning into stable pressure on your pussy making you squirm.

"Charles," you whimpered, your tone raw and desperate.

"Shh, mon cœur," he soothed, his hand holding firm against your swollen, sensitive flesh. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of mockery. "You almost got off just from me slapping your pretty pussy. You're such a little slut aren't you?"

You moaned, the mix of his degrading words and the pressure on your clit sending conflicting sensations through your body. "Yes, Charles," you breathed, the admission making your cheeks flush with shame and arousal.

He chuckled darkly, his fingers teasing your folds. "I knew you were desperate, but this? Getting off on a few slaps? I knew you'd enjoy it, such a dirty little thing, always craving more."

His words made you shiver, your body reacting despite your attempts to hold back. "You're my slut, aren't you?" he asked, pressing lingering kisses down your neck.

"Yes," you replied, the heat in your core intensifying with each degrading word. "I'm your slut, Charles."

He smirked, his palm still applying firm pressure to your clit. "You'll do anything to cum, won't you?" he taunted. "But you don't deserve it, not yet."

You squirmed against him, the ache between your legs growing unbearable. "Please," you begged, "please, baby."

He shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "No, mon cœur. You haven't earned it, you'll have to wait." He lifted his palm, fingers grazing your clit lightly, and the brief contact sent a jolt through you.

"Look at you, so wet and needy," he said, his tone almost pitying. "You can't even think straight when you're this desperate, but that's what you like, isn't it? Being at my mercy, waiting for me to decide if you get to cum or not."

His words were a torment and a thrill, and you nodded, a fresh set of tears welling in your eyes. "Please," you whispered again, barely able to form the word.

"This is your punishment, mon amour," he stated firmly.

By the end, you were a trembling, moaning mess, completely at Charles' mercy. He pulled a his fingers away from you, leaving you panting and desperate. Slowly, he began buttoning up your shirt, scattering soft kisses on your cheeks and neck.

You felt a wave of confusion wash over you, your mind still hazy from the overwhelming sensations. Slowly you began to realize that he wasn't going to let you cum tonight, no matter how well you behaved. Desperation welled up inside of you, and you tried to form the words to convince him otherwise, but they came out a mumbling mess.

"Charles—please," you managed to speak, your voice shaky and broken. "I need to..."

"Shh, mon cœur," he interrupted, his tone soothing as he continued to button up your shirt. His fingers worked deftly, securing each button with care. "You've done so well tonight."

You whimpered, your body still humming with arousal but Charles' calm demeanour and gentle praise started to seep into your mind, soothing the frantic need. He gently turned you around in his grasp, making you face him. His lips brushed against your forehead, then your cheeks, placing light kisses to calm you down.

"You're such a good girl," he whispered between kisses, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "Taking everything I give you, enduring it all for me."

Your protests turned into soft whimpers, your body slowly relaxing as he continued his tender ministrations. His hands moved with practiced ease, tracing patterns on your back while his voice wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

"Just relax," he said softly, his lips grazing your ear. "You did so good today. If you keep behaving, maybe one day, I'll let you cum as many times as you want."

You sighed, the frustration replaced by a sense of acceptance settling over you. His lips pressed against yours in a tender kiss, sealing his promise. As the gaze of desire began to fade, you knew that despite the torment, you craved his touch, his control, and the sweet release only he could give.

Pulling away, you rested your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a calming rhythm that helped ease your racing thoughts. Charles continued to hold you close, his hands gently stroking your back as he whispered soothing words, promising that you'll be rewarded soon.

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