lovendergaze

[lovendergaze]

Bounce, sweetheart

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ blurb - clark kent x bunny!reader

Summary - everyone thinks Clark's petname for you is just sweet—a harmless little bunny whispered across the bullpen. What they don't see is the way how he rushes you home just to strip you down and watch you hop on his cock. And he's determined to keep his bunny stuffed full.

tw - 18+, MDNI, smut, p in v, breeding kink, praise + light degradation, creampie, tit play, size kink, petnames (bunny/bun)

notes - I wanna be his controversially young gf

—Reblog & comments are greatly appreciated ᥫ᭡

Everyone at the Daily Planet adores you and Clark together. They call you sweethearts, tell you how lucky you are to have found such a gentle giant. He plays the part so well—big smile, kind eyes, always draping an arm over your chair like he's just keeping you close. And when he calls you bunny in that bashful, soft Midwestern drawl, the whole office practically melts.

If only they knew.

Because the second the two of you are home, Clark's got you perched up on his lap, still drowning in one of his soft button-ups, knees on either side of his hips. "You're so cute, y'know that?" he murmurs, sinking you down on his aching cock, groaning at the wet squelch of it. "My dumb little bunny—gonna let me keep you full, huh?"

You squeak when he thrusts up, hitting that spongy spot that makes your vision go white. His hands spread wide across your waist, guiding your body to bounce over him, every movement making his shirt lower on your shoulder. Your tits sway with every hop, and Clark's mouth is quick to catch them—sucking, biting, leaving purple blooms he'll later soothe with kisses.

"Hop for me, honey," he breathes against your skin. "Pretty bunny, made for me to fuck into. Gonna give me everything, aren't you? Let me fill you up until you're stuffed."

You whimper, clinging to his shoulders, trying not to lose yourself to the pace he's setting but Clark doesn't let you rest. He thrusts harder from below, just to see that pathetic look on your face, until your words no longer make sense. He slams his fat tip up your cunt when he finally spills inside, cock twitching, keeping you stuffed to the brim.

"Mm, that's it," he pants, pressing sloppy kisses along your bruised tits. "Stay right there, bun. Don't waste a drop—wanna see it drip." His big hands cradle your ass, keeping you locked against him, his voice dropping low and worshipful. "Gonna fill you again and again until you're breeding out a litter."

—requests are opened ! Clark Kent Masterlist<3

[lovendergaze]

[lovendergaze]

in a week. james potter x reader

james wants to rot inside you. and you let him *. ⋆ 3k words

part of the hozier series i'm writing with my girlies @twovialsofamortentia @mischievousmoony @prettydaisygirl !

cw: smut. fem!reader. established relationship. morning sex. light choking. spit. praise. degradation. tit focused (kinda). dry humping. piv. unprotected sex. thumb sucking. crying. begging. biting. unhinged/religious devotion. posessive!james. feral!james. overstimulation (he comes so many times i don't think it's possible). cursing. a bit of aftercare. lmk if i missed smth!

a/n: james would NOT survive in the same room as me

you wake up to the sound of birds.

the curtains move gently through the open window, the breeze soft against the bare skin of your arms, and there’s warmth at your back, alive, heavy, hard. his breath is slow on your shoulder. his thigh is tucked between yours and his arm around your waist, anchoring you to him.

james.

he’s still asleep. his cock is already half-hard, thick and insistent pressing on the curve of your ass. you shift slightly and he grunts, his nose nuzzling into your neck.

it’s not a surprise. he always wakes up like this, reaching for you in sleep like instinct.

as if he’ll stop breathing if he can’t touch you. as if he’ll rot without you in his arms.

you stay like that for a while, with the sweat slick warmth of skin on skin wrapping you like a cocoon.

the birds are chirping outside, awoken by the morning light. you see a few of them fly by, one or two even daring to land on the tree just outside the window.

then he speaks, low and raspy from sleep.

“still here,” he murmurs, tightening his hold. “thought you’d slipped away.”

“I never do.”

he exhales, rubbing and nuzzling deeper into your skin. “dreamt of you again.”

you hum. “yeah? what was I doing?”

“crying. moaning. you were… fuck, you were so wet.”

you feel yourself pulse at the sound of it—at the filth in his voice.

“I was inside you,” he says, his fingers slipping beneath your shirt, across your belly, higher. “and I kept thinking… let it kill me.”

his hand finds your chest, and he groans like your body hurts him.

“let me rot here,” he whispers. “right between your tits.”

“james,” you murmur, torn between laughter and a whimper.

“I'm serious,” he says, kissing your shoulder. “gonna build a shrine. right here.” he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. “holy ground.”

his thumb flicks lazily over your nipple and he moans like your body is sunrise itself.

“I'm obsessed,” he whispers. “wanna live here. wanna die here.”

you squirm back against him and feel his cock twitch.

“oh, fuck—don’t do that,” he groans. “m’gonna come before we even start.”

“we haven’t started anything,” you tease.

“tell that to my dick,” he mutters. “he’s already giving his last words.”

you giggle, and james finally rolls you onto your back. his eyes are half-lidded, curls messy, and there’s something so beautiful about the lazy way he drapes himself over you, like your body is the only home he’s ever known.

he presses his face into your chest, nose nuzzling your sternum.

“I’m gonna die between your tits,” he murmurs.

“not very romantic,” you say.

“not very negotiable either.”

his lips move lower, tongue dragging over the fabric of your sleep shirt until it soaks through. he sucks gently at your nipple, even through the cotton, and you gasp at the heat.

“take it off,” he mumbles against your skin.

you lift your arms, and he peels the shirt away slowly, eyes trailing down your bare chest with open worship. his lips part. his hands shake.

“fuck me,” he says reverently. “you look carved.”

his mouth finds your nipple again, this time bare, and he groans. he suckles like he needs it to breathe—like this is communion. you whimper, hips shifting under him, and he growls, grinding down just enough for you to feel the thick press of his cock through both your clothes.

his hand slides down your thigh, then back up under the hem of your shorts.

“still have these on?” he asks, voice dark now. “that’s rude. you’re wet, aren’t you?”

you nod.

“words, baby.”

“yes,” you gasp. “I'm wet. for you. always.”

james moans, humping against you harder.

“gonna make you come just like this,” he mutters. “clothes on, tits out, my mouth on you. that’s all I need.”

his hips stutter. he spits directly onto your nipple, then sucks it clean. you cry out. your hands tangle in his curls. he’s rutting now, deliberate, hard, and filthy. the heat of him is overwhelming.

“feel that?” he pants. “that’s what you do to me. every morning. you walk around this house like a fucking dream, and i’m hard from the second i open my eyes. you know how many times I've come just grinding into your ass like this?”

you whine.

“too many,” he says. “and I’d do it a thousand more.”

you can’t think. you can’t breathe. his thigh presses between your legs and your clit rubs against the seam of your panties with every desperate shift of your hips.

you’re so close already.

james is panting against your chest, one hand splayed across your thigh, the other still gripping your breast like he’ll die if he lets go. you’re rutting against each other like animals, still mostly clothed, sweat slicking your skin where it touches.

“you gonna come like this?” he pants. “grinding against my cock like you’re in heat?”

you nod frantically. “i’m close… james, please—”

“yeah? want me to make a mess of you first?” he growls. “want to drip down your thighs before i even fuck you?”

you moan, your body trembling under his, and that’s all it takes—he presses his thigh harder between your legs, your clit catching perfectly against the pressure, and everything shatters.

you come with a gasp, hips jerking, nails digging into his shoulders. your thighs clamp around his leg, riding the wave of it, and james groans like it’s happening to him.

“fucking hell,” he breathes. “you’re so wet. fuck, I’m—shit, I’m—”

he ruts faster, cock twitching in his boxers, and then he’s coming too, his whole body stiffening as he groans into your chest. it’s filthy. raw. a low, desperate sound as he humps through it, grinding his cock against you until he’s trembling.

you lie there for a beat. ruined. his breath stutters against your chest.

“jesus christ,” he says eventually. “that was…”

you tilt your head to look at him. “insane?”

“religious,” he says. “that was sacred.”

you laugh breathlessly.

but james lifts his head, sweat damp at his hairline, eyes dark with something deeper now.

“I’m not done,” he says.

you blink.

“I need to be inside you,” he says, voice hoarse. “like—need it. right now.”

your body pulses at his tone. you nod, breathless.

he peels your shorts and ruined underwear down your thighs and tosses them somewhere behind him. his fingers trail through your folds, and he groans.

“you’re soaked. from just grinding on me. from my thigh and my mouth and my fucking voice.”

he leans down and spits onto your cunt, then rubs it in with his fingers, slow and dirty.

“open up for me,” he says. “let me ruin you properly.”

you reach between you to shove his boxers down. his cock springs free, already hard again, flushed red and leaking.

you whimper. “how the fuck are you—”

“angel,” he says, lining himself up, “I get hard just looking at you. you think coming in my pants could stop me?”

you laugh, barely. because he pushes in, thick and slow, splitting you open inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt.

“oh my—james—”

he groans, head dropping to your shoulder. “fuck, you feel like heaven. like the end of me.”

he starts to move, slow at first, deep and measured. you arch into him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, mouth open in a silent moan.

“gonna fuck you like it’s the last thing I ever do,” he whispers. “gonna leave bruises where my name belongs.”

one hand wraps around your throat, not tight, just holding you, a claim. the other drags up your ribs, over your chest, squeezing your breast until you cry out.

“you’re all mine,” he says, voice wrecked. “you feel that? my cock in you, my hands on you. you let me spit in your mouth, ride my thigh, come in your sleep clothes like you’re made for me.”

you nod. “I am.”

he groans. “say it.”

“i’m made for you. just you.”

his hips snap harder now, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. he spits into your mouth and watches you swallow.

“fuck,” he growls. “that’s it. my good girl. my filthy, perfect girl.”

you whimper beneath him, your second orgasm already building, your body desperate.

“I’m close,” you gasp.

“then come,” he snarls. “come on my cock, baby. show me how wrecked you are.”

you do.

it hits like fire, ripping through you, white-hot and violent. you cry out his name, clawing at his back, and he groans, hips stuttering as you clamp around him.

“shit—gonna come too—fuck—you’re squeezing me like you want to keep me inside.”

“I do,” you pant. “come in me. fill me up.”

he growls, deep and low and possessive. and then he’s gone, emptying himself inside you with a choked, broken moan.

he doesn’t pull out.

instead, he stays there. deep. his chest pressed to yours. both of you heaving.

“let me rot here,” he says again, quieter this time. “right inside you.”

you thread your fingers through his curls and pull him down for a kiss.

“stay,” you whisper.

and he does.

you don’t know how long you lie like that—him still inside you, softening slowly, both of you wrapped around each other like ivy. the room smells like sex. sweat clings to your skin. and james keeps whispering things into your hair that sound more like confessions than dirty talk.

“i’d die like this,” he breathes. “inside you. warm. buried. want my bones to dissolve here.”

“morbid,” you whisper, eyes closed.

“romantic,” he corrects, and presses a kiss to your jaw.

you feel him hardening again.

you open one eye.

“again?”

he shifts slightly, and you moan as his cock thickens inside you.

“course again,” he murmurs. “you think I can stop? after that? after you clenched around me like you were scared I'd leave?”

you whimper. your body’s still trembling. your clit still aches. but he’s kissing down your neck now, gentle, then harder, until his teeth scrape.

“you want to stop?” he asks, breath warm against your collarbone.

you shake your head.

he grins.

“didn’t think so.”

he pulls out slowly, and your body throbs at the loss. but before you can complain, he drags you into his lap, settling you over his thighs so you’re straddling him, your pussy hovering just above his cock.

his hands grab your ass, squeezing once before pulling you down to grind against him.

“you’re gonna ride me,” he says, voice like gravel. “until you can’t see straight.”

your hands grip his shoulders. his cock slides between your folds, not inside yet, just dragging along your slit, teasing your swollen clit.

“look at you,” he whispers. “so fucked out already. you still want more?”

you nod, dazed.

“use your words.”

“I want more.”

“greedy,” he murmurs. “my greedy girl.”

he leans in to suck your tit again, messy and hungry, while his hands guide your hips to grind down on him. it’s torture. wet and hot and not enough.

“beg for it.”

“james—”

“beg.”

you whimper. “please. please let me ride you. i need it. i need to come again. i want your cock so bad it hurts.”

he groans. “fuck—you’re perfect.”

you lift your hips and line him up, then sink down slow. both of you moan, heads falling forward, foreheads touching.

“good girl,” he breathes. “take it. take all of it.”

you start to move, rocking your hips, rolling them in messy circles as his cock presses deep inside you. james is unraveling beneath you, moaning into your skin, biting at your chest.

“god, you feel like sin,” he groans. “warm and tight and mine.”

you start to bounce, each thrust sending sparks through your spine. james loses it—his head falls back, mouth open, chest heaving.

you lean in and bite his neck.

hard.

“fuck—” he chokes. “do that again.”

you do. sinking your teeth into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. he thrusts up into you so hard it punches a moan out of your throat.

he grabs your hips and starts fucking up into you now, using your body like it belongs to him—and it does. you’re both gone. sweaty, loud, feral.

you spit into his mouth this time.

he swallows and groans like it’s air.

“I'm gonna come,” you gasp. “gonna come on your cock, james, oh my god—”

“do it,” he pants. “fucking soak me, baby. make a mess. show me what I do to you.”

you shatter. loud and wet and wild. you don’t even realize you're crying until james is licking tears off your cheeks, moaning praises into your mouth.

and then he comes, biting down on your shoulder, cock pulsing inside you, hips stuttering as he spills deep.

you collapse against his chest, trembling, boneless.

“I’ll never need anyone else,” he whispers. “ever.”

your bodies are tangled and soaked with sweat. the sheets are a mess. you’re not even sure where your shirt ended up, or when exactly james started trembling like he was about to cry.

but you’re still in his lap, his arms wrapped tight around you, cock twitching deep inside your soaked cunt, your heart beating against his chest like a war drum.

and james won’t stop kissing you.

lazy kisses. gentle kisses. desperate, open-mouthed ones that make you dizzy.

“still with me?” he mumbles, eyes glazed but fond. his hands are stroking your hips like he’s grounding himself.

you nod, forehead against his. “are you?”

“no,” he says softly. “i’m fucking gone.”

you laugh, exhausted.

but he shifts beneath you, and suddenly his cock is hard again. still inside you. still pulsing.

“james—”

“i told you,” he breathes, eyes dark and glassy, “i can’t stop.”

your thighs are shaking. your clit is raw. your whole body is too sensitive to move, but the idea of him fucking you again makes your core clench, greedy and ready.

james feels it. “oh, you liked that.”

he grins, devilish and boyish all at once, and then he lifts you up, just a little, until only the tip of his cock remains inside.

then slams you down again.

you scream.

“i know,” he whispers. “sensitive, yeah? but i need it, baby. need to see you come again. need to feel you fluttering around me while i ruin you for the fourth fucking time.”

you moan, overwhelmed and already so far gone that your eyes well with tears.

“aw, don’t cry,” he coos, cupping your cheek. “or do. i like it. you’re pretty when you sob for me.”

his thumb drags over your bottom lip, then shoves into your mouth. you suck on it instinctively.

“fuck,” he breathes. “you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

you nod, drooling around his thumb.

“that’s my girl.”

he starts thrusting up into you again, slow but punishing. you can’t even move anymore, so he uses his grip on your hips to bounce you, just enough to send lightning through your nerves. your eyes roll back.

“look at you,” he groans. “fucked dumb and still taking it. my perfect little mess.”

you whimper something unintelligible. he kisses your cheek.

“gonna come again?”

“I—I can’t—”

“yes you can,” he growls. “you’re going to. you’re going to soak me again and scream for it. come on, baby, give it to me.”

his fingers rub your clit, and it’s too much.

your orgasm rips through you, high and shrieking and borderline painful—and james moans like it’s his own.

he follows a second later, biting your collarbone, coming inside you one more time as your cunt flutters around him, pulling every drop from his cock.

this time, you really collapse.

fully limp.

james holds you tighter.

“my girl,” he breathes, over and over. “my girl. my girl. mine.”

you’re not sure when you blacked out. not passed out, just gone. drifting. floating somewhere above your own body, high on orgasm and heat and james’s voice murmuring filth into your neck.

you’re still in his lap. still full of him. the sheets beneath you are a disaster. his curls are damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead. and his cock is finally soft again, tucked inside you like it belongs there.

neither of you speak for a long while.

james just breathes. kisses your temple. rubs circles into your back like he’s tracing a map he never wants to lose.

you don’t even realize you’re crying until he wipes the tears away with his thumbs.

“too much?” he whispers. his voice is hoarse. wrecked.

you shake your head. “no. never.”

he lets out a long breath and kisses your cheek.

“didn’t mean to fuck you like I’d never see you again,” he murmurs. “but you… you make me crazy.”

you look up at him. his eyes are blown wide, glassy with something that feels like awe.

“you okay?” you ask, barely a whisper.

he nods, then pauses. “no.”

your heart jumps. “no?”

he cups your face like you’re porcelain.

“no, I'm not okay. I'm in love with you. I want to spend every day like this. every night. I want to wake up hard against your ass and go to sleep with your taste in my mouth.”

your throat tightens.

“I want to build a life around your body,” he whispers. “I want to die between your thighs. I want to come inside you so many times that you forget what empty feels like.”

you blink, tears falling again.

he brushes them away gently.

“I meant what I said,” he adds, voice low. “let me rot here. right inside you. let me be the man who never leaves your bed.”

you nod slowly.

“then stay,” you whisper. “forever.”

james smiles, soft and wrecked and completely in love.

“forever isn’t long enough,” he says. “but I’ll try.”

he kisses you then, slow and deep. and even though your body is raw and trembling and ruined, you know he’d take you again if you asked. he’d give you everything. over and over.

because he’s yours.

and you’re his.

completely.

hopelessly.

forever.

lostrologyy © 2025.

[lovendergaze]

“it’s so unrealistic when x readers say-” i’m not reading x readers for realism. i’m reading them because i want to fuck a fictional character.

[lovendergaze]

You are Sirius and Remus' new flatmate, they desperately wish you were more than that.

cw: wolfstar pre-established relationship, talks about orgasms and make-out sessions, pining/horny wolfstar, shy reader (avoidant?), pet names, english as a second language if it counts

⋆˚꩜｡

It is not uncommon for you to stay in on a Friday night, Remus knows that. He also knows that you value the solitude of the apartment on these nights, wishing to rest and recover from the emotional weight of the week that has just gone by. So as Sirius and he return from the pub, from their weekly outing with James and Peter, he is surprised by your current predicament.

It seems that tonight you have chosen the worn out couch in the living room over the comfort of your bed to relax. Your form soft and slightly glistening with sweat, the summer breeze drifting in from the open window doing little to make the heat more bearable. Remus is overcome with the urge to touch you. To comb his fingers through your hair, where it has started to frizz from being in contact with the cheap material of the pillow for so long.

When he and Sirius had started looking for a roommate, to lessen the increasing expenses of the young couple and  Lily introduced you to them - then only a distant memory from their Hogwarts years as being in different years put you in different friend groups, and Lily you only knew from tutoring you during their last year- you were the last thing they expected you to be.

You showed up as a flustered and quiet mess in front of them. A colourful mesh of trinkets slowly littering their apartment, your books resting on the living room selves and on the coffee table, your favourite mugs on display in the small kitchenette, all of it a contrasting image to your shy demeanor. And, in an earth-shattering way, the missing piece in a, what they thought was, a perfectly complete relationship.

Remus, felt so guilty at first. Something that now, as he watched Sirius lean over your laid form on the couch, softly brushing your hair, in an attempt to gently rouse you from sleep, seems so distant and foreign. But back when you first moved in, every gentle brush of your body against his, every soft, doe-eyed look directed at him, sent a rush of guilt and a swarm of butterflies rushing straight to his stomach, in an almost nauseating sequence.

A lot has changed since then. One night, only a few weeks into your new living arrangement, lost in a kiss-drunk haze, not only was Remus’ infatuation with you was revealed, but also Sirius’ yearning, to an extension that he himself was hesitant, and afraid to name up until then. Remus has to admit though that this revelation led to the most guilt-free make out session – and the most intense orgasm – he has experienced after weeks of quiet suffering, a sentiment Sirius would second, with the shared fantasy of you being right there with them (in all fairness, that fantasy brought along with it its’ own share of guilt)

A soft, sleep-riddled mutter of Sirius’ name roused him from his thoughts, and brought him back to reality. You appeared to have woken up, eyes squinting, despite the low light, provided only by the lamp at the corner of the room.

“I wanted to wait up for you guys,” you say, fighting to keep your eyes open as Sirius starts caressing your left calf.

“Why would you do that sweetheart?” Sirius questions as Remus matches his tone with a soft “Oh dove.”

You think it must be criminal, an attempt for your poor heart, for both of them to be looking at you so softly, so lovingly, while calling you the sweetest names of endearment anyone has ever directed at you. Although, you suspect they only sound as sweet because they’re coming from them.

“I- I wanted to see you before I went to bed. I wanted to tell you that I made cookies, they’re on the counter,” you offer. It was a habit you picked up on after moving in with them. You knew the boys liked a sweet treat, and Remus more than anyone, especially if it involved chocolate. You liked to know there was something you could offer them, and you liked it more when it involved getting called sweet names in return (and reveling in the more than sweet sounds it pulled from them).

“Oh angel you didn’t have to do that. Thank you,” Sirius says with a smile.

“It’s alright, I enjoy it,” you say, growing more awake, and consequently more bashful under their shared gaze.

“Do you want to go to bed dove?” asked Remus, coming closer to the couch, and reaching his hand to softly trace your cheekbone with his thumb.

“Mhm” you agree wordlessly. You can feel their hands leaving a heated path in their wake, and suddenly feeling overwhelmed you sit up.

“Come on darling,” says Sirius as he takes your hand in his and starts moving to the second bedroom, the slightly smaller one that is right across from the one he shared with Remus, who is now trailing behind you as you enter the room.

You sit down and face the boys in an oddly rehearsed dance. It’s become more and more common for them to tuck you in, it brings them comfort to make sure you feel as loved as possible before they leave you alone to rest. After all they have made it obvious they like you, or that they are deeply and irrevocably in love with you as Sirius would insist, and seeing no apparent resistance from you, they have only grown bolder in their expressions of love.

Sirius sits down next to you, on the other side of the bed from where Remus hovers over  you gently kissing your forehead. He itches to lower his lips, press them on any exposed expanse of skin on your face and neck, anywhere you would allow him to, but for now he satisfies himself with the warm skin of your forehead.

Remus takes a turn in kissing your forehead then, and quickly presses one more on your cheek, your soft skin there irresistible to the touch, “Good night, dove.”

Sirius makes sure your window is open and then walks towards your door “Good night, darling.”

And then, as if he wants to fluster you even further, he adds with a sly smile “Dream of us”

I always do, you think, but your words fail you, as fight sleep anymore becomes impossible. And you pass out, your heart full and your skin still hot.

⋆˚꩜｡

note: this is the first full fic that I've ever uploaded, I second-guessed myself so hard before posting, but I'm glad I grew the balls to do it (lmao)

let me know what you think pls!

[lovendergaze]

clark hears it—he does. that sharp, elastic snap that cuts clean through the haze of heat and slick skin. he hears it the way he hears everything. crystal-clear, too in tune with the world around him for his own good. he knows what it means, too—knows exactly what just happened, what that sound was.

but still, he doesn’t stop. doesn’t even flinch. because clark kent is so insanely needy

instead, he shifts just slightly, dragging you further down the bed, arms bracketing your head as he drives himself back into your soaked, clenching cunt with a sound you’ve never heard from him before—something sticky-throated and low, a groan cut with the telltale rasp of desperation. “fuck—baby,” he gasps, and you don’t even realize what just happened, too full, too caught up in the burn of his cock dragging against your walls and the way your own arousal’s soaked all over your thighs and his pelvis. “g-god, you’re—so fucking wet. it’s—s’too much…” his voice shakes. he’s drooling, literally, a thin thread slipping down from the corner of his lips onto the pillow beside your cheek as he leans closer—his brows all drawn together, those sweet blue eyes foggy with effort.

he’s still going. like the condom didn’t just give out halfway through. like you’re not both sticky with the combination of your slick and his precum now steadily pulsing against your overstretched insides. you moan, back arching instinctively, and his hips stutter “feels s’good—feels too good—baby, i can’t—” you’re whining now, the words slipping from your mouth on instinct, barely even thinking. “clark—clark, f-fuck, it’s—i feel everything. you’re too—” you can’t even finish the sentence. he shudders above you, and you feel his cock twitch deep inside, sticky and hot and bare, so bare it’s sinful—like nothing between you two at all. he’s grinding now. not thrusting, not fucking—grinding, hips rolling deeper and deeper, trying to find that perfect spot that has your walls fluttering, that makes your toes curl and your mouth fall open in a gasp of his name. you whimper when his mouth lands on yours. he’s sloppy with it, tongue pushing between your lips in a kiss that tastes like sweat and sex and need. his hips keep moving, slower now, but firmer—more intentional.

he swallows again. there’s more drool trailing down his chin now, eyes glassy, pupils blown wide. he looks like a man half-drunk on your cunt and his own need. and when he cums inside you—bare, heavy, and endless—it’s with a strangled cry of your name, head buried in your neck, and his whole body trembling from restraint gone completely to hell.

you don’t even realize you’re crying until he’s kissing the tears off your cheeks, cock still deep inside, twitching with aftershocks. you’re both panting. slick. ruined. and full.

he doesn’t pull out. not yet.

instead, he just hums—low, almost reverent—like he’s proud. like he just made something sacred. “you’re gonna take all of it, right?” he asks, his voice breathy and so, sooo soft. “gonna keep it in for me, baby?”

[lovendergaze]

non-writers will never understand the mental illness of writing an entire conversation in your head while doing dishes and then forgetting every word the second you open a blank doc

[lovendergaze]

I love getting older. I’m hotter, more confident, more intelligent. Ageism is a dirty trap. Don’t get caught in it.

[lovendergaze]

I'm back with another request!!!

This one is remus×femreader bc we love remi in this house

Basically, remi and reader are arguing about something stupid (something to do with books) and there's a lot of flirting going on whilst arguing. Remus starts becoming a little amused while arguing and tries to hide his smile (we all know he has eyes that glitter when he's happy). Reader gets annoyed and starts going off on him and Remus kisses her to shut her up. The thing is, the reader has never been kissed before. And she REALLY likes him. So she's shocked to say the least. She stares at him in disbelieve and Remi's like "what" and she goes "you kissed me" "ik" Remus says plainly. "I've never been kissed before" reader whispers while looking down, ashamed. Remus feels bad so he takes her by her shoulders, tilts her chin up, and kisses her again. Properly.

Thanks, love! Here are some flowers for you 💐

soooo cute - hope I did your idea justice!!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader who has never been kissed

CW: fluff, narrative around consent

“I cannot believe you just said that.” You deadpanned, staring at Remus with a fiery glint in your eye as he watched you very clearly try to fight off a smile. 

“Why would I not say it?” Remus asked incredulously as you repositioned yourself on the sofa to angle your body towards him for better arguing.

“Because it’s so incredibly wrong.”

“Well now that’s ignorant.”

You scoffed disbelievingly at him. “You did not just call me ignorant.”

“Nope, wrong again.” He laughed. “I said your statement was ignorant.”

“In what sodding world did Amy and Laurie make any sense?” You asked then, slapping your hand against your knee to punctuate your question.

“Uhm, this one? Obviously, that’s why it’s canon.”

You pursed your lips as if you were restraining yourself from bodily launching yourself at Remus; he really wished you wouldn’t.

“Author’s don’t get it right all of the time.” You said instead of telling Remus to go fuck himself. 

“I don’t think that’s true; this book has become a classic for a reason. Louisa May Alcott didn’t write these things by accident, there was intention and purpose behind these characters and their choices.”

“Yes, and the purpose was to drive readers mad!” You nearly screeched.

“Or perhaps it was to illustrate to young women that they don’t need to settle for their childhood friend.” He countered. 

“It wasn’t settling! She loved him back!” 

Remus couldn’t help but smile then; between your passion, how cute you looked when you were wound up, and the fact that you were screaming about love made his own heart beat in double time. 

“You’re sodding laughing at me.” You narrated with a disbelieving head shake, clearly misinterpreting Remus’ lovesick expression for humour. “Remus Lupin! Stop laughing at me!” You shouted playfully, landing a few good whacks on his arm with the book as he pretended to shield himself from you. 

“Okay, so not only do you have horrid takes on classic literature, but you also use classic literature to assault people? What has the world come to?” Remus teased as you continued your attack. 

“You. Are. Infuriating!” You spat, punctuating each word with a whack as you moved to stand on your knees for better access to Remus.

Better access indeed he decided as he quickly grabbed your wrists, rendering your weapon utterly useless as it hung limp in your hand.

“I’m infuriating, am I?” He asked you quietly.

“Exhausting.” You agreed, matching his volume.

“Exhausting?”

“Troublesome.”

“Is that so?” 

“And completely unromantic! I mean, how could-”

But he never got to hear what your next argument was about how perfect Laurie and Jo would have been together before he quickly slotted his lips against yours.

For how energetic the conversation had been, the kiss was decidedly not; it was soft, gentle, tentative, and Remus only hoped you couldn’t read him like a book for how utterly in love he was with you. 

And entirely too soon was Remus pulling away from your face, still holding your wrists as he looked between your eyes.

“You…kissed me.” You whispered; the statement sounding nearly like a question as you looked at Remus with a mixture of shock and bemusement. 

Remus felt his stomach drop; was he not supposed to? He should have asked first; fucking arse. Had he read this all wrong; were you not into him like that? Had he been projecting his own feelings onto you, merely expecting you to reciprocate feelings he’d never properly expressed? 

“Yes…I- was that not okay?”

“I…I’ve never been kissed before…” You admitted quietly, arms falling limp in Remus’ hands as he loosened his grip. 

“Oh dove, I’m sorry. I- did…you want to be kissed?” He asked, leaving out the ‘by me?’ 

You looked surprised at his question; the corner of your mouth turning upwards as you examined Remus' face. He hoped to Godric his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. 

“Very much so.” You whispered.

Feeling hopefully brave by the way your fingers were fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve and the way your eyes were fixed on his lips, he moved his hands to your waist and encouraged you to straddle his lap. You positioned yourself immediately, as if being in his lap was the most natural thing in the world, watching as his hands trailed up to your shoulders and down your arms, guiding your hands to rest on his shoulders. 

“Yeah?” He asked under his breath. 

“Please.” You whispered back.

“Oh pretty girl,” he cooed; pushing a lock of hair behind your ear before hooking a finger under your chin to pull your lips towards his. “It’d be my absolute pleasure.”

© ellecdc; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.

[lovendergaze]

PAIRING : season9!spencer + shy!reader

i thought of season 9/10 Spencer but early Reid in long term rs would prolly be similar to this.. 💔

You’re trying to focus on the ocean documentary. Truly. The narrator is saying something about coral reefs and the delicate balance of marine ecosystems, and the footage is stunning.. For sure! But Spencer’s hand resting on your thigh is making concentration physically impossible.

Not in a wild way. Not blatant. Just… casual. Light. Soft. His fingers brush slowly now and then, like he’s not even thinking about it, like it’s just muscle memory. But you know better.

“Did you know octopuses have three hearts?” he says softly, voice far too close to your ear, like he’s just sharing a fact, not actively setting your whole nervous system on fire. “Two pump blood to the gills, one to the rest of the body. And when they swim, the heart that serves the body actually stops beating.”

You blink. “I—what?” Looking away from his hands and to his face, trying your best to show your focus on his favourite oceanic documentary.

He looks at you, all innocent. “It’s true. It’s one of the reasons they prefer crawling to swimming. Less strain.”

His fingers shift just slightly higher on your thigh.

You inhale a little too sharply.

“Are you even watching the documentary?” you manage to whisper, trying not to squirm.

“I am,” he replies with a small smile, eyes still on the screen. “You just… make it hard to focus sometimes.”

He says it so matter-of-factly you short-circuit. I'm making it hard to focus? No, he's making me go insane while acting so casually.

Your voice comes out small. “You’re the one touching me…”

He glances at you, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh. I didn’t realize I was being distracting.”

Liar.

His thumb draws slow, barely-there circles on your leg. “But, if it helps, did you also know sea otters hold hands while they sleep so they don’t drift apart?”

You reach for his other hand smiling at his fact, "that's cute, it's like us right?"

“Kind of. I'd never even get close to drifting away from you though.” he says, voice all soft and amused, pulling you closer so your legs are now on his lap.

You’re blushing so hard you can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks, and he finally turns to look at you fully, his grin softening into something almost tender.

“I like watching you get flustered,” he murmurs. “You’re cute when you're all shy, looking so pretty for me.”

He leans in, brushing a kiss to your jaw, then goes right back to watching the screen like nothing happened.

You’re not going to remember a single fact about the ocean.

A/N?? If you enjoyed. Please check out the rest of my new works! Im new and it'll help a lot please.

[lovendergaze]

✴︎ RIBBON DIVIDERS

ﾉ Please reblog & credit if you use!

For different colors just send me an ask please!

WHEAT

SHADOW

PINK SKY

SPRING TIME

ICE COLD

[lovendergaze]

✴︎ LACE DIVIDERS

ﾉ Please reblog & credit if you use!

For different colors just send me an ask please!

SUCCULENTS

FOREST

MOON BLUE

OCEAN

PURPLE HAZE

[lovendergaze]

best friends to lovers is about DEVOTION it's about CODEPENDENCY it's about the intimacy of being known and being seen it's about holding someone so close to your heart you forget where you end and where they begin it's about knowing the worst parts about someone and loving them not only despite but FOR it

[lovendergaze]

while we're both here; part four

Synopsis: Remus takes to avoiding you after he feels he revealed too much, thinking it will protect you, when in reality you're left reeling. Luckily, his friends love to meddle and he can't stay away too long.

Words: 6.9k

Tags: fem!reader, undisclosed chronic illness that causes you pain and fatigue (writer has EDS and POTS), dual pov, angst, slight miscommunication trope, physical and emotional hurt/comfort, remus' lycanthropy and related drama, secrecy and self-hatred, intense mutual yearning, remus' Great Coping Skills, found family with the marauders, chronic pain, eventual fluff and happy ending, physical affection, maternal!pomfrey, background marauders + prongsfoot, first kiss

Note: there's a vague explanation for why you don't have friends come visit you in the infirmary, so that you yourself can decide whether you have set that boundary with them or something else<3

previous part | series masterlist | next part

Remus Lupin might be an arsehole, but he was an arsehole that loved you and thus protected you in the way he knew best. 

In other words, Remus had been avoiding you for two weeks.

While everything about when he saw you last was what he yearned for, ached for in the solitude of his own bed, it was also the very reason why he needed to distance himself from you. The kindness in your eyes, the warmth of your touch, the fact that the night spent beside you was the best he had ever slept post-full moon – it was all evidence of a purity in you that he refused to taint.

It’s best you walk this life alone, son, Lyall had told him. Repeatedly. Remus believed it, because what good argument is there against that? No one would want to spend their life beside a part-time monster, and anyone who did were too good to be damned to such a punishment.

While your hand in his was in no way a promise that you would even want to spend your whole life with him, it was too close for comfort. 

He had picked up on your patterns and your habits enough that it was fairly easy, practically speaking, to avoid you. He knew what days of the week drained you to the point that you needed to stop by the infirmary, he knew what classes you had when, he knew where you stopped for breaks mid-day when everything got too much – and so, he was able to stay out of your way. There were barely any close calls, that’s how well he had come to know you by now. 

Emotionally speaking, though, he was a wreck. And his mates had had enough of it.

“I know this might be on us, nicknaming you Moony and all,” Sirius drawled from where he laid sprawled out on his stomach on James’ bed. “But this level of mooning is absolutely unacceptable.”

Remus threw his head back against the pillows, looking away from the book he had been trying to read until he remembered that you love the author. “Can a lad not want to spend a night in? You sods are not required to stay here with me, go parade the halls if you’re all so sick of me.”

“You know that’s not what he meant,” James placated, even as he pushed his socked foot into Sirius’ side from the other side of his bed. “And we’re not going anywhere until you tell us what’s wrong.”

“Is this about the girl?” Peter piped up from the floor between the two beds. He was trying to balance a tower of his own books on the soles of his feet hovering in the air, looking way too innocent for Remus’ liking, considering his line of questioning.

“Which girl are you talking about?” he tried, shrugging.

Sirius groaned. Loudly. “Oh me, oh my, whichever of my many birds might my mates be referring to?” he mocked in a high-pitched tone, rolling over to throw his arm over his face dramatically. “I, Remus John Lupin, the casanova that I am, simply have too many potential relationships to even have an inkling of an idea of who you may be referring to!”

James giggled like a boy in love.

Remus gave them both a hard look, voice dry. “I have no potential relationships to speak of, and I’m friends with many girls. So no, I don’t know who Peter is referring to.”

Sirius took a break from grinning at James to roll his eyes at Remus, raising his eyebrows urgently. “Don’t insult us, Moons. We know you.” 

“She’s nice,” Peter commented absentmindedly. “Kind, I mean. And she seems to care about you quite a bit, at least from what I can tell. So I can’t imagine she has done anything to you, meaning…” He rolled his head sideways to look at Remus, a thinly veiled accusation hanging in the air.

Remus wanted to throw the book away – but then he, again, remembered that you love the author. He placed it gently on his bedside table before he slumped further down in his bed, dragging his palms over his face roughly. “I haven’t done anything to her…” he mumbled. Upon his friends’ expecting silence, he added, “I just haven’t talked to her in a while, ‘s all.”

“Aweh, Moony is in loooove,” James sing-songed, looking all too happy when Remus grimaced and Peter giggled.

Sirius wasn’t as easily won over. He sat up on his knees and narrowed his eyes at Remus, lifting an accusatory finger, voicing the million pounds question. “And why is that, Remus?”

Peter widened his eyes and looked at James in faux terror. “He called him Remus. He’s pulling out the big guns,” he stage-whispered to his friend.

Remus felt like shrinking beneath his friends’ knowing looks and comments. He knew he couldn’t get out of this one.

Eventually, he sighed, dropping his hands to his sides. “If you know me so well, then you know why I can’t talk to her anymore.”

When Remus was released from the infirmary, he had told his mates about how you came to find him, which drew various reactions from them about how you had defied their warning to stay away. James was genuinely shocked, having believed his lie foolproof, while Sirius and Peter’s theories about your relationship cemented themselves. They all had noticed the war between hope and dejection on Remus’ face, though. 

That very same night, the first back in his own bed, he zeroed in on the latter. Remus vowed to save you from himself by putting as much distance as possible between you before any more damage was made.

His friends didn’t seem to be in agreement. “There is no such thing as can’t, Rem,” James said gently, eyes soft and urging – Remus avoided them.

“You know what I mean,” he answered, mumbling.

Sirius shook his head so adamantly some of his black strands came out from his low bun. James reached out to tuck them back behind his ears as Sirius spoke. “Babe, don’t have such low expectations of her. Like Pete said, she seems like a kind enough girl.”

“It’s not that.” Remus had had enough, he sat up on the side of his bed facing away from his mates, leaning his elbows on his knees. His body was still aching, but now a majority of the pain stemmed from a weight in his chest. “She is kind, so she would probably… accept it, if I’m being honest. And she’s also incredibly smart, so I couldn’t keep it from her at a friendly distance either. That’s why I can’t. She deserves better.”

There was a silence hanging in the room for a minute, disagreement oozing out from behind him that he tried to shut his mind off to. 

“What do you deserve?” Peter whispered.

Remus shut his eyes. Opened them. 

“A good night’s rest.”

With that, Remus got up off the bed and headed towards the adjunct bathroom, leaving his mates behind him, glancing at each other. He didn’t want to look back, lest he see the concern and pity he always loathed to find. 

In reality, James and Sirius read each other’s minds with a single glance – and looked to Peter to confirm silently that they, in fact, had to cook up a plan. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You had spent the past three days in the infirmary, but luckily you could distract yourself from the pain by focussing on how self-righteously upset you were.

Which again was a distraction from the heartbreak simmering in your chest.

Nothing feels easy when your body is made of poorly glued together sticks and the heaviest, sharpest rocks one could find in the Forbidden Forest. Yet, with Remus over the past months, it has been easier, almost like you’re floating together in this liminal space you shared.

It was evident to you that it wasn’t a coincidence you haven’t seen him for days on end – he was avoiding you.

Why that is, you’re not as certain of, your logic warring with your insecurities. Was he uncomfortable with how much you have come to see of him? Did he realise that your connection had become more intense than either of you expected or intended, and wanted out?

Regardless, you’re left with a pit in your stomach and the feeling of being thrown away. Not to mention a decent amount of concern and worry for him, which only made you feel even worse.

“Anything I can get you, dear?” Madam Pomfrey, your personal saving grace, pulled you out of your thoughts.

You were trembling with pain. The kind where it feels like your bones are jerking involuntarily and not just your muscles, your face scrunched up at the overwhelming sensation. It was what brought you to the infirmary three days ago, as only medicine and potions could touch your pain – but even with it, you were on edge, not quite spared. Pomfrey cared for you wonderfully as always, doting on you perhaps a bit more than necessary, as if she could tell something was off with you.

Though, it wasn’t all that difficult to notice the Remus-sized absence in the infirmary wing that usually only hosted the two of you. 

“Nothing I can think of,” you managed to bite out. Talking hurt. Everything hurt. You also knew that she wasn’t asking you because she was wondering – Pomfrey was far too familiar with your conditions, not to mention skilled as a matron, to not be able to read your cues. She asked because she wanted to hear from you.

She hummed in answer, a long, drawn-out sound, while she walked around your infirmary bed. “Don’t worry yourself with thinking today, love,” she teased. “Your brain is already working overtime.”

You were uncertain whether she was referring to your pain or your overthinking. It struck you once more how well she knew you, in that way only a mother would. 

“Want to give me a potion to turn it off?” You winced after speaking, but the comedic relief felt worth it. 

“Ah yes, let me schedule you in for a brain removal surgery. Does 6 PM tonight work for you?” She looked up at you as she checked something off on her clipboard. On extensive visits, she liked to keep closer tabs on your condition so that she would not fall behind on potion brewings or mix up your treatments. 

You closed your eyes for what felt like just a second, preparing yourself for a quippy comeback. In reality, you must have slipped from consciousness if only for a few minutes, because instead of opening your mouth to respond, your attention was called to a commotion outside.

“Professor Pomfrey?!” A voice that sounded suspiciously familiar called, followed by a soft umph as if they had been elbowed rather harshly. “Sorry, Madam Pomfrey? You here?”

The matron was still standing by your bedside, preparing bandages to spell cool and warm to wrap around various parts of your body, depending on its needs. You looked over to her to see her shoulders visibly deflate and her eyes momentarily close, as if frustrated. “Those Black brothers will be the death of me,” she mumbled haughtily before walking towards the curtains separating your wing from the rest of the ward. “Back in a moment dear.”

You were unsure what experiences she had with the younger Black, Regulus, whom you had only sat with in the library a handful of times. His older brother, though, you had enough of an understanding of to empathise with your Poppy – but also enough to bite back a smile at the incoming altercation.

Their voices were far enough away that you couldn’t hear every word, but you caught just enough.

“James–”

“– terribly injured–”

“– simply must help him, Madam–”

“Uhm, perhaps over there–”

“– long-term only–”

“No, that’s the only place he’ll relax–”

“– Merlin, fuck, it hurts so bloody mu–”

“Quiet down, mate.”

The last voice you most certainly recognised. While you had been able to entertain yourself with the imagined glimpse of Potter and Black caught up in some clearly overdramatised injury, the sound of their friend trying to herd them sent a jolt through your heart.

Remus. Your Remus.

No, not yours anymore. Never was. You don’t think so.

You suddenly felt impossibly small in your infirmary bed. This place that had just recently begun to feel romanticised and even lovely for the first time in your life, like an opportunity you were gifted instead of a place you were cursed with, now felt too vulnerable. The infirmary didn’t just hold the memories of your pain, but also of the connection you had been cultivating with Remus – you felt far too weak at the minute to face the possibility of that connection being in the past.

That was exactly what you were about to be faced with, though, as you heard Pomfrey’s theatrical sigh and a loud, “Alright then, follow me.” You wondered if she was being loud to warn you about your incoming guests.

By the curtain separating your wing from the rest of the infirmary, you heard her footsteps halt, followed by a rather strict, “Be quiet. There are other students here that require peace.”

You had a few seconds to prepare, but you were in no real state to roll over or hide away. Your hips were stabbing, the pain becoming blinding with any movement, so you remained immobile. Instead, you just tried to melt down into the many pillows and blankets Pomfrey provided you with, turning your head away from the entryway and closing your eyes in order to feel at least somewhat shielded. 

If I can’t see them, they can’t see me.

Somewhere in your mind, you damned Remus Lupin for making you desperate to the point of logical fallacies.

The sound of the three boys shuffling in after Pomfrey probably wasn’t all that loud, but you remained hyper-aware of it. 

“This bed right here would be suitable, Mr. Black.” Pomfrey spoke to Sirius, who grunted as he presumably helped ease James into a bed on the opposite side from you, quite far away. Thank you, Poppy.

“There ya are, Prongs.”

You heard a breath hitch, and it struck you how you were even able to recognise Remus’ breath. 

Movement stilled across the room, as if frozen at his reaction. To what, you remained in the dark about. Then— hushed whispers, this time so quietly you couldn’t hear what was being said, only bathe in the cacophony of Remus’ Welsh lilt and Pomfrey’s Scottish melodies. 

There was momentary silence before you heard Pomfrey whisper, “Go, dear.”

She quickly resumed caring for James and whatever he had done that was bad enough that he had to come in here. You heard Sirius begin to lament. “You see, Madam, James and I were practising Quidditch when one of the bludgers completely lost control, like it’d been hexed or something, and–”

Faintly, over the sound of Sirius’ dramatic reenactment, you caught footsteps closing in on you. They sounded uncertain, if that’s a quality you can prescribe to footsteps. Hesitant. Or maybe the pain potions were finally catching up with you.

What you heard next was unmistakable, though. 

“D– Dove?” Remus’ whisper was incredibly soft, barely audible. He was closer now, you could tell, both based on his voice and the light movement of the sheets at the bottom of your bed, as if he was brushing his fingertips against it.

For a second, you considered playing dead – it wouldn’t be far off from how you felt anyway. Something stopped you. It might have been the scent you had come to associate with him slowly enveloping you in his presence. 

You hummed weakly in response without opening your eyes. Uncertain of if he was worth it, even as your heart had begun to thunder. 

“Dove?” he asked again, right after you heard the horrid clicking of his knees. 

You slowly peeled open your eyes, lashes fluttering as the sight of Remus crouched on the floor beside your head, faces inches apart. His tawny hair had fallen in his eyes as he looked at you with furrowed brows, a deep-seated worry simmering in his amber eyes. 

“Remus,” you answered, voice hoarse from lack of use yet you tried to force it to be neutral. 

You cast a glance over your shoulder – accompanied by a sick cracking sound – to see Sirius and James watching the two of you while Pomfrey gestured to James’ leg. They quickly looked away when your eyes met, focussing back on the matron. 

When you turned back to Remus, you caught him scanning your form, the furrow deepening. He had seen the bandages Pomfrey had been working on, and must surely notice the lived-in condition your bed was currently in. 

His eyes met yours once more. “Is there anything I can do for you? To ease the pain?”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say. Not that, at least. Though, maybe you had been foolish to expect Remus to address the elephant in the room when you had come to know his presence as quietly doting above all else. 

“Is there?” you replied, holding his gaze hostage. Silently communicating the unspoken. 

He pressed his lips together as if chastised. “If there is,” he began gently, not letting up. “Please tell me. I want to help.”

You shifted in your bed a little to alleviate the pain, only to grimace; a look which Remus promptly mirrored. You sat up a little straighter despite how the dizziness washed over you, wanting to feel a bit more put together for this conversation. 

You considered him for only a minute before desperation won. For relief and, possibly, for his support. “Poppy was about to cast some temperature charms. Do you know any?”

It was a senseless question, as you knew he had seen her do it a thousand times. He usually only needed warm bandages, but your pain required cooling from the neck up and heat everywhere else. Remus dared a small smile as he gave a quick nod, bracing himself against your bedside table as he eased himself back onto his feet.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, organising the bandages and beginning the spells.

You watched him for a while before you found the strength to reply. “Shouldn’t you be over there with James?”

Remus briefly glanced at you sideways before turning back to the bandages, focussing intently. “He’ll be fine. Besides, he’s got Sirius.” He swallowed harshly, seemingly uncertain about whether to ask his next question. “Has no one visited you while you’ve been here?”

It struck you as ridiculous for him to ask, not understanding his worry. “You know my situation and why I don’t ask for visitors.”

His movements stilled, and he turned his head to look at you properly. He looked more inconsolable than he had any right to be. “Well, yeah, but– if you’ve been here for a while, shouldn’t someone anyway?”

You shook your head softly. “Why do you care?” 

Perhaps that was cruel to ask, but the pain was wearing your patience down. Nevertheless, he didn’t answer, just quickly finished up the bandages before tucking his wand away.

“May I?” 

You nodded at his whisper, allowing him to help wrap you in the bandages. Remus’ movements were gentle as he perched on the side of your bed and began to wrap the cold bandages over your shoulders, behind your neck and over your forehead. “‘S this alright?” he murmured, thumb just barely brushing over your temple. 

“Yeah,” you replied breathlessly. “Can you do the rest as well?”

Remus nodded, hands shaking ever so slightly as he helped pull the blankets aside to reveal your body in the infirmary gown. It struck you that maybe that was how he realised you had been here for a while, as you were usually adamant about wearing your own clothes. 

The heated bandages were larger, so that he could simply drape them over your ribs and hips, carefully nudging some under the small of your back, not wanting to move you too much. You watched him wordlessly as he packed your knees in with more vigilance than probably needed.

When he finished, he quickly cast a spell to lock the bandages in place, so that their permanent temperature could continue to relieve you. “D’you want the blankets back on, love?”

You didn’t feel like answering out loud, so you simply nodded and allowed him to swaddle you back up. Once he did, Remus didn’t stand up from where he sat on your beside, too tense for your liking.

“I– uh–” He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, at a loss for words with the new atmosphere hanging between you. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

You weren’t sure whether the hope you caught in his voice was him hoping for a yes or a no.

“I thought you were done shacking up with me,” you said in response. A bit pointed, maybe too direct, but it felt suitable. 

Remus looked both slapped and shunned, yet not surprised. “No, I– it’s not like that.” His eyes were wide as he took in your tired expression, looking to be weighing his options before settling on one. “I’ve just… had a lot to think about.” 

“Yes, it most certainly requires quite a lot of brain power to actively avoid someone long-term. You must be exhausted.” 

He sighed heavily, looking torn, his gaze flitting around your face and the room. He was unprepared in a way you had never seen him, a way he was surely uncomfortable with. “I– I’m sorry, love. You’re right, but I… I hope you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I don’t know. Please, do explain.” Your eyes were heavy, and you had to fight for them to stay open, not wanting to miss it.

Remus stared at you for a second, almost heartbroken. Then he nodded once, twice. “Can I stay, then? If I am to do it, I want to do it proper.”

So, he was hoping to stay. You swallowed around the emotion in your throat, holding his gaze. “I– yeah. Yeah, Remus, you can stay.”

He stood up from your side, momentarily confusing you, before he cast an accio, bringing one of the plush chairs to your bed, closer than guests usually sat. He looked up at you with the hint of a smile, but whatever he said was cut off.

“Remus, dear, your friend is alright!” Pomfrey called from across the room.

Both you and Remus turned around, but he instantly turned to you at the hiss you let out at how it strained your shoulders, his hand shooting out to your side to pacify you. By the time he also looked up and your eyes were fully turned towards Sirius, James and Pomfrey, all three of them were already looking at you with varying degrees of amusement.

“What?” Remus asked dumbly. You found it irredeemably cute – which you shouldn’t, because he hadn’t even explained himself yet.

“Mr. Potter. His knee wasn’t broken or dislocated or twisted or anything, after all. Just a little bruised and beat up. I’m prescribing him a good night’s rest and a vial of pain relief potion.” Pomfrey’s clarification was issued with her hands on her hips, which were jutted to the side.

James sat on the edge of his bed behind her with Sirius’ hand on his shoulder, both exchanging glances that you didn’t care to decipher. 

“Oh,” Remus said, looking back at you. Momentarily, you expected the worst before he mumbled a small, “I’ll be right back, dove.”

He closed the distance between him and his friends in a few quick strides, rubbing his elbow uncertainly as he looked between all three figures before him. “I– yeah, I expected as much. Glad you’re okay, James,” he offered his friends quickly, who were grinning while Pomfrey wasn’t looking.

“Okay is a stretch, but yes, I am also relieved I will survive.” Both Remus and Sirius snorted, though their laughs carried wildly different atmospheres.

Then, Remus turned to the matron, looking somewhat sheepish. “Thank you Poppy, but I, uh– actually, I was thinking I might spend the night, if that’s alright with you? My knees probably wouldn’t fare well with the stairs back up to Gryffindor this late.”

Pomfrey raised a suspicious eyebrow at him, even as a warm smile lurked across her lips. She looked over to his mates, who were both carefully neutral beneath her gaze in a manner you had never seen before. “Aren’t you boys going to ask to carry him back up to your dorm, like you always try to suggest?”

“Agh, well, I just figured I shouldn’t put so much weight on my leg already, matron–” James began, scratching the back of his neck. 

The older woman cut him off with a wave. “Alright, go, go, I understand. You’ll all reunite in the morning.”

The tips of Remus’ ears were red as he avoided Pomfrey’s gaze. “G’night lads, I’ll see you. Uh, feel better soon James.”

James grinned. “Will do, Moony, same to you!”

Sirius dutifully held James close and alleviated some of the weight off of his so-called injured leg, looking like he was carrying him away from a car wreck and not from having just been cleared by Pomfrey. The two were already whispering, heads put close together. 

Pomfrey turned to Remus, holding his gaze. You could tell how he looked borderline squeamish before she gestured towards you. “Go to her,” she whispered cheekily, just loud enough for you to hear. 

The redness had spread onto the apples of his cheeks by the time he returned to your side. Though, as he eased onto the armchair and watched Pomfrey leave you to it, unease began to take over his features.

You felt almost like you were in a fever-dream, the whole situation seeming absurd to you. Yet, you stayed patient, trying to relax into the bed as you watched him brace himself.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Remus said through a forced laugh, crossing his legs at the ankles and looking down at his hands.

“Well, are you upset with me?” It was one of the things you wanted to know the most.

His eyes flew up to meet yours. “No! Gods, no, not at all. Merlin, I’m sorry you even have to ask that, dove.”

You felt some of the ice in your heart melt away, just like the tension in your muscles were beginning to with the help of the bandages he spelled for you. “Alright… alright, that’s good then. Are you scared of me?”

At that, Remus averted his gaze, his internal struggle more visible on his handsome features than ever before. “Not quite… but in a way, I suppose. I’m scared for you.”

Your eyelashes fluttered, confusion taking over you. “For me?”

“Yeah, I… you’re kind. And smart, and sweet, and yes, very strong, but you shouldn’t have to be that kind of strong, not for me.”

Remus was still talking to his hands, his knees brushing against the side of your mattress. You were too buried in your mountain of pillows to reach for his face, so you settled on placing your hand on top of his. It made him look up at you, which was really all you wanted. “Love, you’re not making any sense to me right now.”

He took a deep breath. “I’ve been avoiding you because that’s what I should be doing. For you. I don’t mean to be presumptuous but I– we’ve gotten… close. And I was beginning to grow hopeful that we would only continue to get closer, which is why I knew I had to get out.”

You pressed your lips together and nodded, tasting blood in your mouth. “You’re scared of love. That’s alright, I get it.” You didn’t mean for that word to slip out, and by the look on Remus’ face, he had not expected to hear it, looking dumbfounded and almost panicked. 

You almost corrected yourself by saying commitment, but somehow that felt more intimate. 

“N-no,” he stammered. “I’m scared of what loving me would do to you. I– I’m not saying you do, but on the off-chance, I want to shield you. You… you deserve better, dove.”

Your face fell on his behalf, your eyes softening as if that would be of any comfort to him. “Remus…” you murmured, pained. “What an awful thing to say about yourself.”

His hands twitched as if he wanted to scratch his neck the way he always does when feeling awkward and chastised. Instead, he slipped one of his hands out from beneath yours limply resting on top of his, only to cradle your hand between both of his. “It’s not like that,” he said lowly, words laced with a strange humour.

 “What about your other friends?” you urged. “They love you, and they seem just fine to me.”

Remus looked over your face for a moment too long, as if steeling himself. His hands tightened on yours. “Not like that, dove.”

He had said it without saying it, just barely addressing what was blooming between you. It made you feel all the more choked to preserve it. You held his hand tighter, even though you still felt weak.

“I’m a big girl, Rem. Don’t I deserve to make my own decisions about who I keep around? Who I care about?” You lowered your voice and added, “Not to mention, you’re a big boy. Big enough to communicate and not just run off with your tail tucked between your legs.”

A look flashed across Remus’ face at your metaphor, and a knowing sensation spread throughout you at the sight. He quickly schooled it away, though, in favour of furrowing his brows adamantly.

“I know. I’m sorry. I thought I would cause the least amount of hurt that way…” He took in your form. “I was wrong.”

“One thing about me is that I will be in pain no matter what you do or don’t do. No matter who I love or don’t love. If you want to protect me, all you really need to do is learn how to brew pain relief potions and get enough reflexes to catch me when I fall.” 

“In that case, I’m already good to go.”

You shared a small smile at your attempt at a joke. Remus scooted forward to the edge of his seat, his knees now burrowing into the side of your mattress as he tried to get closer. The sun had almost entirely set outside the infirmary windows, making the candles around you burn brighter in the incoming darkness.

“Do you want to be in my life, Remus? Because I won’t force you, but I also won’t watch you change your mind over and over.” You found yourself whispering, the words feeling too heavy for full speech.

Remus’ eyes were wide, filled with emotion as he struggled to answer. “I, ye– you–”

“I don’t want to hear whether you think you should be. Do you want to be in my life?”

“Yes.” Remus’ response was immediate this time. “Of course I do. Being with you… it’s made being here tolerable. Enjoyable, even. You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel. Things I certainly know I shouldn’t.”

Your thumb brushed over the back of his hand; you could feel his pulse racing against your own wrist. “I don’t believe in should and shouldn’t. If you want to be in my life, I want to keep you in it. Your presence has only ever brought me joy, it’s your absence that hurts.”

His breath faltered and he quickly looked away. “For now, maybe, but love, it won’t stay that way. I’m… different. In a way you don’t deserve.”

“What do you deserve?” you asked. Remus froze, as if that question meant more to him than what met the eye. “I’m different. Do you blame me for it?”

“No, I don’t, I would never. You’re different in a good way, that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m different in that… I’m dangerous. I’m no good.”

“I can probably be dangerous too, if I faint on top of someone–”

Remus cut you off. “It’s not like that,” he said urgently, clutching your hands. “It’s not like that.” He looked remorseful for interrupting you but no less adamant, almost desperate. 

You decided to take a risk. You were both more vulnerable than ever, and he was being cryptic. Maybe this is what needed to be said.

You caressed his pulse gently as you spoke. “Yes, because you’re different in the way that lands you in the infirmary after full moons, no?” Remus froze properly this time, unbreathing, eyes closed. “That doesn’t bother me one bit, Remus. I only care that it hurts you.”

Slowly, Remus leaned forward, resting his forehead against your mattress, beside your shoulder. His breathing was laboured and you wondered whether he was hiding an incoming panic attack or sob. He held your hand tighter than ever before, though. “I–” he tried, but his words were choked. “It should. It should bother you.”

You hadn’t been sure that you were right, but now you knew you had to be. Broken bones.

With the potions taking more and more effect and the bandages helping ease your pain, you were able to roll onto your side so that you could card your free fingers through Remus’ messy hair. “It doesn’t. And you can monologue all you want about how it should, but it won’t change anything for me. You’ve held my face when I’ve fainted. You’ve held my hand when I’ve cried. What’s there not to love?”

Remus’ shoulders trembled. You let him stay there, beneath your calming touch for as long as he needed.

You worried his internal battle was still being fought. That he was soaking up his final moments with you before banishing himself. You felt helpless against his free will, just tried to hold him through the decision. 

At last, Remus lifted his head and rested his elbows on the mattress, leaning his chin on his hands that were still clutching yours between them. His eyes were red rimmed, his cheeks wet. He looked at you with desperation written all over your face. “How did you know?”

You shrugged, as far as you could in your current position. “I didn’t. Not really, but I’ve been watching you just as much as you’ve been watching me, Rem.”

Unlike any other times where you pointed out that you had picked up on his warming affections, Remus didn’t fluster or flush; he seemed to melt a little, leaning more heavily into your touch.

“You don’t care?”

“Only about you.”

His breath stuttered, eyes faltering for a second before returning to yours. “I knew you wouldn’t, but that’s what scares me. I don’t wish that life on you.”

“I’ve come to find that life is only ever what you make of it. I spend most of it in the infirmary, and in the future, I’ll probably spend a lot of it at St. Mungos. I thought that was no life, but I’ve… learnt. Now I know that it’s all about what you do with what you’re given – and who’s willing to do it with you.”

Remus took a deep breath, before dropping his lips down to press a kiss to your knuckles. “If you ever want out of… of my life. Tell me. Please.” 

“I won’t–” you began, but Remus shook his head.

“Please.”

“Remus. I won’t want to. I won’t need to.” You squeezed his hand, looking at him ardently. “I’ll always be honest with you, that I can promise. But I won’t want out, not because of that.”

“Okay,” he forced out, nodding. Giving in. “Alright. Fuck, yeah, alright.” He leaned his forehead against your intertwined hands, taking a moment to breathe, to process. You readily gave it to him, taking the opportunity to close your eyes and let out a pained breath.

Your focus was recaptured when he kissed your knuckles again. “Alright,” he repeated, except this time his voice was filled with newfound acceptance and conviction. “May I… may I stay with you? Like last time?”

Your mind flashes back to a memory of waking up, your limbs tangled in Remus’ in an infirmary bed that was much bigger than it had been when you fell asleep in it.

You smile weakly at him, giving him a swift nod. “Of course.” After a second you decided to be brave enough to add, “It’s the best sleep I’ve ever had in the infirmary.”

Remus’ face became a bit brighter as he looked down. His next words seemed somewhat forced, like he didn’t know how to be casual about it around you yet, but he gave them to you readily. “It’s the best sleep I’ve ever had after a moon.”

You let out a soft breath at the emotion that spread through you at the moment you shared.

With aching joints, Remus eased out of his seat, squeezing your hands before releasing them. He pushed the chair away and unsheathed his wand to transfigure the bed to double in size, almost knocking over the bedside table to the next bed over. It made you giggle, which in turn made you cough. Remus made a tutting sound that was equal parts entertained and sympathetic.

“I’ll just be a minute, dove,” Remus whispered before slipping behind the curtain to his usual bed beside yours, to quickly change into the spare shift of pyjamas he keeps there.

Once he was changed, Remus tentatively eased into bed beside you, placing his pillow that he brought from his own bed beside yours. He laid down on his side, facing you with his hands fisting in the sheets between you.

For a few precious moments, you just looked at each other. Despite the darkness, you noticed the reddish and greenish specks in his amber eyes, along with the emotion swirling there.

“Does this mean we’re good?” you asked, your voice taking up a startling amount of space in the quiet, intimate room you shared.

“We were always good,” Remus whispered. “I was just scared for you. But you never did anything wrong.”

You inch your fingers closer to his, wrapping your pinky around his between you. “We’re friends again? Faux dormmates?”

“Yeah,” Remus breathed out. His eyes were furrowed, though, as if that wasn’t enough. “I care about you, dove.”

“And I care about you.” Your eyes flickered all over Remus’ face, taking in each furrow, each crevice. The hollow of his cheek, the curve of his lips. His face seemed closer to yours than you remembered it. “I can’t stay on my side for long,” you murmured in warning.

“That’s alright,” he whispered, feeling breathless once more. When your eyes flickered up to his, you found them watching your lips. “I’ll do anything to help with the pain. Just let me know.”

It didn’t evade your attention that Madam Pomfrey hadn’t returned to check up on you yet before bed. You were grateful as you found yourself floating closer to Remus.

“I just need you. Goodnight, love.”

Even as you said it, you didn’t move. Neither did he.

“Goodnight, my dove.” 

Remus lingered. He wouldn’t move, he wouldn’t cross the line. It looked like he couldn’t even believe he was here with you, soaking up the moment.

In the dead of night in the infirmary wing just the two of you shared, you risked the neck pain of leaning forward the last inch to press your lips to Remus’ in a sweet goodnight kiss. He breathed in deeply through his nostrils, free hand coming up to cup your cheek as he kissed you back, lips soft against yours.

You broke apart a mere millimetre, waiting for a second as you breathed in each other’s air, before Remus leaned back in search of another kiss, taking your top lip between yours as he deepened it. He eased your head onto the pillow so you wouldn’t strain yourself as he kissed you. You sighed softly, feeling more boneless than any pain potion could cause. You relished in his kiss as it lingered.

You gave him one last peck before leaning more properly back against your pillows. Your eyes flitted open to find Remus’ face still in close proximity to you, eyes wide and dark, lips parted ever so slightly.

You smiled at him.

He returned it. “Sweet dreams, love,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

When he eased back down onto the bed beside you, his body remained close to yours. One set of your hands were intertwined between you while his hand that had been resting on your cheek migrated to hold your side.

Your fourth night in the row was just as painful as the rest, but not nearly as miserable. Your second night beside Remus Lupin in bed washed away your fears and cemented your love.

When Pomfrey would check on you in the early morning, she would surely feel equal parts relief and vindication.

[lovendergaze]

to add onto my earlier submission, i humbly present: ddba!mm having a major corruption kink.

in ddba, matt’s a little older. a little more weathered and battle-scarred than before. he has a well-respected and established law firm, and is probably so well-known that columbia probably asks him to be a guest lecturer a few times a year (a prof!mm x law student! reader fic might be incoming 👀). long story short, he KNOWS what he wants and he doesn’t see the point in waiting around and hoping that someone reads his mind.

so when you find yourself in his bed for the first time, you’re a tad unsure at first. he’s an older man, older than you by at least a decade (i imagine he’s in his mid-40s), judging by the smattering of gray in his stubble and creeping up his sideburns. he’s not silver fox status, not even close, but he’s nearing salt and pepper and by god that does something to you. combined with his dark glasses, his expensive leather suitcase and sharply tailored suit, he looks so distinguished and classy, standing out among the rough bikers and disheveled patrons in Josie’s.

even when you’ve been together for a few months, you’re still unsure if you’re enough to satisfy him. you can’t help but feel like you’re at a disadvantage. the age gap made it impossible for your experience to measure up to his, even if you hadn’t been so focused on school and work that your social life had suffered.

and matt knows how you worry about your own imagined inadequacy, but he can’t figure out how to soothe your insecurities. he’s tried countless times, but there’s little he can do without first confessing that he knew of them in the first place. but when he kisses you on some random tuesday before he heads to work, it’s his hand around your throat that tilts your head up. your pulse skips two beats, then begins hammering beneath the pads of his fingers, your blood rushing south in a way that seems so very out of place for a simple goodbye kiss.

that night, when he has you face down, ass up in his bed, he reaches under your arm and up to your throat, his hand once again encircling your neck. you clench around him, your body fluttering as he squeezes slightly, your orgasm sneaking up on both of you.

and from then on, matt is hooked, slowly beginning to introduce you to his usuals: restraints and blindfolds. you take to them beautifully, accidentally sinking into subspace on one memorable occasion when he’d tied you up and made you cum no less than four times. you’d been so cute, blinking blearily and loopy, your skin warm as you snuggle up to him, clutching onto him like he was a beloved stuffed animal. after proper aftercare, you’ve returned to coherency enough to comprehend and answer his questions and ask a few of your own.

it feels a tad strange, almost like he’s tainting you, polluting your innocence with his own debauchery, his lust, his desires. he feels a bit… dirty, for lack of a better word, like a perverted old man taking advantage of an innocent young woman who doesn’t know any better. but god, you sound so pretty while you beg for him, moaning out his name as you plead for mercy. he could’ve been making you wait until sunrise to cum, or forcing you to endure orgasm after orgasm until your legs are shaking and your mind is mushy and useless, but you’d take it all the same, enjoying every single thing he gave you without a second’s hesitation.

he teaches you everything he likes and everything he doesn’t. you learn to anticipate his wants and needs, learning to read his body language and his expression when he first walks in the door, to understand whether he wanted privacy or comfort, solutions or submission, your mind or your body.

and you’re all too happy to offer him both.

quick blowjob under the breakfast table as he looks over his casework for the day? you make sure to turn off the stove before heading over, kneeling between his legs as he sips his coffee and reads his notes.

being woken up in the middle of the night by his mouth on you, his tongue sliding through your slick folds as he brings you to orgasm with little effort, the only part of him that’s visible between your spread legs being the sharp red horns of his helmet? who are you to reject his favorite decompression activity ?

letting him slip his cock back into you before falling asleep so you can cockwarm him through the night? yes please!

it gets to the point that you find yourself needy and unsatisfied when he goes on business trips, leaving you without pleasure for days at a time. you resort to your various toys in times like that, but it’s never the same. you’re not submitting the way you’re used to, just seeking physical pleasure without the mental release.

when matt returns from his trip, he finds you face down on the bed, your hand between your legs, pumping one of your dildos in and out of your pretty pussy and whining in frustration at how little it satisfies you. he can smell the salt of your tears in the air, the hitched sobs you muffle with the pillow as you desperately chase your orgasm, needing the physical release even if your mind was tumultuous and chaotic.

until you hear matt chuckle, deep and low and taunting.

“poor thing,” he’d say, smirking at the way you yelp and freeze in place at his sudden presence in the doorway. he shushes the soft, relieved sob you let out, a dark sense of pride rising within him as you raise your ass up, presenting your pussy (with the dildo still lodged inside you) like an animal in heat. “i’m sorry, baby. looks like i’ve trained you too well.”

and as he nears rounds the bed, he pushes at your hip, having you roll onto your back so he can easily access the toy. you’re obscenely wet, his fingers nearly sliding on the slick silicone base, but he finds his grip easily enough, obliging your desperate whimpers by resuming the gentle pumps in and out, angling it just right so that it brushes that little spongy spot inside you.

you’re reduced to a babbling, drooling mess within a minute or two, your mind easily sinking into that blissfully fuzzy headspace once more. matt is back. you trusted him to take control, to please you, to make any discomfort turn into pleasure.

he’s trained you well, after all.

- ⭐️

share your mm fantasies

[lovendergaze]

I'm gonna tell my kids this was Sunrise On the Reaping

[lovendergaze]

for years or for hours

spending the night at spencer's apartment for the first time, and he's more than a little obsessed with you

a/n: my obsession w early seasons!spencer strikes again!!!! i saw an edit of train episode spencer when i was drunk the other day and wrote half of this. he fucks guysss i swear he fucks

cw: shy!reader, fem!reader, smut mdni, fingering, praise, spencer is confident like v v confident, handjob, unprotected piv

wc: 3.7k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Spencer’s quickly got you expecting contradictions. From the sight of him, lanky and awkward-seeming, you’d never expected anything of the sort that you’ve seen. 

When he asked you out, subtle and slightly cocky in his charm. When he’d swooped down to kiss your cheek when you’d met him at the restaurant. When he kissed you on the sidewalk, mouth warm and all-consuming. 

His apartment isn’t a surprise, thank goodness. You’re nervous enough as is, spending the evening at his for the first time. It might have done you in if it was too far off from your expectations. 

No, the cozy warmth of his domicile is just right for you, and you feel more than comfortable curling up on the sofa waiting for him to return from the kitchen. 

It’s another astonishment when he sits down next to you, smile soft as he pulls you into his side with an arm around your shoulder, cool as can be. You’re not complaining, of course. Not even as you duck your head to hide the flush that’s crept up on your cheeks.

You’d gotten used to it, you thought. To expect the incongruity between his outward-facing persona and his true actions. 

Apparently not, though. Not when you gasp when his index finger crooks under your chin, guiding your face up towards his. 

His eyes dance as he looks down at you, a level of devotion that you feel just as vividly, no matter how early it is to feel this way.

“I was wondering if you could tell me what you want tonight,” His voice is low, melodic as it floats into the limited space between the two of you, “so we both know what we’re prepared for.”

Your words get stuck behind your molars, only a squeak leaving your lips when his thumb swipes over the curve of your jaw. His resultant smile is indulgent, even as he prompts you again. 

“I really want to hear you say it for me, please.”

His cupid’s bow is really defined, you think stupidly. It’s so distinct and sharp, you can’t help but want to kiss it. But he won’t let up, you know that. 

It’s not that you don’t want to sleep with him. You’ve wanted to since you met him, and more every day that you got to know him. You spent nearly an hour in the shower before coming to his apartment just for that reason. But wanting it and saying out loud are two different things. 

Your voice is low when it finally comes, a whisper under your breath. 

“You know I want you, Spencer.”

His smile is tender, spreading wider across his face as he leans closer to you. 

“What is it you want?”

“Spence…”

“All you’ve got to do is explain to me. I just want to know what you’re okay with doing tonight,” He croons, as if he doesn’t know, the bastard. 

It takes a few more moments of silence, his thumb brushing over your skin steadily.

“I want to sleep with you.” 

There’s an agonizing beat of stillness, but he makes up for it swiftly when he descends on you. That cupid’s bow melds perfectly against you, the softness of his lips sending giddy sparks up to your brain. 

He’s muttering against your lips, but your brain’s too fuzzy to register more than a few words at a time, what with his fingers gripping your chin, and the other hand descending to your hip. Soft compliments and musings spill into your mouth, entreating you to come closer, kneeling on the sofa cushion just to be able to lean over him. 

He pulls back at your movements, letting out an amused chuckle. 

“You want to get closer?” 

He leans back against the couch, spreading his legs slightly, causing his slacks to tighten around his thighs in a way that has you salivating. His hands returning to your hips, he looks up at you with that smile that makes you shiver. 

“Come here, pretty girl.”

The nickname sends a shudder through you, but not even that could keep you back. 

Despite your flush, you let him guide you into his lap, your hands awkwardly hanging by your sides. 

His hands come up to brush against your knuckles, causing you to delight in the feeling of his calloused palm. He continues to move, skimming over your wrist, to your arm. The touch goes to your shoulder, the curve of your neck, and settles on your face, cupping your jaw in two impossibly large hands. 

Drawing you to him, your foreheads touch. A sigh leaves your lips, wanting desperately to feel him kiss you again. 

“Spencer…”

His mouth quirks up at one side, his left thumb rubbing circles into your cheek. 

“Don’t have to ask me for it. You can take whatever you want, I’ll go willingly. Okay?”

You don’t bother responding, the feeling of his hands on you overwhelming your senses until it’s all you can do to lean in, pressing your front to his. Kissing him again, you can’t help but push closer, your lips parting against his. 

Your mind floats away as he delves into your mouth, sounds muffled by his lips on yours. It could’ve been minutes, or hours, but you can’t bring yourself to wonder. Not when his lips are so soft, when you can slowly rock yourself on his lap.

Your movements force him to part from your lips, groaning. Slipping his hands down to your hips again, he urges you to rise off his lap, standing with you. Even as you both stand, his breath continues to mingle with yours, as if he can’t be enticed to part from you. He doesn’t even move to speak, his words tumbling straight into your mouth.

“Can’t— can’t do this here. My bedroom, okay?”

A whine leaves your mouth, but you nod desperately, letting him walk you backwards towards his bedroom. Despite your unwillingness to move your mouth from his, you can’t stop yourself from stepping back, gazing around his room with insatiable curiosity. 

It’s exactly what you’d expect from looking at him. Neat, but slightly unkempt, with lining every available shelf, and even some stacked in towers on the floor. 

As you turn around, eyes roving over every inch of the room, you jolt at the feeling of arms wrapping around you from behind. Warm breath hits your ear, causing you to shiver, then relax back into his chest.

“I’m glad you’re so interested in my home, but can I give you a tour later? There’s something else I’d much rather be doing with you right now.”

You let out a breathless giggle, nodding and turning in his arms, curving your own arms around his neck. A smile breaks out over his face, dipping down to press a slow, sipping kiss to your lips before directing you over to his bed. 

Falling on your back on his bed, you revel in the softness of his sheets. Stroking the duvet absentmindedly, the smell of Spencer is even more concentrated here. His characteristically complex scent surrounds you, notes of citrus, old paper, and something unmistakably him. 

It elicits another laugh from the back of your throat, causing him to look down at you with a quirked brow. He descends on you, crawling up the mattress until he’s hovering over you with an amused look on his face. 

“What’s so funny?”

Despite the giggles still bubbling up in your throat, the sight of him above you has them halting immediately. 

“Just excited, I guess. A little nervous.”

The dark pools of his eyes seem to deepen further, a swirling haze of browns that suck you in. 

“I’m excited too. And a bit nervous, I suppose. But, I’ve got to tell you, I’ve been wanting to have you here for a while, in my bed.”

And there he goes again, saying something that sends a shiver of desire and heat down your spine, forcing blood to rush to your cheeks. 

Without even trying to come up with a response, you lean up instead, capturing his lips with yours again. That works wonders in shutting his nerve-inducing declarations up, his hand coming down to grip your hip firmly. 

You both get lost in it, lips moving steadily against each other for an indeterminate amount of time. Your brain only returns to you when you feel his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your pants. 

He pulls away, looking in your eyes for any protest. Instead, you lean up for one more peck, before holding his wrist and encouraging him to descend further. He lets out a shuddering breath, his calloused fingertips tracing the skin right over your hipbone. 

“Can I take this off?”

His voice comes out in a murmur, only audible because there are scant centimetres between your faces. Desperate, you nod quickly, mumbling your assent.

“Yeah, Spence, I want it off.”

He smiles, kissing you one last time before clambering off you, kneeling between your legs. He helps you eagerly, his fingers fumbling with pulling your pants off you. The moment you’re rid of the article of clothing, he wastes no time in climbing over you again, his hand returning immediately to your hip. 

He seems to be focusing solely on touching you, his eyes angled down at where his hand touches your skin. Suddenly you wish you’d bothered to wear nicer underwear, anything better than the slightly ratty pair of red panties that surely don’t match your bra, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

Brushing his fingers over the front of your panties, he lets out a groan, dropping his forehead to your collarbone. Slowly, slowly, he dips down further, tracing over the small wet patch that’s been forming since he kissed you the first time tonight. You can feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin at this discovery, and you can’t help but beat him to the punch.

“Don’t laugh, Spencer, please?”

“Why would I tease you? You’re all ready for me, I’m so glad.”

His words are placating, but you can hear the satisfaction in his tone. 

His fingers haven’t ceased their movements, tracing slow circles over the gusset of your panties as you squirm under him. 

He lets you whine a little longer, before retracting his hand, chuckling at the resultant yelp of protest. 

“You’re all wet for me?”

You nod frantically, lifting your hips in an effort to tempt him into ridding you of your panties. 

“Yeah, Spence…”

He nods in satisfaction, finally giving in and dragging the fabric down your legs. Once he’s set them aside carefully, he drags his palm up and down your inner thigh, kneading at the plush flesh there. Slowly moving higher, higher, he makes you wait until his knuckles brush against the bump of your pussy, making both of you suck in sharp breaths. 

His eyes flick up to you, fingers gliding up and down over the seam of you, watching your face contort with the too-little pleasure. After watching you for a beat longer, he swipes up your slick with one lithe finger, positioning it at your entrance. 

Pressing his forehead against you, he hums softly, kissing the apples of your cheeks as he slowly presses his middle finger into you. The feeling is overwhelming, the slight stretch of his finger causing you to arch your back, pressing your chest into his. 

He grins, swallowing your moans with a crushing kiss. Slowly speeding up his movements, he brings his thumb up to cover your clit, swiping slow circles over the sensitive spot. 

Finally, he interrupts the silence, words tumbling out of his mouth as if he’d been holding them back with great difficulty. 

“So tight, angel. Does that feel good?”

You can only moan in answer, struggling to keep your eyes open as he slides in another finger. 

“That’s it, there you go. Can’t wait to see you when you cum, you going to cum for me?”

His hair has fallen over his forehead, looking down at you with his pupils dilated. 

Speeding up his ministrations on your clit, he makes you squirm again, watching with delight as you grind your hips down against his hand. The slow-building tension within you rises, each movement of his fingers and your hips bringing you closer and closer, until you have to grip his wrist in both of your hands, throwing your head back. 

He leans down, mouthing at the now-exposed column of your throat, his words vibrating against your skin. 

“Come on, angel, want to see you fall apart, you can do it. Wanted to see you like this for so long, so pretty and pliant for me. You’re going to let me keep touching you, huh? As long as I want? So that I— oh, good girl!— so— so that I can see you fall apart for me?”

He’s so preoccupied with rambling that even you reaching your climax in the middle of his sentence doesn’t stop him, but his hands show you all the appreciation you need. Along with his fervent praise, his right hand continues to thrust within you, allowing you to ride out your high. His left hand has snaked up your shirt, thumb swiping at the skin right below the underwire of your bra. 

It’s only once you whine in overstimulation, pushing his hand away from your cunt, that he pulls away, although he never stops his caresses to your torso. Leaning in to dot kisses on your lips, he continues to mumble.

“Did so good for me, angel, thank you. Did that feel good?”

Chest heaving with the aftershocks, you gaze up at him with stars in your eyes, nodding.

“Felt really good, Spencer. I didn’t— didn’t expect…”

You trail off, unsure of how to explain why you’re so overwhelmed, but he understands, moving off of you to lay on his back next to you.

“I know. I don’t exactly think I was expecting for this to happen tonight either… But it was okay?”

You can’t help but grin at the contrast between his previous confidence and the hesitance he exhibits now. Shifting to lay half on top of him, you prop your chin up on his chest.

“It was more than okay, Spence,”

Without thinking about it, your hand drifts to his lower stomach, trailing down his clothed skin to the waistband of his own pants.

“Do you want to… keep going?”

Your voice comes out soft, still a little flustered by your own forwardness, but you still stare up at him, hoping he’ll say yes. 

At the feeling of your fingers stroking his waistband, he throws his head back with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. You can’t stop yourself from laughing, shaking your head at him. 

After a moment, he looks back down, his hand coming down to rest on your back. His breathing is slightly shaky, but his voice remains solid.

“If you want to, sweetheart. Okay?”

Another wave of infatuation rocks through your body, smiling up at him once more. Moving your hand away from his pants, you drag your palm up his torso.

“Can we take this off, please?”

His smile gains a wicked tinge to it, his hand moving in circles against your back.

“Only if you do too.”

You assent readily, kneeling on the mattress in order to pull off your shirt and bra eagerly, leaving you completely bare. Although you’d normally be embarrassed, you don’t seem to find a moment to be shy, not when he’s shirtless on the bed in front of you. 

Spencer smiles up at you, the smile he uses when he knows he’s got someone cornered in an argument, the one he uses when he’s sure he’ll be able to beat you in chess. 

“Come here, sweetheart.”

He reaches out to hold you by the waist, dragging you over to lay at his side again. His arm holding you to him, he grabs your hand, laying it on the warm skin of his chest.

“You can touch me angel, go ahead.”

Biting your lip, you slowly move your fingers over his skin, leaning forward to press a tentative kiss to his chest. He squeezes your waist affectionately, sucking in a harsh breath when your hand trails down to his waistband again. 

Slipping your hand under his pants and underwear, you brush your fingertips against the heated skin of his cock, gasping just as he does. Looking up to him, you see him squeeze his eyes shut. 

Your confidence grows, dipping even lower in order to wrap your fingers loosely around his shaft. A breathy moan leaves him, sending shivers down your spine. 

An experimental tug gets him throwing his head back in pleasure, groans tumbling from his lips.

All of a sudden you can’t take the barrier between you, pulling your hand out of his pants and tugging his pants and boxers down clumsily. He laughs a little, helping you out with a shaky hand until he can kick the fabric off his ankles. 

Before you can second-guess yourself, you reach out again, wrapping your fingers around his cock again. Slowly moving your hand up and down, you watch him begin to pant softly. Only once you’ve gotten into a rhythm do you allow yourself to look down, the sight causing you to clench your thighs together. 

It’s like the rest of him, long and surprisingly thick, with a curve to it that has your cunt feeling more empty than ever. You can’t help but squirm, pressing your front further into his side. 

Even with your efforts to stay composed, nothing gets past Spencer. In between grunts and breathy moans, he still manages to tease you slightly.

“What do you think, angel? Want to keep going like this, or do you want me to make us both feel good?”

His words have you shifting against him, wetness pooling within you again.

At your nod, he slowly peels your hand away from his cock, pressing at your shoulder to lay you back against the bed again.

With a breath stuck in your throat, you watch as he kneels between your parted legs, hand stroking at your hip. With his other hand holding the base of his cock, he leans forward, swiping his head through the accumulated slick pooling at your entrance. 

Both of you hiss at the sensation, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. 

With his eyes locked onto yours, he slowly pushes forward, letting you feel the stretch. Kissing your palm, he watches you intently, ready to stop at any hint of discomfort. However, although it’s a bit of a struggle, the pain-mixed-pleasure quickly becomes overwhelming bliss. 

He continues to push in until his pelvis is flush with yours, falling forward with a hand on the sheets next to you. Leaning in to place a crushing kiss on your lips, he murmurs against you as he begins to rock his hips.

“Pretty— pretty girl, you feel so good. So good for me, sweetheart, so tight,”

He pants into your mouth, thrusting slow and deep. Every time he presses into your fluttering cunt, his pelvis grinding against your swollen clit, neither of you can keep quiet. 

He can’t help but speed up, gripping one of your thighs and hiking it up around his waist, allowing him to sink that much deeper. You’re captivated, both by the sensations of him, and the sight of him. His lips are parted, eyes dark and lidded as he gazes down at you, face overcome with both affection and lust. 

It’s not long until you start feeling it again, that unknowable, intangible pleasure that goes straight to your head, legs beginning to tremble. Trying to warn him, you raise a hand to grip at his shoulder, nails digging into the skin there. 

“Spencer��� Feels so good, think m’gonna—”

Your mouth tips open on a soundless moan, back arching off his duvet.

“I know, angel. Getting close again?”

One of his hands snakes down between your bodies, tracing maddening circles over your clit. The stimulation is just enough, just what you need to get you there, feeling the pleasure shoot through your veins. 

It takes one, two, three more movements of his hips, and you fall apart, a low, keening moan ripping itself from your throat. Spencer hums, muttering praises down at you until you tip over into overstimulation.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Fuck— so tight, you feel so good. You’re going to make me cum, sweetheart, can I— can I, on your stomach?”

His hand comes up to knead at the softness of your stomach, staring into your eyes. 

At your gasped-out yes, he pulls out of you with a groan, tugging at his cock a few more times until he cums with a low groan, marking your skin with his release. Once he’s just as spent as you are, he collapses at your side, arm sliding under your shoulders to pull you closer, as if he’s loathed to be parted from you. 

The room is silent for a few minutes, the soft sounds of the city punctuated by the heavy breathing coming from both of you. 

Only once your breathing evens out, he leans over, dotting kisses in your hairline.

“Felt so good, angel. How are you feeling?”

You smile hazily, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Really good. A bit… sticky.”

Both of you become increasingly aware of the cooling mix of fluids on your bodies. With a chuckle, he sits up, rubbing his thumb over your shoulder. 

“I’ll draw us a bath, how does that sound?”

A rush of warmth goes through your body, and you follow his movements, sitting next to him and capturing his lips with yours again. 

“I really like you, Spencer Reid.”

He doesn’t reply, not in words. But the swirling emotions in his eyes, and the all-consuming kiss he gives you are more than enough answers.