#there is nothing more frustrating and maddening

[twinknote]

i have a feeling my mom (who has acted extremely upset + sympathetic about me sweating profusely in my shitty 80+ degree room) is going to tell me that they can’t help me replace my 20+ year old ac unit for $250, even tho they are about to pay Thousands of dollars to replace their central ac bc clearly her needs are more important than mine (when one of my worst and most impactful symptoms is heat intolerance, which makes me dehydrated and even more dizzy and fatigued and i’ve been getting dehydration headaches even tho i’m drinking almost a gallon a day)

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[driftwooddestiel]

ngl im getting so annoyed by all the dramatic posts by americans that are like “stop talking to people about anything. start preparing supplies. plan your escape. build a bunker. this is the end but we can do this guys ❤️” can you stop doomsdaying there are people living under worse governments and still living their lives and not giving up hope

[absentlyabbie]

seriously, though. i work in higher education, and part of my job is students sending me transcripts. you'd think the ones who have the least idea how to actually do that would be the older ones, and while sure, they definitely struggle with it, i see it most with the younger students. the teens to early 20s crowd.

very, astonishingly often, they don't know how to work with .pdf documents. i get garbage phone screenshots, sometimes inserted into an excel or word file for who knows what reason, but most often it's just a raw .jpg or other image file.

they definitely either don't know how to use a scanner, don't have access to one, or don't even know where they might go for that (staples and other office supply stores sometimes still have these services, but public libraries always have your back, kids.) so when they have a paper transcript and need to send me a copy electronically, it's just terrible photos at bad angles full of thumbs and text-obscuring shadows.

mind bogglingly frequently, i get cell phone photos of computer screens. they don't know how to take a screenshot on a computer. they don't know the function of the Print Screen button on the keyboard. they don't know how to right click a web page, hit "print", and choose "save as PDF" to produce a full and unbroken capture of the entirety of a webpage.

sometimes they'll just copy the text of a transcript and paste it right into the message of an email. that's if they figure out the difference between the body text portion of the email and the subject line, because quite frankly they often don't.

these are people who in most cases have done at least some college work already, but they have absolutely no clue how to utilize the attachment function in an email, and for some reason they don't consider they could google very quickly for instructions or even videos.

i am not taking a shit on gen z/gen alpha here, i'm really not.

what i am is aghast that they've been so massively failed on so many levels. the education system assumed they were "native" to technology and needed to be taught nothing. their parents assumed the same, or assumed the schools would teach them, or don't know how themselves and are too intimidated to figure it out and teach their kids these skills at home.

they spend hours a day on instagram and tiktok and youtube and etc, so they surely know (this is ridiculous to assume!!!) how to draft a formal email and format the text and what part goes where and what all those damn little symbols means, right? SURELY they're already familiar with every file type under the sun and know how to make use of whatever's salient in a pinch, right???

THEY MUST CERTAINLY know, innately, as one knows how to inhale, how to type in business formatting and formal communication style, how to present themselves in a way that gets them taken seriously by formal institutions, how to appear and be competent in basic/standard digital skills. SURELY. Of course. RIGHT!!!!

it's MADDENING, it's insane, and it's frustrating from the receiving end, but even more frustrating knowing they're stumbling blind out there in the digital spaces of grown-up matters, being dismissed, being considered less intelligent, being talked down to, because every adult and system responsible for them just

ASSUMED they should "just know" or "just figure out" these important things no one ever bothered to teach them, or half the time even introduce the concepts of before asking them to do it, on the spot, with high educational or professional stakes.

kids shouldn't have to supplement their own education like this and get sneered and scoffed at if they don't.

[theresascove]

like animals ₊ ⊹

ellie williams x f!reader

you’re ovulating and your partner—Ellie—is looking a little too good

tw: PURE FILTH, not proofread, farmer!ellie, established relationship (gf or married, I imagined married), ellie can carry reader, e can hold onto r’s hair, needy reader, multiple rounds of sex, strap described as Ellie’s dick, strap sucking (e receiving), strap (r receiving), oral (r&e receiving), fingering (e&r receiving), muscle kink, degrading, making out, grinding, spit kink, this is straight up filth yall im not fucking joking

wc ✎ 2.5k

It seeps into your system, spreading quickly when that time arises. It makes you feel hot, insatiable. The feeling erases most common sense and fills it instead with a need. Essentially you act as if you’re in heat.

The moment you knew that time had crept up on you was when you were washing a few dishes in the sink and caught Ellie talking to your neighbor. The sun, the golden rays had been placed just ever so perfectly to shape out her muscles—her tattoo. The one that was shining with your wetness just a day ago?

She was keeping a conversation going between the two of them whilst picking up and moving these bails of hay. Safe to say the water ran over your still fingers as you eyed her, checking her out.

Started with her arms before it switched over to her back. There were times when she was working in the heat of the day, so she’d remove her top shirt while cooling off. You met her on the porch, handing her a glass of tea and checking in on her. That’s when you noticed her fingers. The length, veins, the way she held onto the glass. Truth be told, you barely heard a thing she said.

Walking down the steps? Your eyes were hooked on her back as she put her shirt back on. The thoughts were getting increasingly intense with each passing minute. Just before her shirt completely slipped over her back—covering it—you noticed the light scars on her skin. The little scars you planted there after a session not too long ago. Fuck you needed her. Ellie had reached the bottom step when you finally found your voice.

“Els—?”

She hums, turning around and getting rightfully spooked at how close you covered the space between you two. You made it to the bottom of the steps, pulling on her jean loop to kiss her. She’s a bit taken aback but ultimately ends up kissing back—bringing a hand to cup your cheek. Your heart skips when you feel her hand slide down your body, holding and gripping onto your waist.

“Mm was that all you needed?”

You should say yes. Yes, you’re done, nothing else, continue working—

“No,” you grip onto her like she’ll leave, “no, Ellie I need more.”

You’re so blessed when you feel her silly grin, it makes you giddy inside. A laugh breaking from you when she holds under your thighs and carries you back inside—pushing you against the wall. Since waking up with a fuzzy mind already, all this making out did was send you into outer space. Something Ellie loves to talk about when you sit out on the porch at night, looking at the stars.

“Please,” you beg, voice whiny, “please Ellie, don’t tease.”

She had her lips on your neck, engaging in your usual foreplay. It was absolutely maddening, you wanted her fingers in you now—not whatever this was. Usually it’s nice, but now it’s frustrating you.

You grip her hand that was placed on your hip, pulling it down to your already dripping cunt.

Usually you’d never do this, but this time it’s different. You’re drunk in your own lust.

Ellie catches on quickly, pulling your garments off and hiking one thigh over her hip—spreading you out for her. She drags her fingers up your heat and chokes on a moan.

“Shit you’re soaked, like—holy shit.”

You loose your mind when she pushes a finger though. Nails dig into her shoulder and your lips are dropped open in a shaky gasp. Her fingers, her lips, her sweaty hair and skin, her arms, her thighs, the way the pants sit on her waist, her ass, her voice—everything about her was turning you on.

You came embarrassingly quick. Might’ve been a new record. The moment your eyes opened this morning you felt as if you were already on edge, rubbing your thighs together to try and get some of the edge off. But you should’ve known nothing would except her.

She laughed a little, drawing her fingers out and wiping them on her pants.

“Love you,” she mumbles, pressing a kiss to your lips and wondering back out onto the porch—leaving you panting against the wall.

Little did she know that didn’t sedate you, it only fueled the fire.

You met her in the barn later, catching her when she was staring to feed the horses. The way she had you this morning had crept up when she came into view and reminded you yet again of how attractive she was.

“Do we need more horse feed soon? Looks like we just have two barrels left.”

She looks back at you, momentarily stopping her scoop of the feed, “yeah sounds good. I can put the order in tonight.”

“I can do it, it’s no problem.”

She stood full height, looking to you with a bit of confusion in her eyes, “why’re you out here?”

To see you.

“Doing an inventory check.”

She hummed, moving along to feed your third horse. You stood there, shoulder leaned against the barn wall—eyeing her move around and do the chores you’re very similar with. She noticed, eyes changing in color after a bit when she realized the intent.

She tossed the scoop back into the barrel before her hands pulled your hips towards hers as she leaned in for a quick kiss. She had an arrogant smile, one that made you feel things. You reached a hand into her hair, pulling her back down for a kiss after a kiss after a kiss.

Next thing you knew you were being pushed back into the small tack room, shoved back against the table. She had you sat up on the table, legs wrapped around her shoulders as she ate you out. Your sounds filled the room, reaching her ears and transforming into a melody so beautiful it made Ellie’s throb. She moaned herself from your sounds and the way you tasted on her tongue.

You could almost cry, it felt amazing. It was like rain on a hot day, cooling you off from the warm that filled you. She’s holding your legs wide, arms wrapped around them so you can’t close them on her head. And fuck it’s driving you crazy, because any jolt of your hips has her muscles flexing.

“Els—“ you gasp, eyes dazed, “please.”

She had her eyes locked onto yours, her pupils blown wide just like yours. Only took another movement and you were coming on her tongue, head falling onto the wall behind you. It feels good, it always feels good—but now, each orgasm has increased tenfold. She stands to her full height, bringing a hand through her hair to brush it back and out of her face before reaching to help you. It was like it was practiced—long fingers gripping your chin, tipping it back so she could kiss you and let her spit (with the taste of you) fall onto your tongue.

You stand on wobbily legs, mind running around from the enactments just before. She had you wrap your arms around her shoulders as she sets your clothes back on straight—sharing kisses in between.

“Mm, my lips are all swollen now—“ you complain, but despite that you’re leaning back in for another kiss.

“You can tell me to stop,” she says, voice rasping near your ear.

You should. It was only noon. The last thing this farm and the both of you needed was the two of you going at it once again. The absolute last thing needed was you finding another way to meet her in the middle of a task to distract her. Nobody needed it, and yet it happened again.

You had met her near the house, seeing her talk to someone she’s introduced you to and yet you’ve forgotten the name. He’s an older man, near his 70s. Faintly you recall Joel, Ellie’s sort of father figure, introducing him to you as well. Due to the missing name, you gave him a polite smile instead and asked how his day was going. He was on his way eventually, hopping back in his truck and driving off.

“What did he need?”

She waves it off, resting her hands on her hips, “nothing, what’d you need?”

It had happened all too quick and before either of you could fully grasp it you had her spread beneath you, hot moans escaping her from the way you had her writing in pleasure. It flowed almost naturally. Just bringing her down with you when you reached the house. It was near her office, just outside the door.

Her leg was hiked up, giving you room to lick her all over and to easily move your fingers into her cunt. She was just as drenched as you were earlier, the sessions you shared only teasing her—so now it was your chance to give back. You needed her. Each time she made you come, she was up and out the door immediately after. Now, you were going to make her stay, she couldn’t wiggle herself out.

A hand was gripping your hair, pulling you into her—while the other was draped over her face. Her skin was flush, hot to the touch and tan from the sun. Some areas were tan, her farmers tan was quite obvious. She felt like she was on cloud nine in many ways. The way you looked beneath her—eyebrows furrowed and moaning against her, red lips, watching you pump your fingers into her—it drove her insane. Her hands gripped you tighter, force put into it this time.

“S-shit, come on,” she says, voice scratchy, “you can do it better, I know you can. Fucking come on.”

You tried, genuinely feeling like you weren’t doing something—but whatever you did, it broke her over the edge. She came with a loud, stretched out cry—hips pushing against your tongue and fingers.

“O-oh, fuck. Fuckfuck, so good.”

It sedated you enough. The post-orgasm would help you feel relief. Any pent up energy, the type that ran through you like molten lava at just the sight of her, would decrease. Not vanish entirely, but a good chunk of it would decrease.

The reason why it didn’t vanish entirely is because just as you were making dinner, Ellie—fresh out of the shower—had come to wrap her hands around you from behind. Kisses were placed down your neck, moving to bite as she then pressed her hips into you.

“Feel that,” she asks with a teasing grin.

You hum, moving your head so she can kiss you on your neck some more. It’s embarrassing how quickly you get turned on yet again. You’ve come two times from her and leaned down under her to make her come a total of one time as well. You should stop, but yet again she found a way onto you this time—and who were you to stop it. You never wanted the feeling to stop.

The feeling of her skin on yours is intoxicating, and the first time you felt it today. Her tits on yours, her hair brushing your forehead, her thighs brushing yours. Her smell too, brought you to feel all the more bothered. She smelled heavenly, in many ways. The way she smells right out of a shower is the best moments. You genuinely look forward to it as if hinted at the beginning of the soft section of the day.

Usually, anyways.

“Deeper, come on.”

Her fingers, the one you’ve been eyeing all day, were gripping your hair—forcing you to take her strap deeper. You had beautiful unsheathed tears in your eyes, looking like diamonds with how you were looking up at her—the lamp lights reflecting off of them.

You’ve been gagging, nails gripping into her thighs—and she hasn’t let up. Knowing you’re enjoying it if the slick dripping onto the floor wasn’t a sign enough. She lets you lead it for a second, vision dark and full of lust as she watches you bob your head on her length.

“Yeah—yeah, just like that,” she says with a tone that makes you squirm, “suck my dick.”

And you do, until it’s covered in your saliva—enough for her to slam you onto the kitchen table. Your chest is pushed against the cold wood—making your nipples stand to their full attention. She grinds her length over your underwear, slipping it and letting it get caught touching your clit. It was all purposeful, she wanted you to beg for her—act like you’re in heat.

You do, no shock. Hips grind back on hers, tears in your cheeks as you try and hint.

“Shh, no crying, tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,”you whisper, voice cracking, “please Els.”

She slides your under garnet to the side with her thumb, before pushing through. Your bottom lip drops open in a prolonged silent gasp. It stings so good, spreading you wide and open. It does something to your mind when she leans back and it pulls you back with her. Ellie groans softly from that, just from seeing how tight you are.

“Damn,” she drags her fingers around your entrance, “so fucking tight even though I’ve fucked you senseless just the other night.”

You nod, pushing back, “please Ellie, please fuck me I can’t—I need you, please!”

She finally does, settling a rough pace from the start. It shoves your thighs against the table side, and they act like a barrier. With it keeping your hips steady and set against a line—it makes her thrust all the more powerful. Your nails dig lines into the wood, tearing it up as you cry.

It’s so good. So good you can barely care to try and think about anything. The water bill, the burnt food—nothing. Nothing but her. It was so good.

From her side, you were laid out in front of her like a buffet on the table. Your ass moving with each thrust, it was hypnotic. She couldn’t keep her eyes away. Close to that was your face, half turned and shoved against the table—body sliding with each quick thrust. You practically bawled when you came, her length being grounded against that spongy spot while her fingers worked circles around your clit.

You legitimately thought you saw stars, mind dizzy as you came down from your high. Ellie was panting behind you, a dork look on her face as she stares down at the way you still grind back on her—despite having just come.

“You can tell me to sto—“

“No!”

It was going to be a long night.

taglist — @picklesarenice69

[incognit0slut]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3| PART 4

Behind Closed Doors 4

Your frustration over his broken promise melts away as soon as he calls, and you find yourself unexpectedly drawn to his voice, more than you anticipated.

Warnings: (18+, MDNI) Phone sex, mutual (and guided) masturbation, dirty talk ~4.7k words

A/n: this is just me wishing he was on quinn😔 anyway enjoy part 4, this mini series is not dead (i don’t even know how long it will be but let’s just celebrate that I’m finally updating)

All men do is lie, you thought as you flopped onto your bed.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault—but you weren’t in the mood to be reasonable. You remembered that car ride vividly. He had promised you more time together, a moment to finally be alone. Instead, what did you get? A new case, then another, and amidst all the chaos and dodging bullets (literally and metaphorically), you two somehow managed to drift apart.

The past few weeks had been the busiest since you started working at the BAU, and that was saying a lot, considering there was never really a moment of peace when you worked for the government. But this time was different, it seemed even more chaotic than usual. Every time you thought of bringing up the conversation with him—or maybe sneak in a little make-out session—something urgent would come up. 

There was never the right time, or the right moment. It felt as if the universe had other plans for you, and none of them involved the two of you getting a moment alone. And before you knew it, you were caught in this maddening cycle of missed opportunities, and the worst thing was, you were sexually frustrated.

This time, you had no one else to blame but him. Ever since he came into the picture, your carefully maintained self-control had started to slip, and now, despite your best efforts, you couldn’t ignore the growing need between your legs. It was aching, throbbing, and even the thought of him was making you hot and restless.

How did he manage to do that? He wasn’t even trying. There was nothing overtly seductive in the way he moved or spoke, and yet every glance, every accidental touch, seemed to affect you. Spencer. Just his name made your breath hitch, your body betraying you. You weren’t proud to admit this, but the mere thought of his fingers brushing your skin had you feeling that first rush of arousal slipping into your panties.

You huffed, considering digging out your pink silicone toy hidden somewhere in your drawer. And while you were contemplating this, knowing it had been a while since you last used it because nothing could compare to the feeling of his touch now, your phone on the bedside table rang.

Maybe the universe was really testing you, because his name flashed across the screen and it took a lot of self-control for you not to pick up on the first ring and demand him to fuck you right there and then, which sounded too crass when you weren’t in the middle of straddling his lap like the last time. So instead, you decided to wait until the sixth ring before you answered with a curt, “Hey.”

There was a pause, then a sigh. “You’re mad at me.”

Could he tell? Of course, he could. He always had an uncanny ability to read you, even over the phone. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“I can almost see you rolling your eyes.”

“I never roll my eyes,” you shot back.

“You rolled your eyes last week when Luke tried to tell us that his dog could sniff out bodies better than our trained ones.”

You suppressed a smile, surprised that he even noticed you giving Luke a once-over at that particular moment. “That was because his dog chases its tail more than it chases leads.”

"And I'm not worthy of an eye roll?"

“Honestly, you deserve more than an eye roll,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

"So you are mad,” he stated, growing quiet for a while. “I’m sorry.”

And now you felt bad. You ran a hand through your hair, trying to clear your thoughts. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make me feel any less better.”

You felt a pang of guilt as you stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t exactly fair to blame him. Serial killers, unfortunately, didn’t come with a schedule, and now Spencer was already on his leave. You recalled the excitement in his voice when he told you about the seminars Emily had arranged for him to teach. He had spoken with an enthusiasm you hadn’t heard in a long time, his eyes practically lighting up every time he mentioned it.

How could you be upset about that?

"I'm not... mad.”

There was a slight teasing note in his voice as he replied, "Just annoyed then?"

You held back a smile. "Maybe a little."

“Anything I can do to help with that?” His voice softened through the phone. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

Your thoughts immediately went to the sticky situation between your legs, and you felt a flush of embarrassment. Technically, he could help with that. But could you say that? Should you? 

"I don’t know, depends on what you have in mind,” you replied, trying to steer your mind away from the direction it was heading. There was a pause, a silence that hung in the air as he carefully considered his next words.

"I could… start by telling you how much I miss you?”

Now that, you didn’t expect. Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. Spencer had never really acknowledged his feelings with words when his actions spoke volumes, but hearing him say it out loud made the emotions between you feel undeniably real. It was as if his words shattered whatever platonic friendship the two of you had built over the past years.

Although you knew your friendship had fundamentally changed the moment he had you pinned on the desk that fine afternoon, it didn’t stop you from questioning about where you truly stood.

"You miss the idea of me," you corrected him, unable to resist yourself.

“You know that’s not true,” he replied gently.

“Do I?”

“Yes, you know me better than that,” he insisted. “You’re a great profiler, you can tell if I’m not being honest.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, despite trying to stay mad at him. "You hate being profiled.”

"That was before I realized how useful your skills are in deciphering my feelings.”

“You know I’d rather you tell me how you feel.”

“I did, I miss you, and you chose not to believe me.”

Your cheeks actually ached from smiling too much. You couldn’t help but feel a warm, tingling sensation spread through you. “Fine,” you sighed, finally giving in. “I believe you.”

“And?”

You rolled onto your side. “And what?”

“Do you not miss my absence at work?”

“Well…”

“Well?” He prompted.

Now how could you tell him you missed more than just his presence? How could you admit that you missed the way he made you feel, the way his breath felt hot against your skin, without sounding obvious or too needy? Because you missed everything about him. His hands, his lips, his tongue—oh dear god, his tongue.

Spencer suddenly called out your name, and you forced yourself to focus, feeling your heartbeat quicken as you cleared your throat.

“Yes, I—I miss you,” you finally admitted.

There was a pause, then his voice came through, lighter, teasing. “Why do you sound like that?”

“…like what?”

“Like you’re out of breath.”

You gripped the sheets tightly, the fabric bunching under your fingers. How could you even begin to explain this to him now that he was onto you? You felt like you were on the verge of a full-blown emotional meltdown. God, if he knew how many times you’d replayed every kiss, every touch, in your mind, he’d never let you live it down.

It was almost laughable, really. Here you were, trying to keep it together, and failing miserably. “It’s just… I really, really miss you.”

“You really miss me? Are you trying to say something?”

You hesitated, your mind scrambling for the right words without revealing too much. “No…?”

“Mhm,” he replied, clearly unconvinced. “You’re not telling me everything.”

You gripped the phone tighter. “I’m just saying... It's hard without you here. You know, in every way.”

“In every way?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling both embarrassed and mortified. “I just... I miss how you make me feel. Physically.”

“Physically?” he pressed. “Can you elaborate?”

“I’m... you know, I’ve been... missing certain things. Certain... activities.”

“Certain activities,” he repeated your words once again. It was then that you realized he was teasing you, clearly enjoying your discomfort a little too much. “You mean like... talking?”

“No. More like... the other stuff we do when we’re alone.”

"I don't understand."

At that point, your embarrassment was gnawing at you. You wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. “God, Spencer, don’t make me say it,” you groaned, burying your face in your pillow.

“Come on, I need a little more than that.” He sounded both amused and curious. “I’m just making sure I understand you right.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you muttered into the pillow, your voice muffled but still clear enough for him to hear.

“Actually, I don’t think I do. You could be missing so many things, you have to help me out here.”

You turned your head to the side, exasperation coloring your tone. “Spencer…”

"Yes?" he responded innocently.

"You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

"I find precise communication to be very important.”

You let out a groan, feeling the last of your restraint crumble. “Alright! Fine!” you snapped. “I’m horny, okay? And it’s all your fault!”

His laughter rang through the phone, and you could almost see the grin spreading across his face. “My fault?"

"Yes! I feel like a deprived, horny teenager here, and I just…”

You trailed off, hardly believing you had actually said that out loud. The realization hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you wished you could take it back. There was a pause that seemed to stretch on forever and you wondered if you had gone too far.

He finally broke the silence, breathing out your name in a way that made your skin tingle. "You could've told me from the start."

You could, but you’d rather not.

"I didn't want to sound desperate."

"You can be desperate with me,” he said softly. “Just say the word and I’ll give you anything you want.”

If there was one thing Spencer was good at, it was getting under your skin. He really shouldn’t be saying those words, not now, not when it was making you crave him even more. You swallowed, feeling a tightness in your chest, a knot in your stomach. The part of you that always played it safe wanted to retract, to laugh it off as a joke. But then there was that other part, the part that craved his attention, the part that was tired of holding back.

“Tell me, what do you want now?”

You took a deep breath and laid on your back, the words catching in your throat. You felt your pulse quicken.

“I want… you.”

“Tell me how you want me.”

Your fingers trailed over the sheets, your touch light as you imagined it was him beneath your fingertips. “Spencer…”

“Come on,” he pressed. “Tell me.”

You paused, your heart pounding in your chest. You could almost imagine him right in front of you, staring at you with those beautiful brown eyes that always managed to make you melt, coaxing words from you that you barely dared to think, let alone speak.

Just say it. He's waiting. He wants to hear it.

Your hand began to move.

“I… I want your hands on me.”

“Where do you want my hands?”

“Everywhere,” you whispered, your fingers grazing your body as if they were his. You closed your eyes.

“Everywhere?”

You found yourself nodding even though he couldn’t see you.

“On my hips…”

Your hand danced across your hips.

“My stomach…”

Your palm slipped under your shirt, moving slowly up your abdomen, feeling the warmth of your own touch and wishing it was his.

“Between my thighs…”

You paused at the hem of your panties, the only barrier beneath your shirt, hesitating as a flush of warmth spread through you. The line was silent for a moment, save for the sound of his breathing—a soft, heavy rhythm that matched the pounding of your own heart.

“Where else do you want me?”

Your fingers dipped inside the fabric. “I want you lower…”

“Tell me exactly where.”

“Where I’m most sensitive,” you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them.  Your thighs instinctively squeezed together, hips rolling gently as your free hand began to drift south. “Spencer… please…”

“Are you touching yourself?”

“I…”

“Are you?”

“No…”

“Do you want to touch yourself?”

You licked your lips, your breath coming faster. “Maybe.”

“Then do it, no one’s stopping you.”

You hesitated, the reality of the situation sinking in. You couldn’t believe this was happening, that you were having this conversation with him. "This feels so naughty.”

"Naughty can be nice, though, right?" he assured you. "Don't think about it too much. It’s just you and me.”

There really was something about his voice, the way it effortlessly wrapped around you—smooth, coaxing, almost hypnotic. Despite the hesitation that tugged at your mind, your hand began to move lower, and your legs parting involuntarily. A soft gasp escaped your lips when your hand flew right to your pussy, fingers quickly tracing the length of your folds. You were already wet, and you began to spread your arousal towards your clit.

“Spencer…” you whined, feeling the sudden rush of sensations.

“Keep going,” he urged. “Tell me what you feel.”

You closed your eyes. “It feels… good…”

“Describe it to me.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to find the words through the haze of pleasure. “It’s warm and wet… and…”

And you wished he was the one touching you.

You let your mind drift to your fantasy. You imagined it was his fingers circling your clit. You imagined his lips against yours, the way they would move together. You imagined him whispering these words right in front of you, his eyes locked on yours as you writhed beneath him. The fantasy felt so vivid that for a moment, you could almost feel his weight pressing down on you, his presence enveloping you completely.

Your imagination urged you to move faster, but you felt limited by the fabric in the way. You called out his name. “Can I… can I take my, um, underwear off?”

You could almost hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “Of course you can.”

You put your phone down, and with trembling fingers, you slid the fabric down your legs. You discarded them quickly and turned the call to speaker before you settled back on the bed. Your hand returned to your body, fingers brushing over your sensitive skin. You parted your legs even wider, and as your fingers found their rhythm, a moan escaped you.

“Better?”

You sighed in relief as you continued to rub your clit. “So much better.”

“Keep it slow, okay? We don’t want to rush.”

His voice was low and soothing, and you couldn’t believe how just by his voice he had gotten you so worked up.

“Now press a little harder.” You complied, applying a bit more pressure on your clit. "Right there. Do you feel that?"

"Yes," you gasped, your back slightly arching off the bed.

“I wish I could see you right now," he murmured. “I'd kiss you where you're touching.”

You let your imagination take over. You pictured him with his head right between your thighs, his eyes locked on yours with those intense, pretty eyes. You imagined his mouth moving over your clit, sucking gently while his fingers explored between your folds. The thought was so vivid, so real, that you could almost feel his warm breath against your skin.

The mental image of him looking up at you was almost too much to bear. “Spencer…”

"Keep going. Are your fingers wet?" You could simply moan back a reply, not trusting your own voice. “Now slowly slide in one. Can you do that for me?”

You did as he said, sliding a finger into your wetness. You could feel how tight you were, the slick warmth of your arousal enveloping your skin. You looked down between your legs and watched as you pleased yourself. It wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar sight. You had done this countless times before, but never with the voice of a man guiding you, especially Spencer—the last person you’d imagine doing this with.

Yet look at how much effect he had on you.

"You're quiet," his voice suddenly came through. "Are you still with me?"

"Yes," you managed to whisper. "It's just... a lot."

"In a good way, I hope?"

“Very good,” you assured him.

You could practically picture the corner of his lips twitching into a proud smile. “Good,” he recited. “Now try adding another finger.”

You couldn't help a moan escaping your lips as you pushed in your middle finger, the sound louder than you intended.

"How does that feel?"

"Full," you breathed out, adjusting to the sensation.

“Yeah? I bet you’re so tight.”

You were, awfully so. Your walls clenched around your fingers, almost swallowing them as you started to move them in a steady rhythm. The pleasure built in your lower stomach, a warm, coiling tension that made you desperate for more. You needed his voice, you craved his guidance, even from afar.

“Spence…” you whined. “Keep talking, please.”

“You want me to describe how I’d touch you if I were there?”

You moaned in response, the sound escaping your lips involuntarily, urging him to continue.

“If I were there,” he began, his voice low, “I’d start by kissing you slowly.”

You could almost feel it, his lips on yours, his tongue probing inside your mouth.

“I’d move lower,” he continued. “Kiss your neck, your collarbone… while my fingers would move along your hips, your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you need me most.”

You whimpered, your fingers moving faster as you followed his vivid description, imagining his touch guiding you.

“I’d tease you, brush my fingers right at your entrance,” he whispered. “Then, I’d slip them inside you, just like you’re doing now.”

Your breaths came in short gasps.

“I’d spread your legs wide,” he continued again, and you heard a faint rustling noise in the background. “I’d move my fingers in… and… out...”

Your legs fell further apart.

“I’d curl my fingers the same way I did that day,” he went on. “Do you remember?”

How could you not? It never truly left your mind. You could picture that day clearly, the feeling of his fingers and mouth working on your sensitive spot seemed to linger in your memory.

“I’d do the same thing that you like,” he proceeded, and you focused on his voice. “I’d lean in close… licking you… sucking you.”

You moaned loudly as the image of his mouth on your clit flashed through your mind. You could almost feel the way he would sloppily lap at you, drinking in every drop of your arousal with each eager flick of his tongue.

“Go faster for me,” he urged. “I-I want to hear how wet you are.”

You followed his words, and the slick sounds of your arousal filled the quiet around you as you imagined him there, his fingers replacing yours. You could hear more noise through the line, the subtle rustle of clothes moving, the faint sound of his breathing growing heavier before he let out a low grunt.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he breathed out. “Now add another finger.”

Your eyes narrowed into a frown, trying to slip a third finger in but the stretch was too intense for you to continue. “I-I can’t.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed. “Just take it slow. Try to relax.”

You took a deep breath, trying to follow his instructions. You slowly eased in another finger, feeling the awkward stretch but the initial discomfort quickly faded into a deeper pleasure, and you moaned softly.

“Oh, fuck.”

“There you go,” he encouraged. “Feel that? Feel how full you are?”

You hummed a reply.

“That’s how I want you to feel when I’m finally inside you.”

A whine left your lips. In your head, you saw him, his body poised above yours, his cock sliding smoothly into you. You imagined the slick, rhythmic motion, the way each thrust would fill you, stretching you, overwhelming you. You cried out a filthy moan at the thought, unabashed and desperate, as you began to pump your fingers inside your cunt.

“Push deeper for me… I know you can take it.”

You gasped, pushing your fingers as deep as they could go. “I can’t… I need… oh…”

“I know, I know,” he whispered. “You need more. You need me inside you, don’t you?”

“Spencer, please…” you begged, your voice breaking into desperate, choked sobs.

“You want that? You want to feel me stretch you?”

“Yes, yes…” you managed to moan out, your movements became more desperate.

“God, you’d be so tight around me… I’d have your legs spread wide so I… I-I could see how perfect you’d take me.”

You could almost feel his hands on your hips, his body pressing against yours, filling you completely. Your fingers moved frantically, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you felt the tension building to an unbearable peak.

“You’d pull me closer, wouldn’t you? You’d ask for more, like you always do, and I’d give it to you,” he promised. “I’d give it to you so hard… s-so deep…”

And that was when you heard it—the unmistakable sound of wetness, like skin sliding over slick, damp skin. The sound was filthy, making your pulse race as you wondered what he might be doing on the other end of the line. Your voice trembled as you slowly asked him, “Spence, are you…?”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end before he let out a soft, almost sheepish laugh, as if you had caught him red-handed. “I… yeah,” he admitted, his voice breathless and strained. "Do you know how hard it is not to when listening to your voice?"

Your fingers subconsciously quickened at his confession, their movements becoming more urgent as you imagined him laying on his own bed, hand wrapped around his cock. You bit your lip to stifle your moans as you whispered, “Tell me what you’re doing.”

His breathing grew ragged, his words coming in clipped bursts. “I’m… I’m touching myself…”

You tried to focus on his voice, but the sound of his sloppy strokes began to echo louder. “Tell me more.”

“I’m… I’m rubbing… my fingers over the head,” he gasped, and you curled your fingers deeper, using your palm to grind against your clit. The way he sounded so lost in his pleasure, unable to hold back, had you imagining him stroking himself. You pictured yourself doing it for him, remembering how it felt that day when you had his cock in your hand—the weight, the warmth, the way he looked at you through intense eyes.

Your breathing grew heavier, louder, and his voice cracked with a strained moan as he whispered, “Can you lower your phone?”

You fumbled with the device, bringing it closer to where your fingers worked tirelessly between your legs. “Like this?”

“God, yes,” he groaned, the sound of his strokes growing faster and more urgent. “You sound so perfect.”

You let out a soft cry, your fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt frantically as you imagined him watching you, listening to every sound you made. The wet, slick noises filled the room, so intense and filthy. You looked down to see your juices spilling over your fingers, soaking the sheets beneath you. The sheer sound of it was enough to drive him crazy.

“I—f-faster, please,” he panted into the phone. “I need you to go faster.”

Your eyes widened for a moment as the desperate plea slipped from his lips. But you didn’t have the mental space to think about it. Your focus was solely on reaching your release as you ultimately sped up your pace. Your body began to tighten up, feeling so much pressure and pleasure building up every time your fingertips hit that deep spot inside you.

"Oh—fuck!” You exhaled sharply as the familiar sensation took over you. “I’m cumming I’m cumming I’m cumming—”

With a cry that was both a sob and a shout, your pussy fluttered around your fingers. Your orgasm ripped through you without warning, sending shockwaves of intense pleasure through your body as you gasped and shuddered. Your voice escaped in broken moans and whines, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“Spencer… oh, God, Spencer…”

The sound of your climax drove him to his own release. His breath hitched, his movements faltering as he let out a harsh sound from his throat. It was raw and unrestrained, downright filthy, and you listened intently, your fingers slipping out only to circle and rub your clit, drawing out the final waves of your orgasm.

Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, your hand fell away, and you lay there, breathing heavily, your body relaxing into the bed. Your room was quiet afterward, the only sound coming from was the sound of your own breathing. Then you heard him calling out your name, checking in. But through the post-orgasmic bliss, all you could manage in response was a giggle.

“You’re… laughing?” He mused. “Should I be concerned?”

“No, no,” you replied, still catching your breath, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “It’s just… I can’t believe we did that.”

A gentle laugh escaped his lips, a warm, soothing sound that calmed your racing heart. "Did you like it?"

You liked it a lot. "Can’t say that I didn’t.”

"So I take it you're not mad at me anymore?"

You let out a soft, contented sigh. “I wasn’t even that mad to begin with. Just… frustrated,” you confessed. “But I think we handled that pretty well.”

“Maybe a little too well,” he agreed softly. “I can't believe I need to take a shower this late.”

You looked down between your legs at his words, and a wave of embarrassment washed over you as you noticed the patch of wetness on your bed. It wasn't small—it spread across the fabric in a noticeable, damp stain. “Uh, yeah,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “I also need to change my sheets.”

Then you heard a low, almost pained groan from his end of the line.

“What?”

“It’s just…” He paused, and you could almost hear him struggling to find the right words. "I'm now picturing you on your bed."

"Isn't that what you've been doing?"

"Well, yes, but now it's… different."

You couldn't help the amused grin that spread across your face. "Different how?"

"Let's just say the image in my mind is a lot more detailed now and it's not helping me calm down."

A burst of laughter erupted from your chest as you gripped your phone closer to you. “Is this your way of blaming me because you still have a hard-on?” you taunted. “I mean, I’m simply stating the facts.”

“But you’re painting a picture in my head.”

“Of me drenching the sheets just by hearing your voice?”

He made a low, strained sound. “Stop.”

“I can send you a picture if you like,” you offered slyly. “Help you visualize it better.”

There was a moment of stunned silence on his end before he finally muttered, “You shouldn’t.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t.”

“But if you insist…”

You laughed softly. “Good night, Spencer.”

“Wait—You’re hanging up?”

“Yep,” you said cheerfully. “I thought you needed a shower.”

He made another frustrated sound, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, before reluctantly agreeing. “Fine, fine. Good night.”

And that was it. You ended the call with a satisfied smile. But as you stared at your phone, a rush of thoughts began to swirl through your mind. You were well aware of the potential risks of what you were about to do—how it could be traced back to you. You could almost hear Penelope lecturing you about online security and the dangers of leaving a digital footprint.

But when your mind kept circling back to Spencer—Spencer’s breathless voice, Spencer’s prominent veins on his hands, Spencer with a freaking hard-on in his bed—it was hard to think rationally. Before you could stop yourself, you propped your phone on your pillow and posed for the camera. Legs spread wide, your nipples pressing against your shirt, a flirtatious smile playing on your lips. The shot looked like it came out of a porno movie. You quickly sent it to him.

It took exactly 7 seconds before your phone rang again.

“Yes, Spencer?” you answered, trying to sound innocent.

You heard shuffling and a muffled grunt, and then, faintly, the rustling of fabric. It sounded like he was fumbling with his phone, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip at the frustration in his voice.

“How do I turn this into video call again?”

[malkaviian]

i never talk about the effects the "breakup" with finnley had on chase so im going to do it now

[enviedear]

MNDI. ADULT CONTENT

JASON TODD has always been a man of action, more comfortable with his efforts than with his words. but when it comes to you, he’ll say anything just to hear you. it’s your voice—those quiet, almost hushed intonations, and those bated breathless sounds—those wreck him in ways he didn’t think possible. he craves it, like he needs it, needing to hear every gasp, every soft moan, the way you breathe his name when you’re close to falling apart.

he’s learned what makes you tick, too. the spots that draw out the little whimpers he can’t get enough of. when he’s hovering over you, his mouth tracing down your neck, kissing your pressure points. he’ll slow down just to hear how your breathing changes, how it gets shaky the second his lips hit that sweet spot above your clavicle. sometimes he’ll tease you on purpose, dragging it out, using his fingers or mouth in that maddening rhythm—slow, deliberate, almost lazy—just to watch you squirm and hear the frustrated moan you let out when you can’t take it anymore.

and it’s not just about touching you. when he’s inside you, it’s a whole other level. he’ll thrust in slow at first, setting a torturous pace just so he can savor every sound that slips from your lips. the way you say his name, like it’s the only thing grounding you, drives him near mad. he’ll lean in close, lips brushing your ear, his voice low and rough as he whispers, “c’mon, baby, let me hear you.” and the moment you do—when you can’t hold back anymore, when your moans fill the air and your nails dig into his skin—jason’s gone. completely lost in the way you sound, in the way you’re unraveling beneath him. lost in the beauty of you, natural and unabashed. perfect.

he’ll push harder, faster even sometimes, not because he’s in a hurry but because he’s chasing that moment where you’re so overwhelmed you can’t keep quiet. he’s selfish for it, he knows. but you keen so pretty and pull him so close, so right. when you finally shatter, when your voice ceases and you’re gasping for him, it’s like a switch flips in him. he’ll growl your name, holding you impossibly close to him, giving you exactly what you need, because for him, it’s all about hearing you fall apart. he finds nothing better than being enough for you, hell, too much for you.

[hoshifighting]

Ways to Have a Man in the Palm of Your Hand.

— Synopsis: In the flow of uncertainty that defined your situationship with Mingyu, you decide to take action, making Mingyu start chasing after you like a loyal puppy. — WC: 3.9k — WARNINGS: Smut, unprotected sex, overstimulation, degradation, begging on knees, oral (f. receiving), fingering– he watches reader fingering herself, handjob, dick riding, penetrative sex, humiliating, manipulation and etc.

Your life connected with Mingyu's since you both first met through your groups of friends, and a situationship had emerged between you two. It was just sex, with no strings attached and no promises made.

Yet, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, it became challenging to keep your heart safe from the unpredictable tides of emotion.

Mingyu had a way of making you feel special. He'd surprise you with homemade dinners, he was attentive, considerate, and made sure to put your self-esteem on the highest with his skillful photography.

The tall and good-looking guy wasn't just amazing during sex; he was an enigma that both fascinated and frustrated you. Mingyu could vanish for days, leaving you on blue. But just as you were about to write him off, he'd resurface, as if nothing had happened. It was a maddening cycle, and yet, you found yourself caught in its web.

Mingyu: Hey! Been swamped asf with work lately. Let's grab coffee or something stronger soon? Let me know when you're free!

You couldn't help but scoff as you read Mingyu's message. His casual tone and nonchalant invitation stirred a mix of irritation and amusement within you. Swiftly typing a response, you questioned his unpredictable appearances.

You: Are you planning on always popping up out of nowhere like this?

Mingyu: I always come back, don't I? So, when are we catching up darling?

Despite the inner conflict and your ego's warning signals, there was an undeniable allure to Mingyu's charm. His words, laced with playfulness, had a magnetic effect that bypassed rational thoughts. With a sigh, you found yourself succumbing to the familiar pull.

The room was filled with the echoes of skin slapping as you both lay on Mingyu's bed, your eyes locked as you two moaned out loud, the crescendo of pleasure punctuated by the rhythmic thud of the bed against the wall.

Mingyu lays beside you, the heat of the moment still lingering between your bodies. You rose from the tangled sheets, picking up your scattered clothes. Mingyu's gaze remained fixed on you, an intensity that betrayed a deeper connection than the situationship allowed. 

"I really like spending time with you Y/N" 

"Me too Gyu." 

[...]

Seungkwan leaned in "Okay, spill. What's the latest drama with Mingyu?"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Honestly, I can't figure him out. It's like a cycle. We talk every day for a month, hang out, fuck, and then poof! He disappears for a week or more. I don't get it."

Seungkwan chuckled knowingly. "You know, maybe you should try something. Do the same to him, but take it up a notch. Make him miss you even more."

You furrowed your eyebrows, slightly taken aback. "Seungkwan, I'm not into playing games or being spiteful. It's not my style."

He waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, hear me out. It's not about being spiteful. It's about making him realize what he's missing. Mingyu knows you'll always be there, right? So, he takes it for granted. Maybe he needs a taste of his own medicine."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "And how exactly do I do that?"

Your mouth hung open as Seungkwan delivered his comprehensive lesson in the art of emotional tactics. The confidence in his advice left you both amazed and slightly apprehensive. Unable to contain your curiosity any longer, you finally asked the burning question.

"How on earth do you know all of this, Seungkwan?" you inquired, eyes wide with disbelief.

Seungkwan leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, my dear friend, when you've been in the game as long as I have and witnessed enough romantic dramas unfold, you start picking up on patterns. It's like a survival guide for the heart."

You raised an eyebrow, still processing the information. "Survival guide, huh? And all this contempt, playing hard to get, and hurting egos – that's your secret weapon?"

Seungkwan chuckled, "Not a secret weapon, sometimes, a little strategic move can make all the difference. Trust me, I've seen it all."

With Seungkwan's advice resonating in your mind like a strategic playbook, you approached the next phase of your relationship with Mingyu, with a newfound determination. It felt like diving into a complex homework assignment, each step carefully calculated to shift the dynamics in your favor.

As you decided to implement the first step, a newfound sense of liberation washed over you. You stopped responding to Mingyu's messages immediately and resisted the urge to initiate contact. It felt strange at first, but there was a sense of power in reclaiming your time and not being at his beck and call. Mingyu's messages awaited your attention. 

The challenge of making Mingyu realize he could lose you sparked a newfound determination. Your calendar filled up with plans that didn't involve Mingyu. Mingyu, accustomed to your constant availability, seemed to sense the change, though he couldn't quite pinpoint it. He might have been the object of desire for many hoes, but your indifference challenged his accustomed narrative. 

After all, a man is not more important than your personal goals, right?

All while allowing Mingyu to observe your life unfolding without him. The realization that you were not waiting by the phone for him sparked a large curiosity.

Throughout the process, a mix of emotions surfaced. Doubt, at times, whispered in the back of your mind – was this the right approach? Seungkwan's advice, unconventional as it was, had brought a shift in Mingyu's behavior. Now, you wondered how Mingyu would respond to the transformed version of you – a person who refused to be taken for granted.

Mingyu's relentless messages flooded your phone. The janitor, a silent witness to the unfolding drama, discreetly shared the news of Mingyu's visits to your condominium entrance. Three times he had appeared, seeking a glimpse of you, only to be met with the absence of your presence, the deliberate distance, and the air of indifference were beginning to provoke a reaction from him.

You were determined to see this journey through, to understand whether Mingyu's renewed interest was genuine or a fleeting reaction to the perceived loss of control.

The persistent pings of Mingyu's messages had become a constant background noise in your life, infiltrating your workdays and even interrupting the serene moments of your brunches.

"Free today, Ms. Busy?"

"Pls respond to me. :(("

"Why are you acting like this?"

"Wtf…"

"Omggg, when are you going to answer me properly?"

"I'll invade your house."

"Y/N-ieeee, pleaseee!"

"I really want to see you right now."

"You make me so confused :("

The encounter at the pedestrian crossing unfolded in a scene of unexpected tension. Mingyu, spotting you in the midst of your Sunday morning run with Seungkwan, seized the opportunity to bridge the gap that had grown between you. As you halted, waiting for the light to change, Mingyu approached, a mixture of eagerness and confusion etched across his face.

"Hey there! Fancy meeting you here," Mingyu greeted, attempting to strike up a conversation.

Seungkwan, standing beside you, looked on with a side-eyed glance, a smirk playing on his lips as he sipped casually from his water bottle. As the pedestrian light shifted to green, you seized the moment to extricate yourself from the short encounter. "Sorry, Mingyu, I really need to finish my morning walk. Catch you later," you excused yourself, leaving Mingyu standing there, perplexed and surrounded by the bustling activity of the street.

He couldn't shake off the confusion – Why weren't you responding as before? Why weren't you as available as you used to be? Did you at least still like him? It dawned on Mingyu that the game had changed, and he wasn't sure if he understood the rules anymore. The pursuit, once fueled by the expectation of your constant availability, now seemed to slip through his fingers like grains of sand. The reality of being just one among the many who sought your attention was a bitter pill to swallow.

[...]

The doorbell's unexpected chime disrupted the tranquility of your self-care routine, with moisturized skin and a mind ready for a cozy movie night, you approached the door, curiosity dancing in your eyes.

As you swung the door open, the sulky face of Mingyu greeted you. A momentary pause hung in the air, your eyes meeting his in silent expectation. Before you could utter a word, Mingyu stepped inside, dropping to his knees and hugging your legs as if seeking solace.

Surprised by his sudden display of vulnerability, you widen your eyes, caught off guard by the intensity of his reaction. The door lingered ajar, and you managed to close it, arms crossed, a mixture of confusion and caution etched on your face.

Mingyu, still hugging your legs, looked up at you with pleading eyes, his voice laden with remorse. "What did I do, Y/N? Why are you treating me like this? I'm sorry."

"Hm?"

He looked up at you, his eyes brimming with a mix of confusion and regret. "I just… I don' understand. I miss you," he admitted, his voice trailing off.

Your initial surprise transformed into a mix of emotions – disbelief, a hint of empathy, and the need to assert your newfound boundaries. Crossed arms and a measured gaze met Mingyu's desperate expression. The sudden intrusion into your personal space prompted a silent assessment of the situation.

"What did you expect, Mingyu?" you countered, your voice steady but laced with the weight of unspoken questions. "You disappear, then reappear, and now you're kneeling in my living room. What's going on?"

"I messed up, okay? I thought I could keep things casual, but I didn't expect to feel like this. I miss the way things used to be between us." he confessed, his voice carrying a raw honesty.

"You ask me to come to your house, and then after you get what you wanted, you let me go. Do I look like a food delivery or something?" you confronted Mingyu, your words cutting through the charged silence that hung in the room.

Mingyu's eyes widened at your accusation, shock and a hint of hurt registering on his face. "No, no, no, Y/N, it wasn't like that."

You raised an eyebrow, a mix of skepticism and frustration evident in your expression. "It feels like you only want me around when it's convenient for you."

Mingyu, still on his knees, looked up at you, his eyes pleading for understanding. "It's not like that. I just... I didn't want to push you. I thought you preferred it this way."

You sighed, the weight of the unresolved tension palpable. "Mingyu, I can't read your mind. If you want me to stay, you have to say it. Communication goes both ways."

"Y/N, I'm truly sorry. I'll do whatever you want. I didn't see you as just a fleeting thing, and I want to be present."

Mingyu's earnest apology hung in the air, a plea for understanding and a promise to change. As he laid his face on your bare thighs, expressing his sincere regret, you cut through the moment with a tsk sound, a dismissive gesture that left him wide-eyed and caught off guard.

"Poor boy, begging on his knees for attention. What a shame," you remarked, a hint of teasing in your voice as you observed his reaction.

Mingyu, his hands now gripping each side of your thighs, sat back on his feet, his expression a mix of surprise and a subtle flush coloring his cheeks. He hadn't anticipated this response, your playful teasing catching him off guard.

"You didn't see me as a fleeting thing?" you continued, your tone mockingly contemplative. "Well, Mingyu, this is quite a sight – you, on your knees, practically begging for my attention. I'd never do something like this."

His widened eyes met yours, uncertainty and a trace of embarrassment flickering in them. Mingyu's bit his lip, cheeks flushing deeper.

"I'll do whatever you want, Y/N. Just tell me," Mingyu replied, his hands still holding your thighs.

You let out a soft chuckle, running a hand through his hair as you continued your teasing. "Oh, Mingyu-ah, the mighty one on his knees. Maybe you'll learn to appreciate what you have when it's not handed to you on a silver platter. Now, let's see if you can keep up with your promises."

As you spoke, Mingyu's cheeks continued to flush, a complex dance of emotions playing out on his face.  "How can you forgive me?" 

Mingyu's question hung in the air, a genuine plea for forgiveness. You paused, considering the weight of his words, before adopting a more serious tone.

"Get up," you instructed him, your voice carrying a command that seemed to catch him off guard.

Mingyu, without hesitation, rose to his feet from his submissive position. His eyes fixed on you. An arched eyebrow and a smirk played on your face, savoring the moment of dominance as you instructed him to follow you.

The atmosphere grew charged with anticipation as Mingyu attentively trailed behind you, his eyes inevitably drawn to your body covered only by a shirt. The click of your bedroom door signaled a shift in the dynamics, and when you turned to face him, his eagerness manifested in an attempted kiss.

Your finger halted his advance, a calculated pause preceding your question, "Do you think you deserve to kiss me?"

Mingyu, his eyes reflecting a mix of longing and remorse, shook his head no. Your smirk deepened as you delivered a verdict that left him whimpering.

"Then you won't kiss me today."

A whimper escaped Mingyu's lips, a sound that echoed the frustration and desire that simmered beneath the surface. The unexpected turn of events had left him yearning for a connection, yet you, in your assertive control, denied him that solace.

As the tension hung in the air, Mingyu's eyes glistened with unshed tears. The dynamics between you had taken a surprising turn, a power play that left both of you navigating the intricate threads of desire, forgiveness, and the consequences of a maybe – ex-complicated situationship.

With a commanding tone, you instructed Mingyu to kneel once again, a subtle smirk playing on your lips. He obeyed, sinking down to his knees with a mix of anticipation and eagerness. The air in the room crackled with a palpable tension as you laid down the terms.

"If you act like a good boy, maybe I'll forgive you," you declared, your voice carrying a hint of authority.

Mingyu nodded earnestly, a silent pledge to abide by your terms. As you proceeded to remove your shirt, next your pantie, allowing it to fall to the floor, the atmosphere became charged with a new layer of intensity. 

"How much do you want this pussy Mingyu?" you inquired, the question hanging in the air as you observed Mingyu's reaction. His shoulders slumped, a subtle expression of desire and longing evident on his face.

"A lot," he moaned, the words escaping his lips with a mixture of need and surrender. Your legs spread open, an invitation too tempting, as he feels his mouth waters at the view. 

"Open your mouth," you commanded Mingyu, your voice carrying an air of authority. He complied without hesitation, anticipation flickering in his eyes.

As he held his mouth open, you slid two fingers inside, the intimate contact a subtle exploration of boundaries and desire. Mingyu's tongue teased your fingers, a provocative dance that elicited a hiss from you.

"No teasing," you admonished, a note of warning in your voice. With a swift motion, you delivered a little slap to his chin as you withdrew your fingers from his mouth. The air crackled with a newfound tension, a moment that blurred the lines between control and submission.

Mingyu furrowed his eyebrows, as he watched your fingers slowly disappearing inside of your cunt, your fingers and your slick gushes out of you, and all he can do is watch. He sits patiently on his feet, watching your fingers leaving and entering your pussy in a too provocative rhythm. His bottom lip quivering to the desire of eating you out.

"Please Y/N…"

"What?''

"Please, let me eat you out, it looks so good…"

To tease him even more, you fastened your fingers, moaning while your cunt sounded like Mingyu's favorite song, wet, luscious, mouthwatering, appetizing, tempting. He cries out, his hands together on his lap. "Please, I beg you, I missed you so bad." 

The room was charged with a blend of anticipation and surrender as you stopped, taking a moment to look at Mingyu's mournful face. The desire in his eyes was palpable, and the silent plea for what he had begged for lingered in the air.

With a subtle nod, you allowed him to fulfill his request. Mingyu, starved and eager, approached the task with a concentration that hinted at a deep desire to please you. As he held you with a gentle yet fervent touch, mouthing your pussy, licking you clean, his focus on your pleasure was unwavering. The way he clung to you conveyed a fear of losing you, made you mewl as he sucked your clit, you held onto the sheets, a silent anchor in the sea of sensations. Mingyu's devotion and the way he concentrated on your pleasure only intensified the building release within you. Like a wave, you're cumming all over his mouth and chin, he hums in response flickering your clit with his tongue.

"Enough." You breathe out, closing your legs. "Strip, and lay for me." 

Mingyu rose from the floor, a determined look on his face, seemingly oblivious to any discomfort his knees might be feeling. The sounds of his clothing being discarded echoed in the room, punctuated by the soft thud as he settled onto the bed. The mattress shifted as he moved closer, his warm touch caressing your arm.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, his voice a low murmur, a hint of curiosity and desire lingering in the air.

"Don't touch me," you instructed Mingyu, your tone carrying a note of command as you climbed onto his lap. Leaving him momentarily frozen, his hands hovering in the air, uncertain of where to go.

The close proximity of his cock intensified the wetness between your thighs. Mingyu, eager and responsive, looked at you with a mix of desire and restraint, his hands now cautiously placed together on his chest.

The atmosphere crackled with a blend of dominance and submission as you straddled Mingyu, humping your wet pussy against his cock, your movements deliberate and provocative. His moans in response to your degrading words only heightened the intensity of the moment.

"Oh my god, look at you," you cooed, your voice a mix of mockery and desire. "I just stopped paying attention to you, and you came fucking begging me to talk with you. You're humiliating, Mingyu."

His moans, a symphony of pleasure and submission, filled the room. Mingyu's response to your degrading words conveyed a complex dance of desire and self-awareness. The acknowledgment that he deserved the degradation.

The room filled with a momentary hush as you sank your hips, Mingyu's length now fully inside. He shut his eyes, a silent surrender to the sensations that enveloped him. 

The unspoken admission hung in the air—though you wouldn't openly admit it, there was a trace of longing, a subtle acknowledgment that, despite the complexities, you had missed him a little. The air became charged with a mix of desire and restraint as your hips rode him, his length fully fulfilling the connection between you.

His angry tip brushed against that special spot, sending a surge of pleasure through both of you, cause now, you were so tight around him. "I'm going to cum, f-fuck"

"You better not." 

The charged atmosphere intensified as you edged Mingyu, denying him release, while simultaneously relishing in the control you held over his pleasure. He gasped for air, his eyes clenched shut, a desperate attempt to hold back as your dominating presence and the sensations of your movements threatened to overwhelm him.

Your hips moved with a purposeful intensity, driving him to the edge, and his body contorted in a desperate attempt to maintain control. The struggle was evident in the way his breath hitched and his eyes rolled back, succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure that surged through him.

"I-I can't hold it anymore," he stuttered, his voice strained with the effort of restraint.

"If you cum, I will-"

The moment of release was inevitable. Mingyu's hot cum filled you, triggering your own orgasm, he cried out your name, making your wall clench harder around him.

As Mingyu managed a string of apologies, you allowed him to slide out of you, leaving his lap coated with both of your arousal, your legs damp with his seed. 

The scoff echoed in the room, a mix of amusement and assertion. However, your actions spoke a different language. As you tighten your legs around the sides of Mingyu's legs, restraining his movement, your hands take control, pumping his cock fast. The focus on his red tip elicited a loud cry from Mingyu, his back lifting off the mattress in response to the overstimulation.

The wet sounds filled the bedroom as the intensity of your touch drove him to the edge. Mingyu's hands gripped the pillow beneath his head, a desperate attempt to anchor himself in the whirlwind of sensations that consumed him.

As Mingyu's body trembled under the heightened sensations, he felt a knot tightening in his abdomen, a sensation he hadn't anticipated. The overwhelming intensity built up to a point where he couldn't contain it anymore. A primal scream tore from his lips, his body convulsing in the throes of another orgasm.

His cum pooled on his abdomen, a physical manifestation of the powerful release that coursed through him. You observed his trembling body, struck by the raw intensity of his response. Mingyu's reaction seemed to surpass any previous experiences, his vulnerability and ecstasy on display in a way you hadn't witnessed before.

"Sorry, I came without your permission…"

"Enough with the sorry's, Mingyu," you said with a soft smile. "Let's just take a bath."

As the warm water cascaded around you, cleansing away the external worries, you both found solace in the simplicity of the moment. Emerging from the bath, you lay on the bed alone, the silence speaking volumes. Mingyu, holding his shirt, stood in contemplation. His gaze met yours, and he released a breath he seemed to have been holding.

The room felt charged with unspoken emotions when Mingyu finally gathered the courage to ask, "Can we sleep together tonight? Can I stay here with you?"

His eyes held a lot of shyness, and for a moment, you felt a genuine change in the air. You bit your lip, a subtle smile playing on your lips. In response, you patted the bed twice, a silent invitation for him to join you.

Mingyu threw his shirt away with a smile, a blend of shyness and excitement. He settled on the bed, maintaining a cautious distance, uncertain about what the night held. Your gaze met his, and you turned to face him. His eyes sparkled, and with a newfound boldness, he closed the gap and hugged you tightly.

"Don't be away from me again," he whispered, his voice tinged with vulnerability. And for the first time in those weeks, you let yourself savor the sweet taste of his pink soft lips, making him melt in response.

You smiled, your palms sliding gently along his back. The walls that once stood between you seemed to crumble as Mingyu embraced you, his actions speaking louder than any words. In that moment, it felt like a page turned, and a new chapter began.

Well, Seungkwan, you knew a lot. The five ways to have a man in the palm of your hand indeed. 

[rosesareredrosa]

So Obvious

Theo Nott x fem reader

Summary:: Where Theo thinks he made it so obvious that he has feelings for her but y/n saw his actions as being "friends"

Authors note: I don't how I feel about this now I kinda want to have a fluffy ending ~part 2 ~

Word count: 1090

Theodore Nott had always prided himself on his ability to maintain a composed exterior. As a Slytherin, it was a skill that came in handy more often than not. However, when it came to Y/N who had unknowingly captured his heart, Theodore found himself struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Y/N was everything Theodore admired. She had a way of making everyone around her feel at ease, including him,. Theodore had tried to express his feelings in his own subtle way, but no matter what he did, it seemed Y/N remained blissfully unaware.

He offered to study with her, saved her a seat in the library, and even shared his favorite books with her. He hoped that these gestures would convey his feelings, but Y/N treated him as just another friend. It was maddening.

One evening, after yet another fruitless study session, Theodore found himself pacing in the Slytherin common room. Blaise Draco , Mattheo , Pansy , and Lorenzo were lounging around, observing his restless behavior.

"What's got you all worked up, Theo?" Blaise asked, lounging on the emerald-green sofa, his eyes following Theodore's agitated pacing.

Theodore stopped and ran a hand through his dark hair, frustration evident on his face. "It's Y/N," he muttered. "I don't understand why she can't see how I feel."

Pansy, perched on the armrest of a nearby chair, rolled her eyes. "Maybe because you're not as obvious as you think. Have you tried, I don't know, telling her?"

Theodore glared at her. "I’ve done everything but spell it out for her."

Draco smirked, leaning back in his armchair. "Maybe you need to be a bit more direct. Girls appreciate honesty."

Mattheo nodded in agreement. "Yeah, just tell her. What's the worst that could happen?"

He had made up his mind. This evening, he would confront Y/N, lay his feelings bare, and finally break through the fog of his own confusion. It was a cool night, and the library was quiet, a perfect setting for what was about to transpire. Theodore found her sitting by a window, lost in a book, her head bowed in concentration.

Taking a deep breath, Theodore approached her with a sense of grim determination. “Y/N,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration.

Y/N looked up, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Theo? What’s wrong?”

He tried to steady himself, but the frustration bubbled to the surface. “What’s wrong? That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to figure out.” His tone was sharper than he intended, but the emotional weight behind his words was undeniable.

Y/N’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Theodore’s patience snapped. “I’ve been making it so obvious, Y/N! I’ve been trying to show you how I feel in every way I know how. I spend time with you, I help you with your studies, I’ve been nothing but kind. And yet, you still treat me like I’m just another friend. What am I supposed to do?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise and hurt. “Theo, I—”

“No, let me finish,” Theodore interrupted, his anger mixed with desperation. “I’ve tried everything to get you to see it. Every time I’m near you, every gesture I make, it’s all been for you. I’ve made it painfully clear that I care, that I’m interested. But it’s like you’re blind to it. Why is that?”

Y/N stood up, her face pale, and a mixture of confusion and hurt in her eyes. “I didn’t realize,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I thought you were just being friendly. I didn’t think—”

Theodore’s anger flared up again. “That’s the problem! I didn’t want to be just ‘friendly’ anymore. I wanted you to see that I’m in love with you, that I’m not just some guy who helps with homework. I’m trying to tell you, and yet you’ve been so wrapped up in your own world that you didn’t notice.”

Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, her expression a mixture of regret and hurt. “Theo, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore your feelings. I truly didn’t realize. I thought you were just—”

“No, don’t apologize now,” Theodore cut her off, his voice a mix of frustration and heartbreak. “I’ve been a fool for letting it go on this long. I’ve been a fool for thinking that you might see how I feel without me having to shout it from the rooftops. And now, I’m just… I’m tired of waiting for something that might never come.”

The silence between them was heavy, charged with unspoken emotions. Y/N took a hesitant step towards Theodore, her own emotions raw. “Theo, please… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I really didn’t. I just… I was so focused on my own stuff that I missed what was right in front of me.”

Theodore’s face softened slightly, but the pain was still evident. “I’m not sure what to do now. I’ve laid it all out for you. I just wanted you to know that I’ve been trying so hard, and it’s been tearing me apart that you didn’t see it.”

Y/N reached out, touching his arm gently. “I’m sorry, Theo. I should have seen it. I do care about you, more than I realized. I just… I need time to process this.”

Theodore’s gaze softened, a mix of frustration and longing in his eyes. “I just wanted you to know how I felt, even if it meant being angry. I can’t keep pretending that it doesn’t matter.”

Y/N nodded, her voice trembling. “I understand. And I appreciate you telling me. I need to think about what this means for us.”

With that, Y/N stepped back, leaving Theodore standing there, his heart aching with the weight of his confession. As she walked away, Theodore felt a strange mix of relief and despair. At least he had been honest, even if it came with a cost. And as he watched her disappear into the distance, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the end of one chapter or the beginning of something new.

The days that followed were a blur of mixed emotions. Theodore’s friends could see the change in him, but none dared to comment, respecting his silence. It was clear that the confrontation had shifted something significant in both of them. And as he navigated his way through the aftermath, Theodore couldn’t help but hope that, in time, things might settle into a new understanding, even if it meant facing more pain before finding clarity.

[redocity]

Yess u should make a part 2 for the long game

FINISH LINE — E.BUCKLEY

after weeks of frustration, buck finally confronts you.

part one — the long game.

evan buckley x gn!reader | 3.2k | smut | masterlist.

cw — 18+ minors do not interact, male masterbation, dry humping, clothed sex, premature ejaculation, buck being whiny and needy

To say you were consuming Buck’s every waking thought was an understatement.

You weren’t just taking over his every waking thought, you were in his dreams, in his subconscious, pretty much every blink of his eyes saw an image of you in his mind and it was getting so goddamn frustrating that Buck swore he was ready to burst from the pressure.

Arguably, the worst part was that you were completely aware of it.

You knew that he was digging himself into a hole with every shift you worked together, and he swore you were revelling in it.

Every time he so much as glanced in your direction—which he wagers is a lot—you had that stupidly attractive look on your face that made his blood feel like it was on fire underneath his skin, and he quite honestly just didn’t know what to do anymore.

Should he confront you about it? Force you into a conversation about what happened at the bar those few weeks ago?

There was no way that would work.

Should he just sit and wait until you finally approached him with the topic in mind?

That was never going to happen.

But he had to deal with all of his pent up frustration somehow, or he swore he’d explode and fracture into a million tiny pieces.

So he found himself with two tangible options. A: find some poor unknowing person for him to project you onto and relieve himself that way, or B: deal with it by himself.

He tried option A first. It didn’t go too well.

He was one leg out of his jeans when he started having second thoughts.

Him. Having second thoughts about getting his rocks off after being essentially blue balled for the last three weeks.

Nobody looked enough like you, acted enough like you, for him to be able to put a veil over his eyes and pretend it was you he was under instead of some random person he’d picked up at a bar.

And it was impacting his ‘performance’ pretty badly.

So, with a resigned sigh, he decided to go with option B.

Locking himself in his apartment, Buck tried to find some semblance of relief by himself, but even that felt hollow. No matter what he did, it was always you in his mind, and nothing seemed to satisfy the burning need that consumed him.

Every touch, every stroke, felt like a futile attempt to quench an unending thirst, a bottomless well of longing and desire that seemed impossible to satisfy.

His thoughts were nothing but a relentless loop of your face, your voice, the way you moved, and the way you looked at him. It was maddening, an unceasing torment that gnawed at his very soul, and Buck had no idea how much longer he could keep this up without losing his mind.

Like the longing wasn’t enough, the guilt he felt was even worse.

He knew he couldn’t go on like this, trapped in a cycle of desire and frustration. The more he tried to push you out of his mind, the deeper you seemed to embed yourself. It was like a cruel joke, one he couldn't escape from, and it was only a matter of time before something had to give.

The tension was so bad starting to affect his performance at work. His teammates noticed he was distracted, his responses slower, his focus elsewhere. Even during emergencies, when he normally thrived under pressure, he found his mind wandering back to you.

The team began to worry, asking if he was okay, if he needed a break, but he just brushed them off with a forced smile and a wave of his hand.

But Buck knew he couldn't keep up the charade much longer. The sleepless nights, the constant replaying of every interaction with you in his head—it was wearing him down. He was losing his edge, and in his line of work, that was dangerous. Lives depended on his ability to stay sharp, to be present, to react quickly. And yet, here he was, drowning in thoughts of you.

He tried everything to distract himself. He threw himself into his workouts, pushing his body to its limits in the hopes that physical exhaustion would quiet his mind. He picked up extra shifts, staying at the station longer than necessary just to avoid being alone with his thoughts. He even tried diving into hobbies he used to love, but nothing worked. Every time he closed his eyes, it was your face he saw. Every quiet moment was filled with the echo of your laughter, the memory of your touch.

One night, after another grueling shift, Buck found himself standing outside your apartment building. He didn't even remember driving there, his body seemingly on autopilot.

The cool night air did little to calm his racing heart as he stared up at the windows, wondering which one was yours. He knew he shouldn't be there, that confronting you like this was a bad idea, but he was at his breaking point.

He needed to know if you felt the same way, if there was any chance you were as consumed by thoughts of him as he was of you.

Taking a deep breath, he started toward the entrance, his mind a whirlwind of anxiety and anticipation. He had no plan, no idea what he was going to say, but he knew he couldn't turn back now. Not when he was so close to a potential resolution, to finally understanding what was happening between you two.

As he reached your door, his hand hovered over the wood, hesitating for just a moment. Then, with a determined exhale, he knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway.

This was it. One way or another, he was about to get some answers.

You open the door with furrowed eyebrows.

Who on earth is visiting you past 10PM on a Thursday?

“Buck—” Your tone conveys your surprise as you lean against the ajar door, one eyebrow raised and your head ever so slightly tilted.

He swears he feels his breath stutter as he takes in your appearance—in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with your messy hair, you looked more ravishing to him than he ever thought possible.

“Hey,” he says, as if you hadn’t just taken the air right from his lungs. “We need to talk,”

“We do?” The look you give him is almost knowing, and he swears on his life that you’re doing it on purpose just to taunt him.

“Yes,” He pushes his way through the doorway past you “We do.”

He’d be damned if he kept his gaze locked up on your captivating eyes for much longer without doing something about it.

You throw up your hands as he passes you, turning to shut the door with a click before following Buck into your living room. “Yeah, yeah, come on in, no need to ask or anything,”

“I—” he starts with a sigh. “This— whatever we are… it’s driving me crazy, because I don’t know what the hell is going on between us..” He turns to face you with a mix of exasperation and desperation in his eyes.

“One minute you’re acting like my best friend,” he continues, “And the next, you look like you want your tongue down my throat.” His voice is lower now, as he steps closer to you, leaving only a few inches between you.

“And then when I reciprocate, you push me away,” he pauses, searching your eyes with a small frown.

The frustration in his tone is imminent, and it almost makes you fell a little bad for playing the cat and mouse game you had with him for so long.

You’d never expected him to actually get caught up in it all. He was Buck for god’s sake, if anyone had a track record of not getting attached it was him.

“I— don’t know what you want from me here, Buck,”

Buck’s heart pounds so fast he can barely even hear anything you’re saying. He reaches for your chin, tilting your head towards his so he can meet your gaze in its entirety.

His voice trembles when he speaks next, and the look in his eyes could be mistaken for pure agony.

"I want you.” he says breathlessly. “I want you so goddamn badly that it hurts—”

He runs a hand through his hair, and he’s visibly torn between pulling his hair out and grabbing you. “And the most maddening part is—I know you want me too. I mean, it’s right there—” Buck’s gaze follows your lower lip when you run your tongue across it. “—And yet, you push me away every. single. time.”

He stutters out a breathe like he’s forgotten how to work his lungs, like every suck of air is debilitating and all he can focus on is you.

“I want to touch you. I want to feel you. I want to kiss you so hard you forget what your name is and bury my head between your thighs until I can’t breathe—”

There’s a small, strangled noise that follows his confession, his imagination already taking him for a blissfully agonising ride of what your relationship could be like if you’d just stop pulling away before the end line.

“I’m tired of not sleeping at night because I lay awake yearning for you…”

He pauses for a second to catch his breath, but you can tell by his eyes that he’s not finished yet.

“I’m tired of sneaking into the bathroom for ‘extended bathroom breaks’ because you’re making me so hard while we’re working.” He steps even closer to you, his hand travelling down your neck.

“And,” he continues gruffly in a breath, “I’m so tired of trying to hold back every ounce of desire that wants to ravish you in this goddamn moment.” His eyes feel like they pierce your soul as he makes eye contact with you, and it leaves you short of breath in an instant.

“So if you want me as much as I want you then for the love of God please—“ His other hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck. “Do something about it.”

He didn’t have to ask you twice.

You barely even have to move to force your lips together, breaths intertwining with every movement as your hand cups the back of Bucks head, your fingers tangled in his hair.

Buck’s breath catches as soon as your lips finally meet his, and it takes him a moment to realize what’s actually happening before he leans into it and kisses you back with everything he has.

His hands start to wonder over your body, grabbing at your hips when he pulls you closer to him. He gasps against your mouth and his tongue is suddenly demanding entry against your lips.

Not that he had to try hard to get what he wanted anyway.

He groans as you give in and lets your tongue intertwine with his, all the pent-up sexual tension immediately breaking like a levee and flooding his system. With one strong swoop he lifts you up against his body by your thighs, carrying you until he’s sat on your couch with you straddling him.

Buck’s hands run along your shoulders once he’s finally got you in his grasp, deepening the kiss as his hips buck up against yours, aching for some friction against the painfully growing tent in his pants.

“Need you so bad…” He mumbles, his hands travelling down your body and then grabbing your hips so he can rock you against his body, the pressure eliciting a low growl from his throat.

He can hear your breath catch in your chest when he moves against you like that and it drives him insane. Before he could stop himself he bucks up again, harder now, and the friction sends a sharp wave of desire through him.

“God…” He groans out, and all he can see is the delicious look of need in your eyes and the sight of your parted lips as you lean your forehead against the curve of his shoulder, mouth left open in a passive moan of his name.

Seeing you like that—undone and needy and wanting, because of *him—*was better than any fantasy Buck had ever had.

His breathing is hot against the side of your throat, before he starts littering it with soft kisses. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he mumbles, his body shuddering when you grab a fistful of his hair, the pain only fuelling his desires further. “Been dreaming of this… For so long—”

His hands move down to grab your ass, and his breath hitches as he rocks you against him needingly, desperate to feel the friction of you rubbing against his achingly hard cock.

It was almost embarrassing, how close he was to cumming just from this, but when he says he’s been desperate for you, he means it.

And the broken whines you muffle against his shoulder are definitely not helping.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck, groaning at the way you grind against him. “Please…” he chokes out, his voice broken and raw, and when his teeth lightly nibble against the skin on your neck you let out an intoxicatingly loud moan.

“Want you…” he groans, barely coherent in his ramblings as his hips find a steady rhythm. He could feel himself getting more and more desperate, and your breathy moans were definitely pushing him towards the edge.

Buck pulls away from the crook of your neck and looks up at you intently; his eyes half-lidded from his overwhelming desire and his chest is heaving deeply.

He grabs you harder under him, his breathing laboured and his chest heaving as he starts to lose his composure. “Please…” he begs, his voice cracking as his hips buck against your again and again, trying to relieve the aching, overwhelming pressure that’s building inside him.

“God, please—” His forehead is still pressed against your throat, and his body shudders against yours as he nears his release, a strained string of incoherent words tumbling from his mouth.

He’s so close, but the moment he feels your fingers gently thread through his hair his hips stutter and his body goes taut, and then he’s coming in his pants like a damn teenager, so horribly overwhelmed by his pleasure it almost hurts.

White-hot spurts of his cum coat the inside of his boxer shorts, soaking through the fabric to dampen the crotch of his jeans and leave him groaning brokenly against your skin.

He’s almost trembling as he comes down, climax so hard that his entire groin feels sticky and wet, and it’s only when his breathing has steadied and he’s regained control of his body that he lifts his head.

He gazes at your face and gives a breathless chuckle when he sees you looking at him with an amused smile on your lips.

“Enjoyed that, did you?”

“—yeah,” he mumbles against your skin. He presses soft kisses against the flushed skin of your neck, passing over the darkening red marks that he’d left you with.

“I’m sorry, I…” A sigh follows his words, and he lifts his head to look at you again—he didn’t expect to come that fast either. The sight of the pleased smirk on your lips, however, made him feel a little better.

“In all my fantasies about you,” he begins with a sheepish grin, “Coming in my pants within two minutes of getting you on top of me was never a part of the program.”

You let out a short laugh at his confession, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his shoulder and shaking your head against it.

He laughs quietly with you, but the sound is quickly replaced by a sharp breath when you lean harder against him in collateral of your position.

Even now, even after he’s come, his body still wants you. Badly.

A small groan leaves his lips when he feels the sudden pressure again at an already over-sensitive area. He buries his head against your shoulder, his breath hot in the crook of your neck. “Keep going and you’ll make me do it again…” Buck mumbles with a huff.

“And as much as I would love to…,” he continues, his voice strained as he tries to pull himself together. “I have so much more I want to do with you.”

“Yeah?” The tone of his voice makes you feel a little flushed, although considering how hot you already were from the last few minutes, you’re not sure even you could tell.

Buck’s grip on your hips tighten as a low groan slips past his lips, his voice deep and gruff. “You have no idea,” he whispers quietly, his breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“I’ve thought about taking you on every surface possible…” Buck’s gaze runs over your form before it returns to the flushed skin of your neck. “On the kitchen counter, against the wall… on the floor… In the bunk room at the station…”

He leans in to press his mouth against the side of your throat, feeling the way your breath catches at his words, and he hums in approval. “Wanted to bend you over in the back of a firetruck…”

“In the showers…” Buck mumbles into your flushed skin, leaving behind a trail of kisses while his hands start tracing their way up your back, sending goosebumps down your body. “On my bed, on yours…”

By now he’s trailing kisses further down, until his mouth presses against the junction between your neck and shoulder. When your body arches at the feeling of his teeth lightly grazing across the skin, Buck’s grip on your hips tightens.

He lifts his head, so he’s looking you straight in the eye.

“God, I want to ruin you…”

He looks at you with so much heat and desire, his gaze burning right through your core. He can’t help but grind his hips up against yours again, his breathing shallow. “I want to ruin myself… until I can’t come for anyone else—”

“Until the only name I know how to say is yours.” he whispers, kissing you deeply, like he’s been yearning for it for the longest time. It’s hard, heated, desperate, and full of passion and need and you can feel it in every fibre of your being how much Buck wants you.

“I need you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse from being consumed with need. “Want to touch you, wanna be inside you… you want that…?”

[sheerfreesia007]

Sunkissed

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word count: 2,798

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: Chan has planned a fun filled pool day for the boys and you. What happens when you show up in one of your finest bikinis?

The sun has been absolutely brutal the last few days and it was all starting to get to everyone if the hot tempers of the boys were anything to go by, at least five times Chan had to pull one of the boys away from the other to let them all cool off over an insignificant argument. It wasn’t until Hyunjin had wound up screaming in Felix’s face over some perceived slight that Chan had decided that a pool day was what they all needed, he had even texted you to ask if you wanted to come along since he knew that you were feeling the effects of this heat as well. 

While he had been nervous to ask you to join them all he was glad that he had because he would get to spend some more time with you. Ever since you bumped into Chan a year ago while he and Seungmin were out on a coffee run for the boys he had fallen hard and fast for you. It had been entirely way too easy for him to become smitten with your smile and your kind nature. The way you had easily fit into their group made Chan’s heart race with an anticipation that nearly scared him, but you always managed to reassure him with sweet soft looks and softer smiles that made his chest grow tight and his head fill with a warm fuzzy fog.

The boys had quickly picked up on their leader’s affection for you and whether you were around or not they would constantly tease him about his feelings he was harboring for you. But when you were around them they were more ruthless with their teasing. Chan had been worried about you realizing what the boys were teasing him about but you had remained oblivious to their teasing. And as relieved as Chan was for that it was also frustrating, if you had understood what the boys were teasing him about it would’ve made him confessing his feelings for you slightly less stressful but he wasn’t that lucky.

He hoped eventually he’d grow the courage to confess his feelings to you but so far nothing had happened and he was starting to become desperate. Every time he was around you he could feel his affection and attraction for you swell and pulse inside of him until it was pressing against his skin with its desire to be let out. But whenever Chan would feel the words on the tip of his tongue he would swallow them as doubt crept into his mind and stole his brief spot of courage. It was maddening how many times he had almost confessed to you, there had even been some times when he had confessed his feelings for you while Changbin or Han had been in the studio with you. Changbin and Han had even started a bet on when Chan would finally confess to you and the other boys had eagerly participated in the bet much to Chan’s chagrin.

The chatter of the boys bounced off the walls of the changing room and Chan grinned softly as he heard Seungmin teasing Jeongin for his bathing suit trunks choice as Jeongin snapped back that Seungmin’s swim trunks were boring and he was just jealous of his style choice. He could hear Han and Minho talking to each other about what floats they wanted for themselves as they moved through the large room and Changbin was loudly yelling at Felix and Hyunjin to hurry up. Shaking his head Chan shifted as a soft ping rang out in the room and he dug his cell phone out of the large tote he was carrying that had all their things inside. Looking down at the phone he saw that you had texted him to let him know that you were on your way and should be there in about ten minutes. His grin grew wide across his face as he read the text before he heard Hyunjin and Felix cooing at him from the door leading out to the pool, rolling his eyes he scoffed at the two of them as they laughed loudly at him.

“Is your Jagi finally on her way?” Felix teased softly and Hyunjin wiggled his eyebrows at him causing Chan to frown softly.

“She’s not my Jagiya.” Chan retorted tiredly in an annoyed tone while shaking his head as he pushed past the boys and out onto the pool deck.

“YOu wish she was though!” shouted Changbin from where he was standing by the lounge chairs. Chan huffed softly at his friend as the other boys who had already jumped into the pool or sat on the ledge looked over at Chan. He walked slowly over to the lounge chairs and set down the tote before he began pulling out the towels, floats and sunscreen he had packed for all of them.

“Is Chan finally going to confess to Noona?” Jeongin asked as he popped up from underwater and Seungmin laughed in response to his question.

“Leave him alone. He’ll confess when he’s ready.” Minho scolded Jeongin as he kicked water at the younger boy.

“Yah! You just want to win the bet!” shouted Changbin as he ran towards the edge of the pool and jumped into the water splashing Seungmin who shouted at Changbin and began trying to dunk him. Chan rolled his eyes and shook his head at his friends before handing the sunscreen over to Felix who happily took it before moving over to Hyunjin to share the sunscreen. Han grinned at Chan as he quickly grabbed two of the floats for him and Minho before moving back to his friend and they began to blow up the floats.

Quickly the boys settled into a game of pool football while some of them lazed about on the floats or just swam back and forth in the cool water. Chan smiled softly to himself as he watched them all enjoy themselves as they cooled off in the scorching heat that had been affecting them all. It was so nice to finally have peace among the group and Chan found himself soon settling as he sat on the ledge of the pool with his legs dangling in the water. 

He was leaning back on his hands letting the sunk soak into his skin while the water kept his body temperature regulated. He was starting to feel lazy as he relaxed in the sun when suddenly a shadow fell over his face and he opened his eyes from behind his dark sunglasses and spotted you grinning down at him.

“Hey there Chan!” you greeted him happily before you walked over to the lounge chairs and set your own brightly colored tote bag down next to his. Chan quickly scrambled out of the pool causing Minho to cry out as he was splashed by the water with Chan’s quick movement.

“Hey, you finally made it!” Chan greeted you back happily and you smiled over your shoulder at him before you turned to face him. “Do you need to go get changed?” Chan asked distractedly before his eyes widened as he watched you shake your head quickly and reach down to the hem of your t-shirt. He watched silently stunned as you easily slipped your t-shirt off your body before his eyes drank in your bright blue bikini top. Chan swallowed quickly and he could hear soft snickers from behind him but he ignored his friends as his eyes began to dart along your torso before snapping up to your face as you pulled your arms down after taking off your t-shirt.

You effortlessly dropped your t-shirt onto your tote bag behind you before turning back to Chan and began to shimmy out of your jean shorts causing Chan’s eyes to dart down to your hips as the matching bikini bottom was revealed to him. The air in his lungs was punched out of his chest as he spied the bright blue material covering your skin. He watched mesmerized as your hips shifted from side to side as you slid your shorts down your legs before twisting to the side and throwing them onto your bag as well.

When you stood there in front of him in your bikini Chan felt as if he couldn’t catch his breath, you were gorgeous. The blue material accented the wide expanse of bare skin that was on display to him and Chan’s fingers twitched and itched to reach out and touch you but he curbed his desire just barely as he heard the boys snickering again from behind him. 

“Looking good Noona!” called out Changbin from the pool as he effortlessly dragged Jeongin and Hyunjin through the water as they tried to grab the football from his hands. Chan whirled around and glared at Changbin who grinned at him cheekily before dunking Jeongin.

“Thanks Bin!” you chirped at him happily as you peeked around Chan at the boys at the pool with a wide grin on your face. Chan looked over at you and saw how happy you looked to receive a compliment from Changbin and without thinking he opened his mouth to compliment you but Felix spoke up before he could.

“The blue looks great on you Noona.” Felix said as he swam close to the edge of the pool where you and Chan stood.

“Thanks Felix.” you responded softly to him as your face flushed slightly with a pretty blush that caught Chan’s attention and held it for an embarrassingly long moment. “Hey Chan, can you help me with something?” you asked with a soft bashful smile as you looked up at him hopefully.

“Yeah, whatever you need.” he answered, still feeling stunned by how pretty you were as he nodded his head in agreement. He watched as your eyes lit up and your smile broadened across your face.

“Great!” you said thankfully before you turned around and bent over your tote bag digging through it for something. Chan nearly groaned aloud as he spied the blue material stretching across your ass as it bounced slightly right at the perfect height for his hips and hands. He had to quickly turn his head away from you, and think about something other than how perfect your ass looked in your bikini bottoms, when you stood straight once more. Han burst out laughing at the pool edge and Chan glared at him as he and Minho both wiggled their eyebrows at him with smirks on their faces. “Can you help me put my sunscreen on my back?” you asked sweetly and Chan nearly snapped his neck as he whipped his head back to stare at you with wide eyes as Minho burst out laughing loudly at his predicament.

Chan lightly grabbed onto your elbow and began to pull you away from the lounge chairs by the boys to one that was a few chairs down the pool deck and gave you enough distance from the eagerly watching boys so that you had a little bit of privacy. You frowned softly in confusion as you looked up at Chan with worried eyes and he felt his heart thud in his chest at your expression. You were just so kind and sweet that he couldn’t help but fall further for you as he tugged you closer to him.

“Just to give us a little privacy and there’s more shade down here.” he tried to explain away your confusion but you tilted your head to the side still slightly confused as you stared at him. Chan internally groaned at how adorable you were wanting to just reach for you and kiss the expression off your face. He hoped you just accepted what he said and the two of you could move on with his torture, because in all essence of your request this would be torture for him.

“Okay.” you said suddenly with a shrug before you popped open the sunscreen container and began lathering up your legs. Chan blew out a slow breath as he watched you bend forward to get all the way down to your toes before standing straight once again and slathering some onto your stomach. His eyes followed as your hands moved across your stomach and then over your chest, he tried to look away when he saw your hand slip under the strap of your bikini top but he couldn’t. Not when he caught a glimpse of the top swell of your breast and his jaw dropped open in shock as desire coursed through him.

Thankfully he was able to control himself when you suddenly turned to him and held out the tube of sunscreen to him before you turned your back to him. He uncapped the tube and squirted some sunscreen into his palm before tossing the tube to the lounge chair next to the two of you. He then rubbed his hands together before placing his hands on your shoulders. You gasped softly as his hands began to massage the lotion into your skin before his hands traveled up the back of your neck. The shiver that traveled up and down your spine as his fingers dug into the muscles on your neck delighted Chan immensely, the way your body responded to him as it began to relax underneath his touch made him feel giddy with happiness.

He slides his hands back down to your shoulders and hears you softly whine as he digs his fingers into some tight spots that he can feel underneath your skin. The sound of your soft whine shoots straight through his body and he can feel his swim trunks start to grow tight around his groin. He huffs softly and tries to think about anything else so that he won’t embarrass himself in front of you and the boys but you don’t allow him to think of anything else but you as you shift on your feet and let your head fall back on your neck as you whimper softly. Chan stares down at you in awe as your face is tilted up to him and your eyes flutter shut in pleasure at his ministrations. Your lips part softly with slightly panting breaths and your tongue quickly darts across your bottom lip wetting it to make it sparkle in the sunlight.

Slowly dragging his hands down your back to the waistband of your bikini bottoms he watches as your body shifts closer back towards him and your eyebrows furrow slightly as his fingers dig into your lower back. The soft groan that rips from your mouth nearly brings him to his knees but he plants his feet and then drags his hands back up your body making sure to get under the strap across your back. Chan can feel his own breathing start to match your stuttered breaths and he watches as your eyes flutter open for a brief moment and you grin widely up at him.

“Hey space cadet, did I lose you?” you ask him softly and he flinches at your question before he realizes that he had stopped rubbing sunscreen into your skin. He quickly shakes his head chuckling softly at your teasing before going back to massaging the lotion into your skin which causes you to shut your eyes quickly and your mouth to part once again. Chan gets lost in the monotonous movement of slathering you with sunscreen and soon the two of you are only separated by an inch of open air as you softly whimper and groan at the soothing sensation you get from his massage. When he’s done Chan leans that inch forward to whisper in your ear.

“All done pretty girl.” he whispers and your eyes flutter open to stare up at him as he towers over you, locking his eyes with yours. You gasp softly at whatever look you see on his face before your whole body shivers against his as his hand slides around your neck to rest just under your jawbone. “Can I kiss you pretty girl?” he asks softly and watches as your eyes widen with desire pooling in your sparkling orbs as your face heats with a soft blush.

“Thought you’d never ask.” you whisper to him and Chan leans down to crash his lips to yours while keeping your head tilted back. He groans softly into your pliant mouth at the first touch of your lips together before he maneuvers you into a more comfortable position as he deepens the kiss. His hands easily fall to your waist and drag you flush to his body just as the boys can be heard cheering loudly and splashing in the pool while your arms loop around his neck and you kiss him back. 

[leclerc-hs]

Charles being a jealous and possessive boyfriend please!

I'm sorry if this isn't good I haven't been writing a lot recently so I'm still trying to get back into the groove of things lmaooo. xoxo ily

smut under the cut!

Charles remained seated at the table, his legs casually spread, a picture of nonchalance. To anyone watching, he appeared totally relaxed. 

It was quite a juxtaposition to the actual��burning annoyance he felt inside. He knew he had no reason to be jealous. But that didn’t stop the feeling from crawling its way deep into his chest, bubbling through his veins as he watched you from afar.

He forced himself to look away, to engage with the voices buzzing around him, to the people who were vying for his attention. Yet, each attempt felt hollow, a distraction that only heightened his restlessness.

He shifted restlessly, the desire to reach out and pull you into his orbit gnawing at him. 

He stared down into his empty glass, the faint amber residue clinging to its sides like a fading memory. 

“Who is that?” He half-shouts, raising his voice to cut through the pulsing beat of the music. His gaze was fixated intently on the man stood beside you, the way his hand rested on your shoulder.

His friends exchanged knowing glances, their eyes darting in your direction without fault. They could tell immediately whom he meant. “Oh, that’s just—” one of them started, but the words hung in the air, overshadowed by the thumping bass.

He leaned in closer, straining to catch the details, his curiosity piqued. You were animated, laughter spilling from your lips, a magnetic presence that seemed to light up the dimly lit space. The way your hair caught the light, how you moved effortlessly with the rhythm—it was intoxicating.

“Seriously, who is that?” he pressed, his tone more urgent now, almost desperate to grasp the significance of this moment. He felt a swell of emotions—jealousy, admiration, and a flicker of something deeper—swirling within him as he struggled to reconcile the feelings you stirred in him with the reality of the distance between you.

His friends shrugged, smirking knowingly, as they watched the shift in his demeanor. 

“You’ve got it bad, don’t you?” one teased, nudging him playfully. But he barely registered the jab, his focus entirely on you and the laughter that echoed like a siren’s call, pulling him closer despite the invisible barriers between you.

“Whatever, I’m getting a refill.” He scoffed, the irritation in his voice barely masking the tumult beneath. He pushed back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor, a small rebellion against the frustration simmering inside of him.

He ordered another drink, the bartender raising an eyebrow at his brusque demeanor but saying nothing. The ice clinked in the glass, a soothing sound.

-

“You just expect me to pretend we barely know each other tonight?” he snapped, frustration spilling over like a shaken bottle of champagne.

“We’ve been over this, Cha,” you replied, your tone steady but tinged with weariness, as if you were bracing for another round of the same exhausting conversation.

It was a familiar dance, the back-and-forth that never seemed to lead anywhere new. The air between you thickened with unspoken words, a reminder of the boundaries that loomed large as long as you remained his race engineer. It felt like a loop destined to repeat, each cycle more draining than the last.

He ran a hand through his tousled hair, the weight of your proximity pressing down on him like the searing heat of the asphalt on race day. It was maddening, the way desire and duty tangled together, refusing to be unraveled.

“Why can’t you just let me in?” he implored, the raw edge of his voice betraying the turmoil within him.

Your eyes locked onto his, and his heart raced at the intensity of that moment. You could see the way his hair fell messily over his forehead, the undone tie hanging loosely around his neck—a stark contrast to the tight control he usually maintained.

“Because this is more than us.”

It wasn’t really. More than you and him. You were just scared—scared of the feelings that bubbled up when you were together, scared of what it meant for your lives, for your careers. So, when Charles told you he couldn’t do whatever this was anymore, you didn’t fight him on it.

-

“So what, you moved on just like that?” His words spilled out in a mix of annoyance and frustration as you swung open your apartment door. Charles pushes his way in almost instantly, the tension between you crackling like static in the air.

You step back, surprised by his sudden invasion of your space. “Charles, wait—” You start, but he was already pacing the small living room, his energy palpable, filling the room with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.

He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched. “I don’t get it. One moment, we’re…” He trails off, shaking his head as if trying to shake the confusion. “And now you’re just—what? Pretending it never happened?”

The frustration in his voice cut through you, and for a moment, you were taken aback. You had thought you were doing the right thing by stepping back, by not complicating things further. But seeing him here, all pent-up and frustrated, made your heart race.

“It’s not like that,” You reply, your voice steady but laced with the tremor of your own uncertainty. “I thought you wanted this too.”

Charles stops immediately in his steps, turning to face you, his expression a mix of hurt and anger. “You know that’s not true. I wanted you. I still want you.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt the weight of the moment settle between you, raw and real. 

“I can’t pretend I don’t want you.” He says, his voice low and intense. The honesty in his eyes pierces through the tension as he steps closer to you. 

He’s so close. 

“I want-“

His lips were hot on yours in the blink of an eye. He was so hot and so cold.

“Gonna talk to that guy again?” He pulls apart to get the words out, his hands grasping the back of your head, pulling your lips back to his again. 

Your fingers slip from the baby hairs on his neck to his shoulders. His tongue slips into your mouth for a few seconds before your pushing him back slightly. Just enough to speak.

“What guy?” You pull him back into you, his tongue slipping back into your mouth with ease. His hands are everywhere. Like they can’t figure out where they want to be— the back of your head, the crevice between your waist, your hips. 

He groans into your mouth, pulling back. “That fucking loser from earlier.” 

His lips are back on you, trailing your neck as he presses wet open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re beautiful.” And his lips are back on yours as he pushes you both down onto the couch nearby. His hand slips past the waistband of your tiny sleep shorts, finding your clit with no struggle at all.

-

“Fuck.” He groans. “Keep doing that, baby.” His fingers grip your hips, controlling the pace of your hips as you bounce on his cock.

He whines, thrusting up into you, like he can’t take it anymore. He’s feverish, holding you down so that you can no longer move as he works his cock into you. 

You topple forward, chest pressing to his, as you moan right into his ear. He swears he might just die.

“Mon dieu, baby.” His pace doesn’t falter. “Feels so good, yeah?”

“Mhm,” You groan softly into his ear, your body completely limp against his. “M’so close.”

You’re pleading, desperately writhing against him. Charles trails one hand along your backside, holding you against him tightly, as the other one squeezes your hip. His blunt nails bite the flesh of your hips.

He forces his hips upwards into you, deeper and harder. “C”mon baby.” He’s urging you on, begging you. “Give it to me. Yes, yes, yes.”

Charles grits his teeth as your walls tightened around him.

“M’gonna cum.” You barely manage to get the words out. Your orgasm hits you like a brick wall as you bury your face into his neck. Body completely limp of exhaustion.

“Next time you even think about talking to another man, remember this.” He pants. “Remember how good my cock feels in you.”

[neckromantics]

Astarion has an undying love for the innocent little kisses you give him.

They make him giddy almost, in a way he never thought he'd be able to feel again. He loves that you're drawn to him the second everyone's attention is directed elsewhere. Loves how you always- in that oh-so special way of yours- make sure he's okay with how close you're getting before you lean in and plant a soft little smooch to whatever part of him you're nearest at the time.

(He even loves the way you smile reassuringly when you see something in him that tells you he needs space- sometimes before he himself knows it- and you back away without so much as a sniff. Always patient, and never once disappointed. It's so sweet that it's almost sickening- makes his teeth hurt.)

His knees weaken at the feeling of your lashes against the soft skin of his cheek. Practically buckle whenever you mouth at the corner of his jaw before whispering softly into his ear. Sometimes it's just to tell him you love him, other times it's to make an offhand comment about someone neither of you particularly like. And, how you breathe a laugh so quiet that only he can hear when he responds to whatever you said with an equally hushed quip??

On occasion he'll find the courage to reach out and hold your hand when you're sat together by the fire, and you get this big, dumb smile on your pretty face. Your gratitude comes in the form of kisses- one to each of the knuckles on his offered hand. One. Two. Three. Four. By the fifth one, he can feel a warmth radiating from your flushing face, so hot it rivals the heat from the campfire.

He could go on forever.

When he's lent over a book and you bend down low enough to press your lips to the top of his head and not so subtly inhale the scent of his hair? The same kiss to his forehead that comes every night without fail before you're off to bed? The chaste press to the apple of his cheek as you're passing by, too busy with a particular task to stop and chat? The one between his brows that you let linger just long enough to rid him of the crease that comes with a bout of frustration?

Hells, sometimes you'll simply peck his shoulder in response when he teases you with a nudge mid-banter, and it nearly sends him to the ground. There's just something so… nice about it? The way you're kissing him as a way to express adoration, with nary an expectation to what comes after? Truly just to kiss him, and nothing more??

It'd be maddening,

if he didn't love it so godsdamned much.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Desperation

A/N: I wrote something very similar to this with the Belsire previously but I couldn't help myself 🙏

Belsire: male equivalent to the Beldam (Coraline)

CW: kidnapping, manipulation, sewing needles

A beautiful lullaby hummed against your ear, fog-like breath both chilly and thick caressed against its shell.

You never imagined that he could sew; sure, he was keen to cook you extravagant dinners, you never saw him clean despite the crooked house always spotless, and the clothes that were put in your drawers were consistently washed-- but such delicate needlework? You didn't think the creature had it in him. His fingers seemed made for it though, long and spindly and black at the tips, they held the needle at a fine point, without having to lick the end of the thread before putting it through the eye.

"Stab the needle through the eye....wrap two knots around the tongue, and pull it out the mouth."

His low, rasped voice was unlike anything you've heard from the men in the "real" world. Its croaky demure made sound as if his vocal chords were on the brink of snapping. It was very few and far between that his voice resounded throughout the house in a thunder-like boom.

Tonight, was not one of those nights. Not unless you made an effort to wrangle out of between his stick-like forearms in the wooden chair and began yelling ungrateful spiels whilst staying in HIS house. He said it was yours-- your "other home," but since the gateway tunnel back to your original 1-bedroom apartment became nothing but sturdy drywall with a key hole, its been his. It was always his, you were just too blind to see past the beautiful illusions built for you.

"Just like that... mending is simple work."

You feel his left hand, the one once holding your torn cardigan steady, reach up to lay a cold finger beneath your chin. It rubs back and forth, relishing in the warmth of your throat, the soft flesh between your jaw and jugular.

The Belsire seemed to enjoy running his smooth, icy digits along your naked skin, brushing from side to side, up and down to dip against your collar bone. He relished your warm-bloodedness from how often he took advantage of it. It was a wild contrast to his ever-frozen, rigid body draped in fine blacks and bruised shadows.

"C-can you show me again?" You plead, hoping the end of this activity wouldn't be the finale before your demise. Each time you have one of these "bonding" sessions the Belsire encourages you to entertain him with, you anticipate it being your last.

Each day you wait and wait... wondering if he's hungry again, if it'll hurt, if you'll make one more frustrated comment away that'll make him snap and pick your bones clean.

"Again..?" He tapped thrice on your neck, a twitching habit that sent cold shocks through you. "Why don't you try it yourself this time, dear?"

The sweet, affectionate name oozing from his lips was unnatural-- and yet, perfectly normal for the creature of love seduction. How many had fallen for that same adoring title, only to find themselves now locked in his stomach?

You couldn't tell anymore what was genuine adoration, or a disturbing method at getting you to put your guard down. When he was angry with you, for hiding or attempting another escapade to get back home,  'dear' transformed to spits of "insolent one" and "maddening human", at the very least. On his worst days you were a bewitching, dimwitted little creature too stupid to be let free- better off in his hands if not crunched between his teeth.

"I'm not too sure, I might..accidentally stab myself with the needle, you know?"

You shrug in feigned helplessness, hoping your lack of enthusiasm wouldn't tick him closer to the dark side.

"If you do, then I'll lick your wound and we can start again. Give it a try, won't you? I've seen your work on my coats," he mumbles lowly at the rest of his comments, "and that damned quilt you seem keen to keep."

He muses at the mention of your skilled handiwork you sneak to do when he's gone away at "none of your concern" events. However he knew of your activities in this prison cell while he was out didn't surprise you; the house had eyes, in places you'd rather not think of.

You took the needle from within his delicate grasp, mahogany red thread swinging loose and ready to be tightly wound in your wine colored cardigan.

You copy the movements he had done a million times, though you really weren't watching when he had. It was hard to concentrate with your body shivering, waiting for a sharp dagger or set of teeth to find it's way buried in your back.

The Belsire seems to ease up as you begin to complete the torn cardigan hole, placing two abnormally long hands upon the sides of your shoulders.

"Don't move," he grumbles, almost annoyed at the idea. "Smooth and quite warm... I never understood the pleasure of keeping food around longer than it's due date. But you, little button... why, you're almost opening a soft spot inside of me.."

You didn't like the sound of that. A soft spot within him would certainly be something he sought to squash.

"Are you sure you want a soft spot? I'm not even sure where that would be."

You almost laugh at your own joke, imagining his crisp limbs deflated. If you were making a soft spot, you best keep at making it grow.

"It seems you force it in me, whether I like it or not. I enjoy having you to myself, to come home to... even if the idea that you're taking part of me, is... infuriating."

The Belsire leans deeper into you, pressing the inside of his thighs against yours, craning his neck downward.

"The unfortunate part is, I think I may fall apart if you disappear."

You see the looks he gives from the corner of your eye; dark, empty buttons staring into you, awaiting your reaction. Was this another attempt to swoon you?

"Then I guess that means you can't eat me."

You sigh, hoping he'd agree. And oddly enough, he cracks a grin.

"I guess not. Though, don't hold your breath. I can't make any promises as to what my temper will lead to." The bridge of his nose is uncharacteristically pressed against your cheek, black dots boring holes into you. "On the topic, I'd be less inclined to eat you if you accepted my present..."

You round off the last bit of stitching, only to see an all too familiar velvet box on your left. It was open, music box playing a soft melody as a range of colors and sizes in buttons were available to view.

"I... I still can't, give you an answer." You go back to tying an end to the thread, praying for the Belsire's eerily calm mood to stay uninterrupted.

He goes quiet, habitually running a thumb down the shell of your ear. The chill was almost welcoming, soft flesh touching your heated one. It felt... genuine, a form of physical affection that was done for his pleasure more than your own. It would be comforting, if you weren't waiting for him to explode.

"I expected as much," he calmly huffs, shutting the box with a single finger. Its harsh snap made you drop the thread. "But you can't expect me to wait forever; you aren't going home. You will remain here, either as my slave, or my spouse. The difference is whether I have to force these buttons on you, or you take them willingly."

"I.. I just need a little more time. I haven't-- I'm not-- done adjusting. I'm not used to this world, like you."

You've given up pleading; for all you knew, there was no way back home that either of you could conjure. This was your fate.

Like a doll he dressed and cleaned and made a perfect dollhouse for, you were to sit here and provide him the comfort he could not create on his own. Like a god, creating his creatures of free will, he relished in the uniqueness you offered without him having to fabricate it first, the obedience you gave from fear in your own desire rather than a direct command.

A long silence left the air hanging stagnant, your patchwork sitting in front of you, finished and yet not quite the same as it once was. Why couldn't you go to the store and buy a new one, spend frivolous money and speak to the miserable cashier that reminded you humanity was still alive?

"...Fine. But not much longer, my sweet button...this-- mortal flesh still tying you to your world, has kept me at a distance I do not wish to stand at." A soft kiss, from creased, inexperienced lips touched the top of your cheekbone. "I want you for myself... I don't like not getting the things I want. And, I want you far more desperately than I imagined."

His voice was stoic, gentle and logical despite the romantic lines that were fed to you. Spindly fingers pulled back pieces of your hair, caressing the skin on your face with soft strokes. Like a human would do to an animal, running his knuckles against your cheek and his fingertips along your jaw.

Just a simple touch and turn of your chin was all it took to make you look at him.

"Don't make me wait. I will have you, and I want it to be because you will it. Please, don't make me do what neither of us want."

His tongue was warmer than his touch, somehow. Maybe it led to his even warmer heart, but you doubted it. Even with the way both his large, balmy palms were gripping beside your ears, pulling your face to touch his in a dance of lips and stolen breath, you wondered if this was just another web of lies spun to create your damnation.

But the desperation in how he swallowed you whole, pulling your hands away from the touchy needlework he was once keen on making you finish-- there was something human about it all, something touchy and irritable and obsessive. If he wanted you desperately then, you could only imagine how horribly ridden he was now, feeling your warmth as he made you colder with his hands and wrists, him never changing.

You peeked an eye open, wondering if those buttons stayed all-seeing, all watching, even when you kissed.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

F*CK, KILL, MARRY — nsfw alphabet w john wick (&femreader)

[Warnings: NSFW, discussion of various sexual and kink topics that are 0% canon and 100% my fantasies opinions] gif cred: @lunaspacks & @gifpacklove

[A]ftercare

The literal king of aftercare. It does not matter what kind of sex you’re having with John—even if it’s of the slowest and sensualist variety—he’s making sure you’re clean, kissed, snuggled, and hydrated afterwards.

[B]ody Part

What part of your body does this man not consider his favorite part, is the better question? Seems like his goal in life is to get every little piece of your flesh—especially the batches you don’t like—into his mouth and hands so he can convince you how much he loves, craves, pines after all of you. Speaking of hands, of course you love his chunky, scarred, battle worn fingers. And, since that seems to be your favorite part of him, he’s happy to agree, and wiggle his digits in front of you every once in a while as a teasing reminder of just how much you like them.

[C]um

The only thing John Wick likes teasing more than you, is himself. He’s entirely too good at keeping you both up all night either cumming or just on the precipice of it, so, by the time you’re both spent, things tend to be sticky and soaked in more than just sweat and saliva.

[D]irty Secret

There’s nothing he keeps from you, really. If you’re into it, he’s into it, and vice versa. Look at those puppy dog eyes and tell me you’re gonna tell this man no if he wants to suck your toes.

[E]xperience

Might have been a bit of a whore in his younger days, when he was still trying different bad coping skills for dealing with his own self loathing. Present, John has to really have that emotional attraction for his pants to get tighter, but he absolutely knows his way around female anatomy—as evidenced by yours and his soaked sheets.

[F]avorite Position

Either his face tucked up inside your pussy so deep his hair gets wet (John Wick’s favorite activity is making you cum in his mouth), or your knees hooked over his shoulders so he can watch your eyes roll back in your head while he reaches screaming, teeth gnashing, hellishly pleasurable depths.

[G]oofy

This one very much depends on his mood, although he’s not opposed to play fights and chasing you around the house a little bit before bending you over the couch and fucking his winning prize. He’s more playful than not most of the time, always teasing and sly, grinning against your lips and nuzzling your thighs and starting tickle fights —which may just be the only sort of fight he actually loses (sometimes).

[H]air

This man is not shaving that often these days…Something(one) else is taking up his free time. Plus, he loves to see beard burn on your skin—it means you’re his. He truly does not care at all about your body hair; whether you shave or don’t, he’s still burying his face in your cunt.

[I]ntimacy

Loving and fucking go hand in hand for him; where there is no love, there is no fuck. If he’s fucking you, he’s loving you at the same time, sometimes so deeply and intensely that the emotion becomes more overwhelming than the actual sex, which is a feat of its own. Constantly saying the dirtiest, sweetest shit to you—commanding your attention again when you try to bury your head in a pillow or close your eyes for some reprieve from his attention.

[J]ack off

You’ve both made a maddening deal that you won’t cum unless you’re in the other’s presence. It gets exceedingly frustrating at times, especially when he decides to come home from a week-long contract and then edge you out of your fucking mind for a few hours before he sends you to heaven and back on his cock

[K]ink

Hide and seek — spoiler: you always lose. Topping from the bottom — whatever you’re into, he’s into. Whatever you want, he’ll give it a try with enthusiasm. He loves pleasing you, serving you, giving you everything that you ask for and then some. John Wick is a service sub at heart, even if he takes the dominant roll to prove it. Edging and overstimulating — Living a life of pain, agony, and heartbreak has made him appreciate the finer things in life, like his cock and your cunt aching so desperately it becomes painful. He can spend all day nibbling your ears, teasing you with dark promises, brushing against your little sensitive spots, and then all night kissing your swollen clit and tickling your gspot and fucking you slow and devastatingly softly. And then there’s his love for receiving edges, leaking pools of precum while you tease his cock and kiss his tummy and nibble his hipbones.

[L]ocation

Private. He wants you to himself. The thought of someone else seeing or touching you, unless it’s something you really crave, makes him want to break bones stuff. Besides some hand holding and light cheek pecks in public, he’s not one for PDA.

[M]otivation

You don’t have to try to turn John on, which is both a blessing and a curse. More than once have you purchased a pair of cute (not even that sexy underwear) that he has ripped in half so that his impatient mouth can latch onto your pussy. He also adores femininity in all its purest forms—pretty sundresses, little strappy heels and sandals, the curves and soft places on your body, your cute giggles and soft touch and adorable pouting. Even better if you’re naturally not feminine to begin with, and take on a more masculine role; he loves to bring the little lady out in you, and take care of her.

[N]o

John will get a little rough if you ask; spank you, fuck your soul into the next life, a little bit of facefucking, but all the while he’s checking in on you, making sure you’re okay, asking if you need anything, giving you little breaks. He’s just naturally so sweet to you, it’s hard for him to complete a rough session without constant reassurance from his babydoll. So, gags are a no. He wants to—likes to—hear you, and he doesn’t need something obstructing that.

[O]ral

There are two ways that this could go. 1) With Wick slurping between your squishy thighs until dawn, delaying one orgasm after another until you’re sobbing and thrashing, until he finally lets you cum with his pruned fingers fucking up inside and sore tongue on your massively swollen clit. 2) With Baba Yaga burying his face into your folds, still in the sweaty work suit and maybe even a little blood on his tie, and taking you to heaven and back until he thinks you’re wet and stretched enough—spoiler, you are both of those things as soon as you see him…as soon as he opens his mouth—to take his cock.

[P]ace

Quick, bruising fucks in the car. Weekends in his woodsy, romantic cabin where you spend more time on his dick than off. Slow tonguing on the kitchen counter. Riding him on the doorstep while he’s in his suit when he just wants to get you off one more time before he goes off on a long job.

[Q]uickie

He prefers slow and sensual and teasing, but sometimes his cock disagrees with all that. He’s a man, after all, has needs. When he gets that haunted, dark, narrowed, pussy hungry look in his eyes—you’re fucked. You don’t know this, and he might not either, but that’s the same look he gets when he’s hunting a target.

[R]isk

What is the need for it? You’re his, completely. He doesn’t require added adrenaline when you’re around—you are his high.

[S]tamina

Y/n: *slaps John Wick’s ass* trust me, this baby can go for miles. Wait no, no, John-JOhN! Listen!—

[T]oys

As familiar as he is with the world and how it runs, he himself is a bit old school. That means holding doors open and putting you on the opposite side of the sidewalk away from traffic, but it also means he prefers to get you off with himself rather than any plastics or silicones—that is until you showed him just how fun they could be. Now, he may be initially resistant to vibrators and dildos, but that doesn’t mean he’s not privy to other tools that aid in your undoing—feathers, belts, ties, rope, his gun (unloaded, of course, don’t worry).

[U]nfair

Sometimes you feel like all the stoic, broody, dark assassin does is tease you. Not that you’re complaining, as long as his tongue or his fingers or his teeth are on you.

[V]olume

John Wick is a man of focus, determination, and sheer will power—but, make no mistake, he whimpers for you just as often as he growls.

[W]ild card

John didn’t think he’d get much out of thigh riding, until he saw you completely bare grinding your soaked cunt against the tensed muscles of his leg while he remained full on suited in black. Your fingers wrapped around his tie, the thick Kevlar of his jacket, rumpling and dampening the pristine white shirt underneath, mouth open and panting, flushed and grinding, desperate to get yourself off, nipples plucked swollen and dark by his fingers.

[X]-ray

Big Wick Energy. And, surprisingly, something you love to bite and poke, a cute little permanent pudge on his lower tummy amongst the hard panes of ab and tendon and muscle.

[Y]earning

If you’re both in good health—alright, sometimes even if you’re not (see: bullet and stab wounds, period cramps, broken bones)—you’re fucking. Often and earnestly. Debauching every available surface as soon as you get through the doors of each other's dwellings. He’s spent a lifetime training to kill, honing his body into the perfect weapon, building his inhuman stamina, unsure of why he was doing all of it in the first place—until he realized it was the universe’s grand design to assist him with fucking you whenever and wherever he wants; even when you get tired and he has to use you past the point where you can’t move or speak or think. As you’ve come to learn, it doesn’t matter if you’re too cockdrunk to assist, because John can fuck for the both of you.

[Z]zzzzzz

When he’s actually done, he’s out immediately. Just one of those common manly traits you like to poke fun at him for. At least he sleeps, now.