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senka-mesecine · 4 months ago

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The boys reaction to reader making the first move on them? Which would be considered not very typical. Thank youuu🫶🏻

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― If you read this list all the way until the end you'll realize Taylor is a perfect mix of Elias and Barnes, meaning that if you shoot your shot with him first, he could very well have the itch to talk you out of it, remarking on all of his experiences, what he's seen, what he's done, what he's allowed to happen and what he didn't stop when he could've and that these things he's lived through, in his opinion, inherently render you and him incapable of understanding each other; relating all the way. That there's always going to be a gap and misunderstanding between you as a result regardless of feelings because feelings often aren't enough. Simultaneously, he could very well have an odd respect for you for doing this in the first place, seeing as how this action of yours doesn't comform to the suburban, traditional 'boy asks sweetheart out for a dance and buys her a corsage' norms his parents undoubtedly tried and perhaps failed to drill into him all the way. See, Taylor himself ain't typical, so your actions being atypical don't bother him, because a college boy leaving the possibility of a privileged live and a path being paved for him to willingly fight in a war, well, that's outside of expectations and the rule. That's not to say he prefers one or the other; him making the first move or you doing it for him; it's just that in you making the first move he might recognize you as a sort of kindred spirit in a weird sense. Someone pushing against the status quo instead of adhering to it slavishly.

― O'Neill could be shocked and taken aback for a brief blip only to quickly regain his composure and play along with it, like the sleazy weasel of a man he is; Of course you're making the first move. Can anyone really resist the O'Neill charm factor? Can they? Uh-oh! He thinks not. There's crestfallen, lovestruck broads lined up from Hawaii to Okinawa, in bases all around the world, just collectively crying out for him to reach his allotted break and come be with them already, don't you know! Patsey, Nancy and Stacy have all been continuously writing him this whole time. In fact, he'll act like he's such hot shit now that you've done the cardinal mistake of usurping what's traditional his role from him that you might just momentarily regret doing this in the first place seeing as how he'll be a complete and utter asshole about it, at least at first, doing everything from being smug, making jokes at your expense, teasing, taunting, pushing your buttons, but the underlining reality behind all that arrogance could very well be the fact that you having your eyes on something you want (him) and making a beeline for it (also him) might just have him hot and horny seeing being subject to someone's dominance isn't new to him, meaning that outside of making the move first with him you might have him set straight and put him in his place first too. I think it's enough that you shove him or give him a mean glare, telling him to cut it out to downright get hard over it and start stuttering, rendering him whipped. So much about ladies man O'Neill.

― Bunny behaves like that one awful, horrendous bully kid who has the coolest girlfriend on the playground, trust and believe. His ego is inflated, he's cocky, he's arrogant, he uses it as a way to talk down to others, he's cruelly braggadocious, he's obnoxious about it, he undoubtedly grossly overexaggerates what happened to comedic degrees because lying about it gets him going, especially in front of someone as petty, whiny and jealous as Junior, to make it seem like you downright jumped at him and fucked his brains out the minute you were done making your first move because, see, you're just that freaky and insatiable judging by Bunny's stories and whether he truly believes this or not is up to be contested, but fact is, it's continuously brought up how domineering, large and in charge and controlling his girl is (because, by extension, Bunny himself is just that much more of a man for it) that it becomes almost common knowledge after a while, right in tow with just as many possibly raunchy anecdotes. Lets take it a step further; if say, someone closely within in his age group like Junior, Taylor, Crawford, Big Harold and the likes might be having girl problems Bunny could very well declare he ain't going through anything similar because pussy gets handed to him on a silver platter and these chicks want him, man! Case and point, you! With you doing the first move, he immediately puts himself a notch above everyone else and he does whatever he can to make his peers feels lesser than; in his eye; they're all several redacted slurs in a row.

― Rhah could possibly have this theory that only a specific kind of women approaches first; the worldly Salomes out to dance the dance of the seven veils around you until they get a hand on your wallet and your assets, a soul sucking Lilith who gets off on seducing and then trampling on the hearts of these poor suckers as a sport for its own sake or someone who's a narc through and through --- out to sell you drugs or bust you for the exact same thing. So, which demon huntress intent to catch something in your net are you exactly, he might question accusingly, clearly impassioned and with full zeal where his little theorem is concerned. Little do you realize that what might come off as straight up passive aggression and an attempt to cause a verbal spar match is undoubtedly Vermucci's attempt to flirt back and utilizing barb, reciprocated sexual tension and mental chess to do so because hey, it's Rhah Vermucci we're talking about here. There's also the fact he's cooky to take into consideration and that he's at least a little misogynistic and just as mystified and fascinated by women that the fact you approached him first feels both as an attack and something that absolutely wrapped him around your finger before you even finished making your offer in spite of pretending the contrary for the sake of being contrarian and 'women can't seduce me, I'm immune to them' for a hot moment.

― Wolfe might think someone put you up to this to play an elaborate prank on him for everyone's collective amusement seeing as how he's hardly the most admired or beloved Lieutenant in the history of warfare. That you ain't serious. That this is a joke he should laugh along to and he's fully prepared to as a self-defense mechanism, probably having an amused little half smile on the ready the whole time you're trying to make the first move on him. And yes, he's going to initially give you the cold shoulder. Why? Because truth is, this is probably a novelty to him and if it isn't a novelty and he was actually mister popularity before landing up in the war, he might just play at least a little hard to get by feigning being busy, being aloof for aloofness's sake, being overcrowded with paperwork, logistics and what will you purely so he could buy himself time to process...what just happened. Someone's dream woman just walking up to them and asking them out doesn't happen every day and for someone who often flaunts an artificial sense of authority and command that's as fragile and hollow as an interior of an overinflated balloon after being popped, Wolfe could have a need not to give in to your proposal too quickly. He could very well try to make it seem like he's got options lined up somewhere or at least hinting at it, to keep the mystery and what he considers his own value going high. Thing is, Mark goes and needlessly complicates an all too simple thing to make himself seem masculine, perhaps (hilariously?) to his own detriment.

― King probably thinks he's stumbled into some sort of movie plot because that's the only place this shit happens; in movies. A pretty girl? Approaching him!? Trying to get with him!? Quick, someone pinch him to make sure this isn't a dream, because even in the most heavily reefer induced reverie does something like this not happen the way it's happening right now live and in the flesh. Fact is, man's so proud of you for doing this, so proud and happy for himself that this is happening to him in the first place, that he's probably all smiles, beaming and jitters as you shoot your shot where he's concerned. He's the definition of a shit-eating grin the whole time, just itching to prematurely say 'I do, babe, shoot, y'know that! Why you even gotta ask, boo!? You crazy or sumn'!?' Turns out, this whole subversion of the norms crap ain't half bad. In fact, he might jokingly ask if you're gonna write him love letters first next too, supposedly meaning it in jest to conceal the fact he'd probably melt into a puddle if it ever happened or he could very well flirt and ask where else you'se gonna take charge next? See, he thinks what you did back there was very attractive, to the point it becomes a point of high regard and gratification to him; might just openly brag to his boys how his girl took matters into her own hands and went after what she wanted and how there's few girls like that. They're fearless out there, I'm tellin' ya, man, he might assure Taylor. And my boo? She's the most fearless.

― Elias strikes me as the type of person who either got approached by women first far more than people can imagine...or far less, making him a bona fide ladies man or someone who merely seems like he is due to how smooth, well liked, popular and relaxed he usually is; whatever the truth may be or if it simply a combination of both things at once, and depending of his particular mood he could simultaneously be manifesting said suave tendencies and almost be a little smug while you're there breaking the ice while he's, perhaps, laid up on a hammock, legs up in the air, seductively eating a banana, sizing you up and challenging you in your intent as a flirting method. Other times, you approaching him first could be met with a more melancholic tone that's the complete opposite to his usually confident, self-assured, smooth self. Elias might just have moments where he could downright try to talk you out of you schmoozing him up or even caring about him. Being attracted. Loving him in the first place. See, his reasoning is that he's doing you a favor and sparing you some sort of ache down the line. It's not that these emotions ain't reciprocated, he might just let you know that he's been disillusioned in so many things throughout life that he doesn't want you disillusioned by love through him, as a proxy, meaning that his reaction could very well range from him being all game in you doing the first move or carrying himself with enough pensiveness to break your heart.

― Internally? Barnes thinks you've guts. Yep. Takes guts. Because he's aware of what sort of effect he has on people. He's no fool. He understands that he scares them shitless and makes them severely tense and uncomfortable at best --- something he doesn't mind and even very gleefully plays into, but what I'm meaning to say is...man's self-aware enough. It's reality. He frightens people. So, with all of these factors taken into consideration, for you to do the approaching yourself? And not change your mind? Actually go through with it? His level of respect instantaneously jumps a notch for you even though, realistically, he doesn't show it. He's poker faced for the most part. Like, you won't get a pat on the back or a golden star from Barnes but he sure as heck very patiently and quietly lets you finish your move; your approach of him. Say what you've been meaning to say. Do what you've been meaning to do. Basically giving you free reign to do your flirting and checking if you'll chicken out at any moment. He won't make fun of you, won't taunt and he won't mock. He understands what you're here to do and probably knows you've been meaning to do this long before you actually do. Somehow, out of all the men in the platoon he has inherently the most respect and hidden admiration towards a go-getter who takes control of the situation and shows the signs of a true backbone. Even though he seems rather cold as you're making the first move his answer down the line might be surprisingly receptive. His private opinion of you after this could be quite high for no reason other than your courage.

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horangare · 2 years ago

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hiii ! can i request ot13 reaction to their bff sending them a really spicy mirror pic? i just did this to my guy bff today on accident and i need this to cope 💀

ofc! also sorry i’m getting to this kind of late, but here it is!

seungcheol : gets so flustered and just stares at the picture. he has no idea what to respond cause he’s so horny. prob send you a picture of his bulge and a text that says “look what u did :(”

jeonghan : calls you to ask about it, shamelessly fucks his hand the whole time and doesn’t stop even when you realize what he’s doing bc “you just look so fucking good in that picture”

joshua : leaves you on read bc he got hard as soon as he saw it and also bc he can’t believe you sent something like that to him. asks you to come over later so he can get answers (and get rid of his boner)

junhui : sends you one back. now you’re both turned on.

soonyoung : he gets so excited and annoying he’s probably like “i knew you always wanted me” and “i didn’t realize you were so hot” n shit like that

wonwoo : he’s rendered speechless for a lil minute but tells you about how good he thinks you look and how much better you’d look on his cock.

jihoon : didn’t realize it was you at first and texted you saying you had the wrong number. when you texted back asking wtf he was talking about that’s when it clicked. gets shy if you ask him what he thinks about it.

seokmin : gasps SO loud and doesn’t look at his phone for a while. then caves looks at it. then looks away again. keeps doing that for a while. he’s very conflicted okay he didn’t expect it to like it so much and he’s blushing the whole time.

mingyu : sends you a voice note of him jerking off and moaning hella loud. shameless pt. 2

minghao : tries not to let it affect him so much but the more he thinks about it the harder it gets for him to ignore it and goes somewhere private to take care of himself (looking at your pic the whole time, ofc)

seungkwan : “did you mean to send this to me” “maybe” you keep giving him really half hearted answers and he gets more and more frustrated bc how can you be so hot?

vernon : he either sends something like “you’re hot” and leaves it at that, but if he was already kind of in the mood he’d text you how much he just got turned on. 50/50.

chan : literally loses his mind. wishes you could be there with him so he didn’t have to care care of his problem by himself, but the next time he sees you just know your done for.

#seventeen #svt #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #svt smut #svt x reader #kpop smut

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seokgyuistforu · 8 months ago

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about you | seokgyu

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"and there was something about you that now I can't remember

it's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender

and I'll miss you on a train, I'll miss you in the mornin'

i never know what to think about,

i think about you."

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dokyeom's laughter fills the room, eliciting a smile from every single member as an automatic response. everybody adores that boy, and they would move mountains for him in a heartbeat. but there's one among them that loves him just a little bit differently.

mingyu has been in love with dokyeom since they walked into the dingy green room that first day during pre-debut. it didn't take much for him to fall head over heels. being born the same year, they got along instantly. dokyeom matches mingyu's energy, but also knows how to push his buttons like no other. they bicker, they laugh, they cry, and they are always each other's safe space. they both know each other like the back of their hands. fast forward to years and years later, and nothing has changed. mingyu's heart beats a million times a minute when he's close to him, which means it's always racing. he has kept his feelings private all these years because the thought of losing his best friend over something like this would not be worth it. he can't imagine his life without the happy boy. if he had to choose between an unrequited love and not having his best friend, he would choose the first one over and over. but honestly, mingyu's not even so sure it's unrequited.

"mingyu literally tripped over his own goddamn feet in the middle of the concert and fell flat on the floor but you're making fun of me?" dokyeom exclaims excitedly, addressing the room in a standing position while in a bickering match with jeonghan.

"hey! i still looked hot while doing it at least" mingyu responds, pulling a jokingly smug look.

"in your dreams, kim mingyu" dokyeom says, plopping down right next to him on the couch with a teasing chuckle. he sits so incredibly close to mingyu that it's suddenly hard to breathe.

"are you insinuating that i didn't look hot when i jumped too high and my pants ripped?" he asks, arching an eyebrow high jokingly at the clearly un-hot situation.

"no. you always look hot" he says, his voice low and suddenly too serious for the conversation at hand. dokyeom rolls his eyes and mumbles a nonchalant "whatever", and tries to turn away nervously. but mingyu catches the small reddish tint spread over his cheeks. he catches him biting his lip in an attempt not to smile. it's little actions like this that give mingyu hope. the two of them have never been awkward with each other. they were peas in a pod after the first minute, and anything goes. they've cuddled, they've spent the night together in a shared bed, they're touchy all the time and it was never anything out of the ordinary. but in the past year or so there's been a shift. it seems intimate when these things happen. mingyu knows he must have not been very subtle with his feelings, despite his effort. surely dokyeom has picked up on something, and it's made things a little different. mingyu tries to keep himself in check. again, he cannot lose his best friend.

but this time it's dokyeom who leaves mingyu's mind whirling. once his cheeks return back to their normal shade he pulls his legs up on the couch to sit criss cross, with his one thigh resting on top of mingyu's. when he sits back, his back is resting on half of mingyu's chest. he's sure that there's no way that the smaller boy cannot feel the thump of his heart.

"can i see the videos you took?" he asks, peering up at the boy who's heart is about to give out. they had so much fun at the concert today, and mingyu took out his phone to record a lot of the moments so that he could keep it forever. he doesn't think twice while he pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens up his camera roll. rendered speechless, mingyu goes through the camera roll not being able to focus on anything but the heat radiating off of dokyeom, and the feeling that this is right. it's just right.

"wait a minute! you did not!" dokyeom suddenly exclaims loudly after realizing mingyu does in fact have a video of the exact moment that his pants ripped.

"you're the one who decided to rip your pants in the middle of my video" he teases. dokyeom reaches out in an attempt to grab the phone from him and delete the video, but mingyu is faster. for a brief moment their hands meet each other in the tussle, both holding onto the phone. mingyu's thumb, with a mind of it's own, strokes dokyeom's hand softly. its' so quiet for a moment, his heart thumping so loud that the chatter from all the other members fades away. dokyeom clears his throat, the familiar shade of pink back on his cheeks as he readjusts himself, sitting properly on the couch this time.

"i'm sorry" he stutters, though neither of them know what he's apologizing for. he tries to immediately skip over what just happened, and takes mingyu's phone from him to keep watching the rest of the videos. mingyu spaces out for a little bit, stuck on the feeling of his hand in his. when a small "oh" escapes from dokyeom's lips, mingyu turns to face him. he notices that everyone else is gone, and suddenly the weight of them being alone is so heavy. dokyeom's lips are parted, and eyes widened as he stares down at the video on the screen. when mingyu peers over to see what he's looking at, he's suddenly in a horror film. it's a video that he completely forgot he took, or else he would have never let him scroll through his camera roll like this. it's a simple moment from during the concert, where they are walking around the stage and interacting with the fans. it starts out with filming the whole group on the B stage, mingyu hanging back to capture it. then he zooms in, clearly and purposefully, right onto the boy he was infatuated with in that moment. dokyeom is staring out into the crowd, looking like an angel who just flew down from the clouds. his eyes are twinkling with that light that only he has, and he's paired with a soft, genuine smile. the fact that nothing in particular is going on in it makes it so obvious what mingyu's intentions were behind it. to add fire to the storm, there's 2 more videos just like it. there's suddenly not enough air left in the world.

neither of them want to speak first. eventually after dokyeom watches them for the 3rd time, just looks up at mingyu with a glossy look and says quitely "why?".

such a simple question, with a simple answer. 'because i love you. i always have' is on the tip of his tongue, but he has to go slower. he can't scare him away, he can't. if these videos haven't already.

"i-" he starts, but can't find the words to finish. he gently takes the phone from him, not wanting to succumb to this humiliation anymore. dokyeom sits patiently, fiddling with his fingers and waiting for him to say something, anything.

"gyu..." he says pleadingly, hating the silence and the anticipation.

"i love you" he blurts out. well, so much for the original plan of going slow.

"i love you too, mingyu. but this is really s-" he starts to say quietly, but is cut off by mingyu.

"no. i'm IN love with you, dokyeom". he adds. his tone deadly serious, his gaze staying on dokyeom's face. he's reading it for clues, for anything at all that could give away what he's possibly thinking right now. the only sound in the room is their nervous breathing.

"mingyu.. stop it. this isn't funny" he says, now deadly serious as well. mingyu slowly reaches out to hold his hand, intertwining their fingers. dokyeom shifts in his seat, but he doesn't make any effort to pull his hand away.

"i'm being serious. i have loved you for as long as i have known you. every day i love you more and more and there's nowhere for it to go. i think about you every second. i miss you even when you are right next to me. it's all about you, kyeom. it's always been about you." he confesses, squeezing his hand for emphasis. this is it. everything could come crashing down now. he could lose everything. he is too afraid to make eye contact, so he stares down at their hands. it's been quiet for way too long. he feels a squeeze back, so he looks up tentatively. dokyeom's eyes are teary, one stray one rolling down his cheek. fuck, he really fucked up. without any warning, dokyeom lunges forward and grips mingyu in the tightest hug he's ever felt. mingyu, as a gut reaction, holds him back and places a gentle hand on his neck, guiding his head into the crook of his neck.

"i'm in love with you too" is whispered into his ear, like he's also been holding it in for years because he was too afraid to lose his best friend also. mingyu's life changes when he hears those words reciprocated. he pulls out of the hug, keeping his hand on his neck. he stares into his eyes and smiles unabashedly. he giggles happily, and they both burst into a fit of unstoppable giggles as they release all the nerves and tension they had built up.

"we're really both fucking idiots, aren't we?" dokyeom laughs, referring to the years they wasted as they could have been dating.

"just a little bit" mingyu laughs back in response. his laughs stop short as he watches dokyeom's face light up, his eyes squinting from smiling too hard. when he notices he's the only one still laughing, he stops and looks at mingyu inquisitively.

"is it alright if i kiss you?" he asks shyly, taking his hand in his again. he leans in so close that their faces are inches apart. he hovers there, waiting for the answer.

"please" dokyeom breaths out, his eyes fixed to mingyu's parted lips. when their lips collide, the years of agony and secrets was all worth it. their hands roam on each others backs as dokyeom places one on the taller one's waist. they are both running out of breath, but they don't care at all. mingyu solemnly swears to never go another day without kissing him.

#seokgyu #seventeen #fanfic #dokyeom #mingyu #dk #k pop #svt #svt x reader #svt carat #lee seokmin #kim mingyu #seventeen fic

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doctorstrangereview · 8 months ago

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0050: Strange Tales #156

Cover Date: May 1967 On-Sale Date: February 12, 1967

As promised last issue, Umar walks the Earth! Unfortunately, Doc gets the cover this month and it's used to partially spoil the surprise. The splash page helps this along by telling us about a new menace, Zom. Ms. Severin does do a good job of having Umar go through New York City like The White Witch through London.

Umar has arrived on Earth. And she has dressed for the occasion! The Sister of Dormammu has enhanced her ensemble with a lovely cloak. Edged in gold, it's white on the outside and red inside. The Masterworks remastering makes it a lovely plum. In addition to Umar's splash page catwalk, we get some inane banter from The Ancient One and Doc. The Ancient One has banished Doc to somewhere else, while Doc acknowledges it. Thank you Doctor Obvious!

Umar certainly makes a dramatic entrance near Times Square. It's the sixties so no Big Sony or Big Panasonic or the many, many giant electronic signs yet.

She may have tried being a bit more choosey about her landing zone. She isn't too keen on being ogled by the New Yorkers around her.

It's been awhile since I've read C.S. Lewis, but I think The White Witch committed similar atrocities when she first popped into London. Now, did Umar just murder everyone or did they pop up again somewhere else. We never find out.

Meanwhile, The Ancient One is summoning Doc back to our reality. He doesn't look nearly as hot as he did last issue. In a nice nod to continuity, Doc is even bound in the same energy bands as last issue.

Last issue we had the most dreaded spell, now we encounter the most fearsome mystic object. The old dude has sent Doc to free Zom from a funky amphora. He gives Doc a lecture on how the cure for Umar may be worse than the disease.

Meanwhile, we switch back to camera two and look in on Earth. Wong shows up for a couple of powers to sense and dread Umar's approach. He is greatly relieved, however, that Doc isn't around to berate him. Umar arrives at the Sanctum Santorum and does something that has all the Maffia construction companies shaking in their boots. She demolishes the Sanctum with a wave of her hand!

While Ms. Severin has done a wonderful job rendering Umar, her vision of the Sanctum is decidedly unspectacular. It looks like nearly an other building in the area. Also, the Sanctum is supposed to be a corner building.

Having accomplished her first act of destruction, Umar plans more naughtiness. But gets distracted by her hatred for Doc.

As Doc is away procuring antique amphorae, Umar sets her sights on the next best thing, The Ancient One. She proves what a nasty bitch she can be!

While a mountain blowing up in The Ancient One's face is tragic, the even more horrible consequence is messing with the TVs, phones and lights of the normies.

It's amusing that The Ancient One can survive a mountain exploding right under him and he still calls himself feeble.

Swinging back to Doc, he's broken the amphora. Surprisingly, no little old lady has come around a corner screaming "you broke it, you bought it." We do get our first look (excluding the spoiler cover) at Zom.

Ms. Severin gives us a nice dramatic pose for Doc that will inspire similar poses for years to come! Thanks, Marie. It almost makes up for how utterly ridiculous Zom looks.

Doc attempts to control Zom. Zom is uncontrollable. He's such a badass that it was Eternity himself who locked him away. Doc realizes that The Ancient One may be right and this is a huge boo-boo.

Looking back to The Ancient One, he's like "Screw you Umar! I'll face you where and when I want!"

This where turns out to be Stonehenge and Umar invokes her magical Lyft spell to join him quickly. We learn that Stonehenge is where the old dude and Dormie faced off before. He has a sense of nostalgia. Or humor. Probably the former.

The Ancient One and Umar start to duke it out and he holds his own for a few minutes. Suddenly, Doc shows up and has a surprise in tow. Zom, whose head clearly looks like a penis, says hi to Umar. Umar is not happy about this. She attempts to fend him off, but, even bound, Zom brushes off everything she throws at him. Finally, Umar is like "Eff this! I'm going home! You won't see me again!" That last part is a lie. Umar returns a bunch of times. Remind me to tell you about the time, 55 years hence, she gets busy with Tiboro!

That takes care of Umar. Now Doc and his old buddy have a bigger problem.

Thus ends our first encounter with Umar. She isn't really defeated so much as scared away. It would have been more if her battle with Zom was a bit longer and she got knocked around a bit. Overall we get lots of nice imagery throughout the issue. The story moves along well and is well paced, neither lagging or rushed anywhere. Ms. Severin's terrible design for Zom is inexcusable. I think it's the inspiration for the terrible Rawhead Rex movie from 1986. Overall it's a satisfying conclusion to the Umar arc and gives us a good cliffhanger for the next arc. We're going even more cosmic in the next few issues!

Am I alone in thinking that the opening pages were inspired by the The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?

#doctor strange #doctor strange reviews #strange tales #stephen strange #ancient one #umar #zom #wong #marvel #comics #stan lee #marie severin

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dottores · 3 years ago

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oops ! wrong number <3 | hanma shuji & ryuguji ken

summary: i’ll think of one tomorrow it’s 2:45 i need to sleep -> hanma fucks u n sends a video to ur step brother, who ur also fucking

warnings: mean!hanma, fem!reader, step bro!draken, stepcest, noncon filming, degradation/humiliation, choking, brief impact play, dumbification, somno (hanma fucks u til u pass out n then keeps goin), pet names (baby, princess) unedited and written at 2 am

not doing a full tag list but @sakusins @t-roki @sano-obsessed @scandescent @bokuroskitten @wakasasucker @akihaya @manjiroscum @kisakiapologist

draken frowned as he looked down at his phone, taking in the unknown number and half tempted to ignore, figuring it to be some sort of troll. he sighed as he looked back up, eyes darting around as he tried to figure out where the fuck you were and why you were so late. you had told him to be there at two to pick you up from the mall with your friends, and you knew how much he hated waiting around and he had half a mind to go in there looking for you because it was nearly thirty minutes past two and he wanted to get back home.

his lips twisted down further as he looked back at the notification, brows furrowing as a second attachment came in after the first, finally deciding to open up the thread with the new number, taking in the sight of the two videos.

he hesitated for a split second before clicking on the first, leaning back on his bike and getting comfortable as he eyed the screen suspiciously. for a second, nothing happened—the screen remained black and the there was no noise, and just as draken was about to turn the video off, he finally heard rustling and a voice.

“hey, hey, hey,” the voice was male, familiar, something akin to dread started to pool in his gut. “stop fuckin squirmin.”

a soft whine, an even more familiar voice, met draken’s ears in response. he sat back up straight, now on high alert, lips pressed together and grip tight on his phone as he stared down at the still black screen.

no. there was no way.

“-ji, what’re you doin?” but your voice was unmistakable, the soft lit that always had draken’s blood running hot, the eerily familiar whimper that edged at the end of your sentence.

“ken, c’mon stop teasin.”

“relax, baby,” the male voice cooed—so familiar that it made draken sick to his stomach but he couldn’t quite place from where, “want you to smile pretty for me, ‘kay?”

“huh?” he heard you ask before the dark screen finally shifted, he frowned at the sudden light and as the camera focused in on your face, on your swollen, puffy lips, on the drool staining your cheeks, on your smeared make up and glassy eyes.

and then on the tattooed hand wrapped around your throat, holding you up in view of the camera. sin, stared draken right in the eye and immediately draken’s blood ran hot, his ears were ringing as he stared down at the video, fingers twitching to turn it off but he couldn’t fucking bring himself to.

what the fuck?

“shuji, what’re you doin?” your voice was half slurred, your expression dazed, and draken knew better than anyone that you were already half fucked out on his cock, having rendered you to that state himself countless times before.

you were-

“say hi to your big brother, baby,” hanma shuji’s voice was mocking and draken could only watch as his face dipped into view of the camera when you didn’t register his words, biting down hard on your shoulder—right over a mark that draken had left on you several nights ago.

-fucking hanma shuji?

draken felt bile rise to his throat as familiar, high pitch moan hit his ears, as your body jolted forward toward the camera as hanma rocked his hips into you, as your jaw went slack and your teary eyes rolled back.

“i said say hi,” hanma repeated, voice lower, less mocking and more of a threat, and another whimper ripped from your throat.

“h-h-h-hiii, ken-nii,” you stuttered and slurred over your words, another gasp pulling from your lips as hanma rolled his hips against yours.

“ken-nii,” hanma mocked, “you’re a dirty little bitch, arent ya? fuckin’ your own step brother?”

draken felt his throat close up at his words, fury racing through him as he tried to figure out how exactly hanma had managed to figure that out before irritation took over the fury. of course he figured it out, eyes tracing the marks draken had left on your body—marks that he never would have left if he had known you were fucking whoring yourself out to any available cock.

tears spilled over your cheeks, “n-n-no! ‘m no-“

hanma’s grip on your throat tightened, cutting you off, a broken cry escaped your lips at the same time as a resounding slap met draken’s ear, hanma bringing his free hand down on your ass hard, “you lyin’ to me now, baby?” he cooed and you shook your head immediately as best as you could with the hand around your neck, “‘s what i thought, be a good girl f’me ‘n i’ll consider not sending him this, yeah?”

your eyes shot open immediately, even in your fucked out state, alarm bells went off. draken’s lip curled up into a snarl as he watched you claw at hanma’s wrist, only trying to stop with the threat of draken finding out.

“no! you cant tell him, shuji! he’ll be so mad at me, put the camera away, i don’t-“

“shhh,” hanma chuckled and draken’s vision went red as he watched hanma nudge his nose against the side of your head, biting down on your ear lobe and tugging it gently, watched as your voice faltered and another soft whine slipped from your lips in response, “relax, baby, you’re gunna cum for me one more time, alright? n then i won’t send it, deal?”

“again?” you sobbed, “shuji ‘s been so many times ‘m so sensitive, i don’ think i can-“

hanma clicked his tongue, “gonna give me another, i’ll fuck you all fuckin’ day if i gotta.”

hanma didn’t wait for a response and draken nearly clicked off the video as hanma propped his phone up on what seemed to be a table next to the couch two of you were on—giving draken full sight of your bare body on all fours in front of hanma shuji, who was practically fully dressed behind you.

turn it off, he told himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it as hanma’s other hand—punishment—gripped your hip hard. he pulled you up by the neck as he snapped his hips into you, laughing when a shaky cry of his name left your lips.

“so between you n me,” hanma grinned wildly as he pulled you up more so that your back was flush against his chest, and draken couldn’t look away from your slack expression—the lidded eyes you could barely hold open, the drool sliding down your swollen, parted lips to your chin, dripping down your neck. “who fucks ya better? me or your brother?

draken hated how his ears perked up at the question, how his eyes immediately narrowed on the screen. a gurgle of protest escapes your lips, tears streaming down your cheeks faster.

“c’mon, baby, just say it. we both know it’s not him, you wouldn’t’ve come to me if he was fuckin you right,” hanma mocked, “bet he treats you like a glass doll, doesn’t know his precious lil princess just wants to be bent over n fucked like a whore, yeah?”

and draken hated that he was right. and he hated that you nodded.

“‘s you, shuji, s’good, s’good, so so so so good,” a barely coherent string of babbles left your lips and hanma let out another loud laugh, eyes dancing with mirth as he looked up to the camera, letting go of your neck to let your body fall against the couch as he grabbed your hips with both hands.

and draken could only watch as he picked up the pace of his hips, dragging your body back to meet his with every thrust, your weak moans meeting his ears and his eyes trained on your slack jaw and knocked back eyes.

“hear that, ken,” hanma mocked and blood roared in draken’s ears as the rage hit him again now that hanma was directly addressing him through the camera, “cant even properly satisfy your pretty lil step sister, how’s it feel that she has to run to me to get fucked right? bet you’ve never seen her like this, have you?”

draken’s stomach churned as sin slid up your body to grab your hair, yanking your upper body back off the couch to bring your face back in view of the camera.

“have you?” hanma goaded and draken hated how hanma already knew the answer if the cocky grin on his face had anything to say about it—he had never seen you like that before. hanma let go of your hair again, letting you drop back limp to the cushions, grabbing your hip to resume the brutal pace, “aw, you tappin out on me, baby?” hanma cooed and draken watched as you didn’t respond, not with a moan or movement, “too bad.”

hanma didn’t make any move to stop though, if anything, taking the opportunity to fuck you harder, faster, and draken’s mouth was dry as he watched hanma fuck your unconscious form.

“gonna fill her up,” hanma panted and draken had half a mind to turn the audio down so he didn’t have to hear his irritating fucking voice, “gonna stuff her full of my cum n then send her right back to you, n you’re not even gonna know til a few days later when i send this to ya.”

hanma let out another breathless laugh, one that dissolved into an obscene moan as his hips stuttered against your ass before stilling against you.

the video cut off and draken’s body moved on automatic as he clicked on the second one, mind numbing anger sweeping through him as the video loaded, showing your unconscious form laying face down on the couch. he watched as the camera drifted down your body to your ruined cunt, he watched as hanma shuji spread your pussy lips, giving draken full view of hanma’s thick cum leaking out of your cunt.

he couldn’t tear his eyes away as hanma scooped up the leaking cum with two fingers and stuffed it right back into your hole before the video cut off yet again.

his grip on his phone was so tight that it was a miracle he hadn’t broken it yet, and he looked up for a second, vision red as he caught sight of you making your way toward him and his bike, smiling widely and waving.

his phone binged again. draken looked down.

18:32 oops wrong number <3

—-

CONTINUATION FANART BY @shidousun

#hanma smut #draken smut #hanma x reader #draken x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev smut #hanma shuji x reader #hanma shuji smut

3K notes · View notes

reidslibrarybook · 4 years ago

Text

All You Need

Pairing - Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Request - Was wondering if I could get a super sappy fluffy fic with Spencer. Was thinking a fic where reader has been having a really tough time and has to change their life style and have pulled away because of it. Take it wherever you want I love your writing I know you'll do amazing whatever you write

Warnings - language, injection of fertility drug via needle (implied proper disposal), fertility problems, very very brief mentions of Diana’s schizophrenia and William’s disappearance, SMUT (MINORS DNI 18+), fingering, slight overstimulation, unprotected penetrative sex

Summary - You’ve been hiding your feelings from him, pushing him away and shutting him out ever since you found out about your odds of having a baby. There had to be some way he could let himself in, some way for the both of you to come to terms with what’s become.

Category - hurt/comfort, SMUT (MINORS DNI 18+)

Word Count - 7.5k

A/N - idk if i did the request justice but i decided to go with something from grey’s anatomy (meredith’s infertility arc)— a lot of the first two scenes are taken from grey’s. also, this is my first time writing like full on smut, so um, let me know if i can fix anything. this one was a doozy to write lmaooo.

masterlist

join my taglist here!

——————————————

A soft, hot breath hit your tender skin, sending shivers down your spine as you immediately recognized the mellow waft of his cologne around you. A pair of hands spun your chair around, your eyes meeting his hazel ones with a mischievous smile below. “Spencer,” you giggled while looking around for any wandering eyes or nosy bodies around the bullpen, “What are you doing?”

His hands ghosted across your upper thighs, his fingers treading dangerous waters. “Are you busy?”

“I-” you look back at the papers messily laid out on your desk, “I am, Spencer.”

“I just need a minute, it’ll be quick,” he begs, placing a gentle kiss to the top of your hand.

“Spencer, really… I don’t think I have the time-”

He hooked a one finger under your chin, lifting your head up to meet his piercing gaze that bore straight through the already falling wall of armor you attempted to put up. His touch rendered you absolutely useless, an unintelligible mess of putty in his handsome hands that held your heart.

“Just,” he placed a kiss around your face after every word, “One,” kiss, “Minute,” and another right on your lips. His coy smirk played on his lips after he opened his eyes to see your dazed face after removing the supportive hand he kept on your back to keep you from falling over.

“Just one,” you bargained, “You’ll be quick?”

“Very,” he whispered, taking your agreement and rushing you up the stairs to the storage closet on the eleventh floor placed conveniently in a hallway of unused offices that the two of you often frequented for some… fun.

Your laughs and giggles reverberated through the halls, bouncing off the walls and to the offices that were most definitely occupied. It was a known fact that the two of you together were quite adventurous in nature, even more so when you began trying for a child. You both were a nuisance, something that you were told repeatedly by your very annoyed and frustrated colleagues.

Preoccupied, the two of you hopped into the cramped space only to stumble over tossed clothing on the ground. You looked up, startled by the new recruit and tech genius pressed up against each other in nothing but lacy underwear and boxers. All four of you shared a shocked glance before their state of stun quickly passed, the quiet turning into terrified screams and Luke’s clumsy attempts to cover the both of them. You quickly pulled Spencer out. “Oh my god.” He shook his head, grabbing your hand and leading you towards the elevator as he pushed the button from behind you.

“Where are we going now?”

“No where,” he mumbled against your neck, his hands migrating down to your waist.

“What?” You tried to turn around to look at him, failing horribly when he held you still in your place.

“Don’t worry, I told you I’ll be quick. In and out.”

“Spencer,” you yell, distracted from the risky problem at hand when he began to hike your skirt up from one side. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as the numbers above the metal doors decreased with a tick each time.

“Ready?”

You nodded, his lips reaching your cheeks as he pressed up against your behind— his cold hands brushing against your side. You winced at the slight pinch from the needle in his hand that he carefully capped after injecting you with the fertility drug.

“See,” he smiled against your skin, “I told you. Quick.”

“I think you forgot to mention the pain too,” you laughed, turning around and wrapping your hands around his neck— well aware that you were close to arriving on the sixth floor. You reached up to meet his lips sweetly, your eyes closing in peaceful bliss as he reciprocated immediately.

“Well, it’s all for our hypothetical baby.”

“Our future baby,” you giggled into his ear as the doors opened with a ding, his hands slipping into yours. He could feel your heart racing, his fingers resting over your pulse point lightly as he smiled at your excitement.

You gave his hand a squeeze, leading his attention towards the handsy couple in front of you. Penelope was perched on Luke’s desk, his hand resting on her knee and her hand caressing his cheek, fully dressed after being startled by you and Spencer. He giggled in your ear, the smell of your hair putting a wide grin on his face.

He pulled his head away when the sound of someone clearing their throat came from behind you, turning around to see a very tired Emily with a steaming hot cup of coffee in her hand. She took a sip, giving the both of you a knowing look and nodding her head towards the pair of bodies with hearts practically floating around them.

“I could barely handle the two of you, now I have to deal with double the PDA,” she sighed, shaking her head. You laughed with him, letting his hand slip from yours as you tucked yourself back in between the desk and your chair— Spencer doing the same.

He looked back down at the words printed on the pure white paper on his desk but he could never focus with you around, which posed a serious problem since the first time you walked into the bullpen. His eyes never lacked a subject of beauty to look at, his heart never lacked someone to beat for.

Small chuckles fell from his lips as he tried to recenter his focus on his paperwork, failing miserably and wandering back to you— his wife. You got married on a whim, throwing all caution and thought to the wind after you spontaneously took a trip to the court house after work on a Wednesday. There was no reason you couldn’t have waited a couple of months to plan something a bit more conventional but he didn’t need all the adornments or long-winded discourses of a typical wedding, all he needed was you.

And that didn’t change… it never would.

The two of you were perfect, the Reids— your true feelings hidden behind a façade of vacant smiles and hollow laughs. He knew you were struggling and beating yourself from the inside out, but you never showed it in broad daylight.

Kids were something that you and him have talked about the moment you made up your minds about the elopement, deciding that you’d start trying as soon as you got married. You tried your best, and so did he.

Tracking your cycles and approximating when you’d start ovulating was a daily occurrence for a year and a half after unsuccessful trying. Your usual loving, lusty sex was nothing but dry— overshadowed by the sad and absent conceptions. The fun was sucked out of something that always managed to bring a smile to your faces, it had become nothing but a chore and he hated it.

It was a punch in the gut when your OB/GYN told you that having a child naturally was a long shot. He walked out of the office with your hand in his, his heart breaking not only for the possibility of a life without biological children but for you. You refused to let him in, putting on the same fake smile he recognized as a way to convince yourself that everything was fine.

That you were fine.

And in some way you accepted that as you offered up alternative ways to have kids that he happily considered with you, landing on fertility drugs. You were optimistic about it and so was he, trying to make the process as enjoyable as it was in the beginning for you.

Spencer knew you’d blame yourself, a fact that sent waves of pain to his heart. It was never your fault and it never would be but there was no way for him to know.

Which was what broke him.

All he wanted was for you to open yourself up to him and move away from the rock you hid behind. He wanted you, all the good and the bad parts— the happy and the sad.

“Hey.”

His eyes shifted from the coffee pot he had been blankly staring at to you. “Hey.”

“You alright?” You giggled, “If you want coffee that badly then I can get you a cup.”

He shook his head. “I’m good, just thinking.”

“Okay,” you reached your hand out towards the edge of his desk, feeling around, “I was thinking about going home early.”

“Are you okay, is something wrong?”

“Everything’s fine, Spence,” you laughed, “I’m just feeling tired so I thought I’d get a head start on sleeping.”

“You’re sure you’re alright,” his hands landed on yours, taking them and squeezing lightly.

You smiled, “I’m fine. I promise. I already told Emily so I’ll meet you at home?”

He nodded, standing up and placing a kiss on your forehead that you happily received— kissing him on the cheek before patting his chest and talking towards your desk. He watched you walk out, something was off but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

He sighed, slinking back down into his chair and stuffing his head back into the pile of papers on his desk. It was only a matter of time before he figured out how you truly felt about the whirlwind that’s been the last couple of years.

Spencer’s been stuck in his own purgatory, one that he knew you were stuck in too.

——————————————

He walked into the apartment, smiling as soon as the smell of chocolate hit him. You were standing in the kitchen swaying your hips to some upbeat song, humming along like you usually do.

A couple of laughs rolled past his lips, placing his bag on the hanger and coming up behind you to give you a kiss. It was almost as if you could feel his presence, remaining unvexed as he reached around to give you a peck on the cheek.

Spencer swayed along with you, his smile tickling your skin as you grinned along. There wasn’t a need to talk, the love radiating off of the both of you served as your own form of communication without the extra noise. He watched you chop pieces of chocolate in a way he never had before, the chunks completely uneven which went against every fiber of your being. He didn’t comment on it, choosing to ignore a glaringly obvious red flag he should’ve paid more attention to.

“Cupcakes?” He mumbled against your skin, snuggling against your neck and planting curt kisses behind your ear.

You giggled, “Mhm.”

“I thought you said you were tired?”

“I was, but I was craving some chocolate cupcakes.”

He lifted his head after hearing the one trigger word that had been ingrained in his brain since the beginning. “Craving?”

“Not like that,” you laughed.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, stopping the playful sway of his hips and loosening his grip on your waist slightly.

“Don’t be,” you whispered, feeling a bit guilty for making him feel like it was his fault for getting excited, “My egg hasn’t dropped yet. It will soon, just one more round.”

“I know…” He trailed off, the silence implying something that didn’t need to be said— that he loved you.

You couldn’t imagine how hard it was for him to be going through something he didn’t ask for. He was happy to be with you, you knew that, but that didn’t make it any easier for him. All he’s ever wanted was to be a dad and you’ve tried your best to make it a reality, but your efforts were wasted after finding out that the odds were all against you.

You felt like ever since you found out, there was some kind of distance between you— something you desperately tried to fix. Things weren’t as they used to be, you knew it and he did too.

“Shit,” you hissed, jumping up and instinctively wrapping your hand around the finger you had just cut, “Fuck.”

Spencer reached for the little first aid kit placed in a drawer in the kitchen, holding out his hand for you to take. You placed your hand on his as he tried his best to clean it out quietly, something running through his mind.

“Sorry,” he said in response to your wince, “You’ve been clumsy lately.”

You quirked your head to the side, furrowing your brows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve been tripping and falling and feeling around for things like you can’t see,” he looked up at you inquisitively as you looked away to avoid his strangely intimidating eyes, “Oh my god. You can’t see.”

“Spencer-”

“W- why didn’t you tell me.”

“It’s not a big deal, I’m probably just tired. That’s why I went home early, Spencer,” you gently retracted your hand, sensing his festering anger.

He huffed, grabbing your hand and placing the bandaid on your finger before yanking you to the door. “I’m taking you to the doctor.” You knew better than to argue with him, slipping on your shoes and following him out the door. It was a quiet ride, but the silence was different from the one that filled the space around you in the brightly lit kitchen.

It was angry and tense, disappointed and hurt.

The silence followed you all the way to the bustling room in the urgent care facility, the two of you so close yet miles apart— separated by feelings of betrayal. He couldn’t wrap his head around why you would keep something so integral to your health from him. Your vision loss could be attributed to a number of things that could violently rip you from his arms.

You walked into the private room as an unfamiliar OB/GYN walked in behind Spencer.

“Mr. and Mrs. Reid, what brings you in today?” She asked, sitting down on her stool and looking to the both of you for answers.

“Um, my vision’s been really blurry lately,” you mumbled.

“And when did you start to notice this?”

“I,” you couldn’t help but glance over at Spencer who was patiently waiting for your answer, “It started three days ago.”

He scoffed, “Three?”

You looked at him as he met your eyes with just as much anger, the two of you shooting daggers at each other and filling the room with an uncomfortable tension.

“I’m fine. I still am. I can still see, just not as clearly as I did before. It’s not a big deal, Spencer,” you huffed bitterly.

“Right,” he said, matching your tone, “So you didn’t just cut your finger because you couldn’t see what was right in front of you? How did you even manage to see?” “I squinted, okay? It was fine.”

He grumbled, “Yeah.”

The doctor looked between the both of you with your faces all red and steam practically blowing out of your nostrils.

“Well, I think I might have the answer as to why you may not be able to see as clearly as you could before,” she offered, “It’s most likely the fertility drug that you have listed here. Just to be safe, I’ve called down our emergency ophthalmologist to give the okay for you to go home, but you have to stop the fertility drugs.”

You laughed, dry and humorless. “I- I can’t stop now, my egg’s about to drop.”

“Yes, you can. Look, I know you really want to wait it out ‘til the end of the cycle but you know all those scary side effects listed on the back of the box? One of them is happening to you right now and we need to make sure that this doesn’t permanently damage your eyesight.”

You nodded along, pretending that her words didn’t shatter your already fragile heart. The words that came from her in the next few moments were cancelled out, you couldn’t hear one thing she said— Spencer taking your place and speaking for you.

You saw her leave, still sitting silently on the tissue paper lined bed as the world around you slowed. You wondered what you had done to be so unlucky, the world pitted against you in your endeavors. It was stupid of you to pass off the fuzziness as a symptom of sleep deprivation and keeping it from Spencer even more so.

The rest of your visit went by in a blur, having your eyes checked out and given the green light to go home. The ride was quiet like it was before, except the silence had gone from lighthearted to fumed to somber.

No words were exchanged, the eerie placidity haunting you all the way to your bedroom door. Spencer opened it for you to go in, the cupcakes discarded on the kitchen counter.

“I can call Emily and tell her you’re going to be staying home for the next couple of days.”

You looked over to him from your place by the dresser, your pajamas in your hands. “Why would I be staying home?”

“I just assumed that you wanted to, a- and your eyes-”

“My eyes are fine, Spencer. I’ll be fine, I’m all good to work tomorrow. It’s just going to be another paperwork day anyways.”

He nodded as you tried to pass him by to reach the bathroom, stopped by his hands placed tenderly on your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For just,” he sighed, “I don’t know? Exploding on you? I was just upset that you didn’t tell me.”

“Don’t apologize, Spence. You had every right to be mad, I would be too if you couldn’t see despite already having the worst eyesight,” you giggled, a small smile appeared on his face again, “I’m fine.”

“D- do you want to talk about what happened? We can if you want to-”

“There’s nothing to talk about. The drugs aren’t an option anymore so we’ll have to think of something else or,” you dropped your head slightly to blink away the tears that started to form discreetly, “Or we’ll just have to stop trying.”

“We don’t have to do that, there are tons of other options,” he pulled you into him tightly, rubbing your back with a comfort that you were well accustomed to.

“I know and I’m fine,” you pulled away to look up at him with a smile, “I’m just going to change, I’ll be back.”

You left his arms and shut the door behind you. He mustered the energy to flop onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling blankly.

You weren’t fine.

He didn’t know what you were feeling or how hard you were being on yourself behind closed doors. You wouldn’t let him in and he didn’t know why, it hurt him to know that you didn’t want him to be in there with you— helping.

There was no doubt that things had changed, they weren’t as they were before. You weren’t open, taking the key away from his hand and shutting him outside the doors of your heart. You wouldn’t let him in and it broke him in more ways than one— something that brought you joy shriveling up into your own personal hell.

He had to find a way to let you know that it was alright. That it wasn’t your fault. That it didn’t have to be this way anymore, the gleaming light that surrounded you darkened by the haze of despondence.

That he was always there.

——————————————

The week flew by, Spencer losing any and every sense of time after that night at the emergency room. The same infuriating smile still plastered on your face, your fake acceptance irked him. He tried to weasel his way in, but it was no use no matter how hard he tried— you kept him out and your feelings locked away in a deep, dark part inside of you.

The team, oblivious to every single trouble you went through, invited everyone over for dinner on their valued day off on Friday. Every single day leading up to that dreaded night where he’d have to pretend along with you was torture, all he wanted was to stay back with you but you insisted.

Keeping up appearances.

Something he always hated.

Everything he had done as a child was all for some shining glory if not in vain, attention and spotlight was what he craved. His mother was never lucid enough to care for him as she should have, something he didn’t hold against her, while his dad was off living his life having left behind the dead weight that was his son and schizophrenic wife.

He pretended to be alright for his mom’s sake. He pretended like he didn’t think about all the things he could have done to make his dad stay. He pretended like his auspicious memory and his prodigious intelligence wasn’t a pain to bear, like it didn’t keep him awake every night.

As much as he didn’t want to, he followed your lead and deceivingly nodded along with empty laughs and deceptive smiles to make you happy.

He’d do anything to make you happy.

Spencer opened the door for you, waiting for you to walk into the apartment before shutting it behind him. You turned around and gave him a kiss, returning a faint color to his cheeks and a small glimmer in his eyes. He reciprocated, leaning down to keep you from hurting your toes as you reached upwards.

“I’m going to get ready,” you said between kisses, the little seed of hope and genuinity growing in the base of his chest.

“Now?” He laughed, “We still have a couple of hours before we have to leave.”

“Yes, now. It’s been a while since we’ve gone out with the team, I miss spending time with them.”

He missed spending time with you.

“Okay, I’ll just wait out here then. I don’t think I need to change just yet,” he placed a kiss on your forehead and loosened his grasp on your waist.

You nodded, running your hands through your hair and padding away towards the bathroom connected to the bedroom. He walked over to the bookshelf, running his hands across the spines of his collection detailing some of the most renowned stories in history.

He wished it was that simple, that he could look up the answer to all his problems. Spencer picked a book, sitting down in his armchair and flipping through the pages mindlessly. It only served to occupy the worry in his mind, distracting him from the real problem at hand.

He didn’t know how to fix it, he didn’t know what he had to do to get you to let him in again. Maybe it was an inevitable end as dramatic as it sounded, maybe there was nothing he could do to change what your relationship evolved into.

The problem wasn’t you pushing him away, it was you refusing to tell him the truth about how you truly felt— like it was your fault.

—

The minutes ticked by as the sun rested and the moon rose to it’s shiny pedestal in the sky, the stars illuminating the world beneath it. He had already changed, sitting on the bed and waiting for you to reveal whatever beautiful dress you donned behind the closed bathroom door.

His attention was drawn towards the little sliver of light that came from the space between the frame and the piece of wood that separated the two of you, your voice flowing through the crack and reaching his ears in a blissful trance.

“Spence?”

He raced to the door, poking his head in to see you standing in front of the mirror— your hair all done with wispy curls framing your face. “Yes?”

You met his eyes through the reflection in the mirror, smiling at his tousled curls and crooked tie. “Can you come help please?”

He nodded, pushing the door open to expose your dress with the zipper completely open. He felt his face flush almost immediately, the sight of your bare back bringing him back to your first time together after three months of dating.

Spencer could feel the chains slipping through his hands with ease, trying his hardest to reign himself in after the pain you must have gone through after recent events. He couldn’t burden you with his urges.

“Can you help me with the zipper? Sorry, I didn’t want to keep you waiting and I accidentally jammed it,” you admitted, swiping your hair away to reveal more of your skin.

He gulped nervously, “I don’t mind.”

“It’s really stuck so it might be hard to fix.”

He nodded and approached you from behind, to attempt to zip you up.

The heat of the lights above him worsened his control over the situation, tempting him to throw all caution to the wind and make you feel the way he felt. He could see the curvature of your back, the softness of your skin. It was alluring and charming all at once, drawing his mind away from what he should be doing to what he wanted to do.

Urging him to let go.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll get it up somehow,” he laughed, a shy grin on your face, “And… just to clarify. You wanted it zipped up, right?”

“Yes,” you giggled, “Up.”

Maybe this was the answer he was looking for, taking away the responsibility and pressure placed upon you— exchanging it for something the two of you haven’t experienced in well over 2 years.

“Do you think I could convince you to keep it down?”

He didn’t want to pretend like he didn’t miss how it was before.

“Spencer,” you huffed, rolling your eyes playfully.

“You can’t blame me for trying,” he sighed with a smirk on his face.

His hands shakily started to work the zipper up the tracks, but something was telling him not to. These past 2 years the two of you fumbled around trying to figure out what you could do to bear a child, blinded by the journey and losing sight of what really mattered— your love. Sure, it would be nice to have a newborn babbling in your arms, but what would it matter if neither of you still burned with the same fire that sparked when you first met.

He lost all control over his feelings… but he’d win it back by losing it all over again.

“Can you get it?”

He sighed, the world dizzying in the cloud of lust and desire that had been tossed, neglected. There wasn’t anything holding him back, letting go of the little metal zipper and placing his hands on your waist— slowly reaching towards your stomach to pull you back towards him. The warmth of his hands spread across your abdomen, his heartbeat felt in between your barren shoulder blades. You couldn’t stop the tiny whimpers from escaping your lips lined with red lipstick, his reflection in the mirror leaning down to your neck that was wide open for him to conquer.

You trembled under his touch that lit fires atop your skin like they did before, but in a new way. He was starved, craving something that wasn’t rendered into something almost monotonous. The act itself was wrung dry of every drop of passion, degraded into nothing but a chore every time the little app on your phone dinged signaling your ovulation.

You missed it too, just as much as he did.

You flung your head back onto his shoulder, jaw slack with the pleasure derived from just his hands alone. Spencer slid his finger up your back, tracing your spine with the back of his hands as you shivered and bit back a moan.

His lips moved down from the place on your neck down to the top of your shoulder, his eyes closed in utter bliss. The soft feeling of his lips on your uncovered skin left trails of pleasant tingles that spread all over your body, wildfires in your forest. A familiar heat shot straight down to your core, your hands wanting to reach for his hair as it was so accustomed to.

Spencer’s hands gently pulled your dress down your shoulders, opening his mouth slightly to nip at your skin… to leave marks that only he could see. You pushed back against him, the satisfaction of his touch throwing every ounce of rationale you had out the window for another second of contact.

“Spencer…”

Your moan sent him smiling against your skin with a smirk, savoring the way you called out his name as your knees began to give way to him. His free hand reached down towards the hem of your dress, slowly lifting it up as his hand left feelings of delightful pin-pricks on your skin. His fingers traveled upwards toward your lacy underwear, a smile playing on his lip the moment a lewd moan came from you.

It was music to his ears, the sound of your panting and huffing that reverberated against the bathroom walls. He managed to fully slip the dress off your body, his eyes moving to the fogged mirror and taking in the sight of your bare chest— each curve and dip was a masterpiece in his eyes.

You couldn’t handle how painstakingly slow he was going, his amusement of your torment evident from the evil grin on his face as he sucked at your shoulder. He gave into your neediness, wrapping his arms around you and spinning you to face him like a top which eventually gave way to a parade shaky laughs.

“I missed this,” he whispered as his lips ghosted over yours, “I missed you.”

“I missed this too… I missed you too,” you mumbled, closing the distance between you and folding your arms around his neck to bring him closer to you. The kiss wasn't tender and sweet, rather a ravenous devour of the air the two of you attempted to breathe— there had to be some way to make up for all the lost time.

With one single motion, his hands gripped your thighs hungrily while lifting you up and placing you down onto the bathroom counter. You winced slightly, feeling the cold marble slab beneath your skin and tugging at his suit jacket to even the playing field if he’d allow it.

He wasted no time in reattaching his lips to your skin, sucking at your collarbone as his hands worked in tandem to pleasure you in every possible way— tracing shapeless forms on your breasts while the other toyed with the band of your underwear, completely soaked with your arousal.

Spencer left no part untouched by his mouth— sucking and kissing and nipping, leaving marks all over your body… marks that the two of you would no doubt revisit later. His lips scorched your chest, remnants of your red lipstick that transferred onto his skin laying on top of the bruises that began to form.

His agile fingers made quick work of the sheer fabric that clung loosely around your waist, throwing it to the side and smiling at the feeling of your wet cunt.

You gasped as soon as you felt him slip two fingers into your folds, working his way in slowly while continuing to kiss away at your skin— fulfilling his insatiable hunger for you. Your eyes were half-closed in ecstasy, head swung back as your hands desperately reached for something to grab in an attempt to brace yourself.

“Shit, Sp- Spence,” you stuttered, drunk on the feelings of euphoria elicited from the man who embodied your idea of paradise.

“What’s wrong?” He teased, curling his fingers upward to reach your most sensitive spot as his thumb moved towards your clit. “I-,” you panted, gasping as soon as he applied pressure onto your bundle of nerves, savoring what you imagined to be the feeling of being in seventh heaven.

He chuckled in your ear, whispering, “So sensitive.” You writhed into his touch, nearing your climax as he continued to thrust his fingers into you with a relentless speed. The two of you forgot about all your problems from before, the pleasure you derived from the intimate moment together washing away the bad that clouded the good.

You moaned into his neck, your strength draining as you clenched around his fingers and tangled your hands in his hair. Suddenly your obligations and feelings of responsibility were lifted, set free by the radiant waves of pleasure sourced from your core.

“I can’t. I- I need,” you could barely form words, your brain short-circuiting, “I n- need to-”

“It’s alright,” he reassured, “Let go for me.”

And right on cue, a slew of ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ flowed effortlessly as he continued to desecrate your body with the steady rhythm of his hands. You whined, squirming in his embrace from the overstimulation— looking at him intensely when you felt the growing bulge in his pants against your thigh.

With a burst of confidence, you pressed your knee up against his crotch— the vibrations of his groan tickling your neck. He continued to fuck you with his fingers as you palmed his throbbing cock, slowly pulling down the zipper of his pants and slipping your hand in between the fabric in your elation.

You savored every sound that came from him, dark and husky as they mixed with the sounds of his fingers moving in and out of you. His pants slid down to his ankles, your other hand quickly pulling off his tie and undoing every single nuisance of a button— running your hand down his bare chest while the onslaught of physical desire enabled you to gather enough energy to undress him even further.

It wasn’t long before you could feel yourself approaching another gratifying release, Spencer’s lips no longer taunting you with power as he succumbed to the feeling of your hand on his dick. He opened his eyes slightly, pupils dilated as they met yours that begged him for something more… for him.

Your beckoning look had his heart racing, the sheer amount of want that reflected in your pupils that were almost the size of your iris had him growing impossibly harder. The vivacious smile on your face replaced every other hollow look that left him vexxed, your hands increasing their speed in an attempt to gain some sense of control over the one person who could ever leave you speechless.

You were nothing but a mess of salacious whines and deafening cries of pleasure when you were with him.

He groaned into your ear, a cry coming from you when he removed his fingers from inside you. Spencer lifted his hand to your mouth, coated in the remnants of your last high. You opened, taking his fingers in and sucking the consequences of his sinful actions off his fingers.

You left him unable to speak, the feeling of your tongue on his fingers encouraging him to take things further than he already had. You giggled at the sight as you opened your mouth and released his finger, a thread of spit connected to the tips of his fingers tied him to you in the most succulent way.

“I need you,” he husked, his hips involuntarily bucking into your hand for more contact, “I need all of you.”

“What are you waiting for?” Your hand pushed back his unruly curls that covered his eyes, leaning towards his ear and whispering as you twirled a piece of his hair in your fingers, “Take me.”

His heart skipped a beat with your words. His ardent love for you replacing the blood that ran through his veins, electricity surging through his body. Suddenly, the barely noticeable grasp he had on himself was gone— becoming a fiend for you and only you.

Spencer smashed his lips to yours, the two of you fused together with passion— your hands wrapping around his neck as his hands pulled you off the counter. Your wet core pressed against his stomach as the feeling made him moan against your lips.

Your kisses spoke of things that were left unsaid, all the miscommunication and nights spent sleeping with your backs against the other remedied with the overflow of your emotions.

He stepped out of his pants that piled on his ankles, pushing open the door and walking towards the bed.

The cotton sheets and fluffed pillows were ruined when he threw you onto it, the rest of the soft mattress conforming to your body as he climbed on top of you after discarding the rest of his clothes. You adjusted yourself on the bed, scooting yourself up with your legs pressed together.

The look in his eyes was animalistic, carnivorous— the tip of his stiff cock glimmering from his precum. The two of you could barely see, the room barely illuminated by the stream of moonlight that dripped from the curtains. All you could hear was the sound of your panting and his hungry breaths, shifting nervously as you anxiously awaited for him to leave you in whimpering shambles.

Spencer’s hand guided your head onto the pillow, leaving gentle kisses on your face to ease your raging nerves. His hands grasped your knees and eased them apart— smiling at the sight of your glistening pussy.

He leaned down to your face, trapping you in between his arms placed on either side of you as he distracted you with long kisses that rushed lust through your body. You felt him lazily dragging the head of his dick through your folds before slipping his fingers in to grab some of your wetness and slicking it over him— using his hands to pump his cock before lining himself up with you.

Before you knew it, he drove himself into you— moans and words that would earn the two of you shameful stares fell from your lips with no restraint. Your mouth went slack as he slowly stretched you out, allowing you to acclimate to his size before he fucked you at an unrelenting pace. Spencer filled you up effortlessly, hitting the most sensitive spots inside of you. Your hands flying up to his hair in a prurient flurry, eyes squeezed shut in a dream of pleasure.

The sound of his hips thrusting into yours filled the room and was accompanied by the harmonization of your moans. He leaned his head down and nipped at your ear as you pushed your head back into the pillow even further. His gentle nature had vanished, replaced with a state of desirous wanting.

The feeling of blossoming pleasure led you to believe that what you were feeling was what you would feel as you entered through the gates of heaven, ironic given that Spencer’s actions were far from pure and innocent.

He buried himself in you deeper, rousing a gluttonous scream muffled by his neck. The rhythm he set sent your fingers towards his back, raking them downward and leaving trails of red welts of tempestuous ardor.

The knot in your stomach grew as he pounded into you, approaching a feeling you knew all too well… a feeling you missed. He could sense your imminent release as you tightened around him, following suit from your clenching that sent his head deeper into the crook of your neck.

You squirmed beneath him, back arching from the blazing feeling of ecstasy that undulated through your body.

“Spence,” you cried out, “I- I can’t.”

He lifted his head, taking his hand to grasp your chin. “Look at me,” he demanded, your eyes fluttering open, “You wanted this… so take it.”

His speed didn’t let up, the driving force of his hips continuing with the same amount of wanting. He let go of your face, making up for his rough touch with the gentle persuasion and encouragement of his kisses.

You hooked your legs around him, allowing him to thrust into you even further. You were so close and so was he, the strength of each of his thrust faltering after every time. The impure sounds that came from the two of you increasing in volume as the bed frame hit the wall with merciless ease.

“My sweet girl,” he muttered against your ear, “I’m so close — fuck— just a little longer for me.”

His thumb traveled down to your swollen clit, rubbing in circles to bring you even closer to falling over the edge with him. It took nothing more, a couple of circles around your clit sent you shouting into him and coming onto his dick that throbbed inside of you.

He grunted, driving into you a couple more times before he came undone just like you— fucking a mixture of your cum deeper inside you as he relished in your heavenly whines. As the two of you wound down, legs tangled together in a mess of sheets that clung to your limbs, he slowly pulled out as you whimpered from your sensitivity.

Spencer grabbed a couple of tissues and wiped away your combined arousal that cascaded out of you, placing tentative kisses on the inside of your thigh to calm you down from the overstimulation. He tossed the soiled tissues in the small trash can near his nightstand, shifting upwards and opening his arm to hold you close to his chest— the sound of his racing heart sending a smile to your face.

He looked down and placed his lips on your cheek, taking his thumb and wiping off the trail of mascara that ran down your face from the tears of pure pleasure that you shed. You laughed, reaching your hand up towards his face and trying your best to get rid of the marks your crimson red lipstick left on his neck, covering the real marks that graced his tender skin.

“I- I hope that was okay,” he whispered, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No, of course not,” you reassured.

He nodded, pulling you closer into him and gently rubbing your back sweetly. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he laughed quietly, “It was just- I don’t know.”

You shifted in his touch, moving in a position where you could better see his face. “I know, but um,” you paused, contemplating your next words, “I didn’t mind it at all, I think I’d much rather spend tonight with you than with the team.”

“I thought you wanted to go?”

“I did… but only because I thought you wanted to go.”

He shook his head, caressing your face as he marvelled at your beauty. “I didn’t,” he breathed defeatedly, “I want nothing more than to be with you, love. I hate what we’ve become, I hate that all we’re focusing on is having a baby. Don’t get me wrong, I want kids— of course I do— but it’s not the same.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

His heart broke at how small your voice was, your gaze shifting from his eyes to somewhere else in the room. “No, don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault, nothing is your fault.”

Tears stung your eyes. “But I-”

“Not ‘buts’, it’s not your fault and it never will be. I know you’re trying your best to hide your feelings, but you don’t always need to stay strong… not with me,” he cooed, “I need you to be honest with me, with how you’re feeling. Okay?”

You nodded, meeting his lips and melting in his touch. He grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around you all while reciprocating your kiss. He pulled away, a smile of content on your face as you leaned into his chest. “Let’s not push it,” his voice husky and soft, “I’ve seen what this whole thing has done to you. You’re stressed and under so much pressure, I hate seeing you beat yourself up all the time about something you have no control over. It’ll happen when it happens and if it doesn’t, there are so many other things we can do.”

You nodded, wrapping your hands around him with the lethargy of your spent passion.

He laughed, “What are we going to tell Rossi and the others?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it really matters. With the way we’ve been acting at work, I’m sure they’ll just assume we’re fucking,” you giggled.

“Well… they wouldn’t be wrong,” he teased, holding you tighter and squeezing slightly with waves of relief washing over him.

You leaned over him and took a glance at the analog clock on his nightstand. “If we clean up now, we’d only be an hour and a half late? I’m kind of hungry and Rossi’s food is exactly what I need.”

“I’m hungry too,” his hands moving to your waist and up your chest teasingly, “But not for Rossi’s food.”

“Spencer,” you yelled as he attacked you with his lips and mumbled things all over your skin. Grins and playful smirks on your faces, paralyzed by with happiness that was delivered by the slobbery kisses from your husband.

Why it took so long for you to finally accept that things don’t always work out the way you want them to? You didn’t know, but you did know one thing…

All you needed was him.

—————————————-

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orange-imagines · 4 years ago

Note

Ya boys reaction to being pecked on the cheek for first time by their s/o?

A/N - I’m assuming you mean the turtles for this one!

Raph

You guys were hanging out in the lair’s living room playing video games. And whether you’re great at video games or not...he was winning. He constantly faces off against his three equally competitive little brothers, alright? He’s got some skills

But are you just gonna sit there and take your third loss in a row? Absolutely not. You’re gonna sabotage

Lovingly

By taking his arm, then leaning over and giving him a kiss on the cheek, followed by an absolutely feral series of button-smashes until you win the round

Raph didn’t stand a chance

He’s basically rendered frozen as you pull off the win, staring silently at the screen in front of you two as he tries to comprehend that that really happened. You really just kissed him

Once you stop celebrating your first win of the evening, you settle down and check in with Raph to make sure he’s ok

His expression softens, and he smiles very sweetly at you. He’ll stutter an explanation and assure you that he’s alright. And, y’know, if you wanted, you could feel free to do that again

He’s not going easy on you the next round though. Sorry :)

Leo

He think he’s 100% prepared for it but he really isn’t

He’s in the middle of “training”, but which I of course mean he’s swinging his sword around and making a bunch of really bad portals, trying to act like hot shit

You’re watching him, so he’s showing off a lot more than he usually does. And, because ego, portals and gymnastics are never a good mix, he ends up tripping and falling a lot

Of course, you’re right there to help him back up most of the time, unless he gets embarrassed and pushes himself up first, claiming he totally meant to do that

He’s in the middle of a long, slightly scatter-brained explanation of how cool one of his tricks was supposed to be when you lean over and peck him on the cheek

If he wasn’t flustered before, he sure is now. He keeps talking because he can’t manage to shut himself up. He just rambles, holding your hand and trying really hard to stop blushing

Maybe he should try insanely impossible gymnastics tricks more often

Mikey

The two of you were hanging out in his room, you doing your own thing while he was finishing up one of his most recent paintings

He was having a bit of artist block and had already gotten up to pace around the room several times, trying to look at his painting from a few different angles to get the creative juices flowing. You can feel the gears turning in his brain and it’s starting to make you overthink your own stuff

You figure he probably isn’t gonna get a lot done stressing out like this, so you take a break yourself to attempt to talk him into getting a snack or some water or something

He loves you, but he’s in Art Mode right now and not really comprehending what you’re suggesting. Thankfully there’s a better way to get through to him that you’ve been wanting to try for a while

So you head over and give him a little peck on the cheek, and he’s snapped out of his funk almost immediately

He’s so flattered he forgets about the painting entirely. You just kissed him! Woah!! That’s so cool!!! He’ll totally give you one right back if you want!!!

You should probably get him to take a break first, though. He’s been working on that painting for hours on end already, and he really needs one

Donnie

You were hanging out with him in his lab (as you often did) while he worked on one of his inventions

The kiss was very casual, and not really planned at all. You were just very tired -it was pretty late, and you’d been there for a while- and Donnie’s endless technobabble is basically the world’s most confusing yet intriguing lullaby

Basically, you’re drowsy, but don’t feel like falling asleep just yet. Donnie’s on a roll talking about his latest project, and you want to keep hearing him out. You also have to admit, it’s very endearing listening to him rave about his passions

Neither of you even comprehend it at first when you lean over and kiss him on the cheek. He actually leans into it a bit, not even thinking about it, and it’s only a couple minutes later that he realizes what just happened

He’ll drop all his tools and do a double-take, and it’s honestly super entertaining to watch all the thoughts run through his head as he comes to terms with what you just did

He only snaps out of it when you ask if he’s alright, and he instantly assures you that he’s FINE and that TOTALLY didn’t catch him off guard or anything

“...You want me to do it again?” “Well I mean if you insist-”

#I'M ALIVE. I'M ALIVE BUT I'M DEAD #just read through my entire blog so I'm fired up on rise brain sooo. take this #rottmnt imagines #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt raph x reader #rottmnt leo x reader #rottmnt mikey x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #please excuse me if this is a little out of character I haven't rewatched rise in months alskdjfhasdf

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mercy-burning · 4 years ago

Text

She’s An Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer discovers that Reader has a rather promiscuous personality behind closed doors, and he can’t help but give into her. Category: SMUT (18+), (there’s a lil fluff at the end, but it’s mostly filth lol) Warnings: Language, heavy flirting and sexual tension, female/male-receiving oral sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, innocence kink (kinda?), breeding kink, dirty talk Word Count: 10.8k

***EDITED: 7/23/2021***

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hi, guys! This is my entry for @willowrose99 ‘s 1-Year Writing Challenge Celebration! My prompts were: Only Angel by Harry Styles (fun fact, this is my favorite Harry song! And the notes/texts that Reader sends to Spencer are lines from the song), stealing clothes, and the dialogue “You know, I kinda like it when you call me -pet name-” I hope you all enjoy it! I had SO MUCH FUN writing this!!!

Also! Little fun fact: sex and metaphors/references to religion is like... my favorite thing in the whole world, so I made a tiny playlist for you to give a listen if you’re interested! If you have song recs so I can add them, please let me know! I’m always on the lookout for new stuff :) Enjoy!!

***

He didn't think much of it the first day she started working at the BAU. If anything, Spencer was glad that they had an intern— someone who could share some of their responsibilities without completely changing the dynamic of the work. She even became part of their family, going out with them after cases, attending every workplace gathering, whether it be a wedding for a co-worker they didn't see often, one of Rossi's dinner parties, or Henry's birthday party.

It wasn't until they were setting up for the BAU office Halloween party that he noticed something was... different.

Y/N and Spencer were put on decorating duty while everyone else brought food and music, and whatever else. They stopped by extra early to set up, meaning they would be there together, alone, for at least two hours before anyone showed up.

Normally that wouldn't have been anything to worry about, but Y/N showed up in costume, and it completely threw him for a loop.

Now, he wasn't one to really care whether or not people used Halloween as an outlet to dress like sexy nurses or cheerleaders or whatever else. Sure, he'd rather go with something on the scary side, something with a creepy mask or intricate makeup, but in the end the holiday was everyone's to enjoy how they wanted to. And one way or the other, he never saw anyone in a sexy Halloween costume and found himself tempted by them in the slightest. In fact, it was rare that he ever saw anyone in one at all.

So, when Y/N slowed up to the office wearing a very skin-tight, tiny schoolgirl costume, and his heart leapt out of his chest, mouth going dry and blood running hot at the sight of her?

He was a goner.

Her eyes lit up when she saw him, dropping the large bag she was carrying to run over and give him a hug, which he shakily returned, trying to snap out of his daze. Suddenly he felt a little underdressed, not wearing his costume yet, and truthfully, he wasn't sure if he wanted to wear one at all now, fearful that she'd think it was too immature.

Even more frightening than the holiday itself was the fact that Spencer found himself caring about what Y/N would think of his costume when a minute ago it hadn't even crossed his mind.

He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly before she released him from her hug, hoping to expel his fear and remember that she was his friend and she'd never actually say anything bad about his costume. Not that that'd even mattered in the first place. It shouldn't have mattered, right?

God, pull yourself together! She's just a pretty girl dressed in a suggestive costume, it's nothing you haven't seen before...

Though, he wasn't even sure he could call her a pretty girl right then.

Because when she pulled away from him, talking about some of the decorations she brought, he had ample opportunity to get a good look at her costume up close. And she wasn't pretty. She was downright sexy, all legs protruding underneath a short plaid skirt and adorning shiny black heels, curly hair tumbling down her shoulders in pigtails. Her shirt was so low, most of the buttons undone to reveal a black lacy bra underneath. She wore a pair of glasses that sat cutely on the tip of her nose and minimal makeup, the only noticeable thing being bright red lip color.

That wasn't what was different, though.

Sure, she'd never worn anything that scandalous around work or even on nights out, but it wasn't the fact that she'd done so now that felt strange. No, it was the way she looked up at him, her head hung low and her eyes looking up through eyelashes. When she got excited to tell him something, she pitched her voice higher. And often times, she'd put herself in compromising positions, and it seemed like it was on purpose.

At one point she stood right in front of him trying to hang a streamer on a beam she was most certainly not tall enough to reach. Her arms stretched high, all fabric on her body rising up and exposing more skin. Spencer quickly tried to avoid any problems, offering to help so she wouldn't hurt herself, first of all, but also so that he wouldn't find himself staring too long when he shouldn't have been staring at all.

The whole time they were decorating, she found excuses to drop things and pick them up, to stumble and hold onto his arm for steadiness, to accidentally brush past him... And that's what was so different about her.

He didn't want to assume she'd been drinking before coming to the office, and if he'd known any better he wouldn't have assumed it in the first place. But that was the one and only thing that crossed his mind that could have been the answer to her strange behavior, despite the lack of alcohol on her breath. (The only reason he knew her breath didn't smell of alcohol was because at one point, she hugged him again and pulled back to look in his eyes, brushing stray curls from his face and telling him they did a good job finishing up the room they'd been working on.)

Now they were in the conference room, and Spencer was hanging streamers as Y/N sat in one of the chairs, wheeled back to the middle of the room so she could observe everything. Well... observe Spencer was more correct. At least that's what he figured, anyway. It was like he could feel her eyes burning into the back of him. Or maybe he was just still unable to get over the fact that she and her stupidly hot costume had had that big of an effect on him.

He stood down from the chair and asked Y/N to hand him more tape, refusing to look at her.

"Spence, are you alright?" she asked sweetly, rolling her chair over to the table so she could reach the tape. The innocent concern in her voice had that same suspicious tone to it that wouldn't leave him alone, like it was nagging him and calling to him... begging to confront her.

He flicked his gaze down to meet hers for the briefest of seconds before looking back at the table. "N—Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" She picked up the tape and toyed with it between her fingers, which were manicured a light pink color. He couldn't help but stare at them. "You seem a little... on edge."

With a swallow, an attempt to bring moisture back to his throat, Spencer shook his head. "I'm... No, I'm sure. Everything's fine."

Y/N sighed. "Well, I've been working with you profilers for some time now, and... I think I can tell when you're lying. Was it... something I did?"

There she went again, her voice high and soft. Innocent. Like she was in character.

Spencer looked at her face again, and then immediately he regretted it. She was half pouting at him, doe-eyed and head tilted to expose her neck. He swallowed again, trying to figure her out while also figuring out what to say.

"No," is what he settled on, audibly nervous.

She could tell, too, because he thought he saw her smirk for just a split second. But then it was gone, replaced once again by her pout. "Oh... Good. Because I thought for a second that you didn't like my costume."

She obviously had to be up to something, right? Was she... flirting with him? And more importantly, did he want her to flirt with him? He'd never really thought about Y/N in that context before, but she was single, beautiful, and... well, truthfully that's all he really knew about her. They'd been friends for about a year now, and he couldn't put together one single thought about her other than the stuttering, muddled confusion over the fact that she was in a sexy Halloween costume and most likely openly flirting with him.

What was that Emily said once about his IQ dropping in the presence of a pretty woman?

Y/N had rendered him utterly thoughtless.

And speechless, too, apparently, because he stood there, staring at her without saying a single word.

"Spencer," she called out softly, almost like a lullaby. Her chair rolled back, away from the table to give him a better view of her legs as she un-crossed them and very slightly opened her knees. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

As if he wasn't already practically burning inside-out since the moment she arrived at the office, now his blood ran hot, and he was suddenly very uncomfortably warm. "U—Um, y—yes, you're... You're beautiful, y—your costume... It's nice, it looks nice on you."

Her pout slowly turned into a smile as she patted her knees. "Thank you... I wore it just for you, you know."

Is this some sort of bizarre dream? he wondered, his knees almost buckling at her words, their tone, and the meaning of it all.

"Y—You did?" he whispered brokenly.

"Mnmm," she drawled as her fingers toyed with themselves. "You teach, right?"

"Sometimes."

Y/N hummed and nodded, her legs still closed enough that he couldn't see anything... extra promiscuous. "You know, I bet you have quite a few students who find you attractive... Tell me, do any of them dress like this?"

She leaned back in the chair and started to run her hands slowly up the inside of her thigh, just above her knee. "Do they ever... Sit in the front row and... spread their legs just enough for you to see the pretty panties they picked out... just for you..."

By now her hands were resting on the inside of her thighs, her legs spread in exactly the way she'd described. He couldn't help himself. There she was, offering herself to him, and in his line of vision was the faintest glimpse of baby pink fabric that matched the color of her fingernails.

He didn't even know how to verbally respond. By now he was sure his face was beet red, and his palms were sweating so badly and struggling to keep him upright as he leaned forward on the table. Ah, the table— the only thing separating him from her, a fact which he wasn't quite sure if he was thankful for or not.

The spell she had around her broke when her phone rang. And just like that, it was like she was... herself again. At least, the 'herself' Spencer had always known. She sat up and walked over to the other side of the room to grab her phone from her bag, reading the screen as he struggled to catch his breath.

"It's Penelope. She has a costume emergency I have to help with. Are you good putting the rest of these up?"

"U—Um, yeah. Yeah, go."

Y/N smiled and grabbed her bag, thanking him as she walked past and left him behind.

He heard her call back as her figure was etching itself into his brain, ready to remain there until the end of time. "Can't wait to see your costume!"

***

Luke and Tara were having a conversation that he was supposed to be paying attention to, but Spencer's mind was still occupied by Y/N and her... outward display of sensuality.

Her voice was echoing in his brain, replaying over and over how she'd dressed up for him. And the longer he tried to wrap his brain around everything, the more he wound up confused. Where had her forwardness even come from? Had she been actively interested in him this whole time and he just hadn't seen it until now? A possibility, but why had she chosen to go to that extreme rather than just tell him the truth? Maybe she'd just found being overtly sexual an easier tactic than others?

Or maybe, in the end, she was just messing with him. Even though Derek had moved away, it was entirely possible that he'd somehow concocted one of his ridiculous pranks and roped Y/N into helping him since he wasn't around to do it himself. A smart move, though it was highly unlikely.

Spencer just didn't know what to do. Depending on how the rest of the night went, he was probably just going to have to muster up the courage to ask her what her intentions were. And depending on what she says, he was going to have to figure out what he wanted from their relationship... Did she want just sex? Did he want just sex? Did she want to go out with him? Is that something he would want as well?

He was just about to mull it over when Penelope's boisterous laugh sounded from the other side of the room. Spencer looked up, eager to see if Y/N was with her, since she'd been called away on a costume emergency. Penelope was dressed as a devil, red sparkly horns on her red-streaked, curled hair. She was dressed head-to-toe in a red dress and shoes that felt very much like her, with feathers and sequins, and her makeup was also red and black and absolutely glittery.

And sure enough, behind her stood the woman who'd been occupying Spencer's mind for the past hour and a half. Though, she wasn't dressed as a schoolgirl anymore.

He found himself swearing under his breath as he took her in, shimmering where she stood, dressed in all white.

She was an angel.

An actual angel. Her hair fell loose around her, accessorized with a headband with a golden halo attached to it. Her dress was still pretty form-fitting, though nowhere near as scandalous as her previous outfit. It was long and flowed out at the bottom until it hit the floor, a ring of gold at the hem. The sleeves were also long and bell-bottomed, accented with gold at the end.

And from where Spencer stood, even that far away, he noticed the glitter that surrounded her eyes, gold to compliment the color on her dress. Her lips were still bright red, and her glasses were gone. And the wings... As small as they were—most likely to keep from taking up too much space—they stood out in any crowd, purely white and outlined in gold, just like the rest of her outfit.

Why had she changed? Did... she actually change at all? Had he truly only imagined their encounter hours ago?

"Any... specific angels crossing your mind?" Spencer heard Luke say, punctuated with a pat on the shoulder.

He blinked and looked at him. "What?"

"Y/N... She makes a pretty good angel, eh?"

"Uh, yeah, I—I guess so."

Luke and Tara laughed, obviously amused by all of this. But they hadn't seen her earlier. They hadn't been there to witness her seducing him and acting like she'd done it a million times over. They didn't know what she was doing to him, inhabiting every corner of his brain and driving him mad trying to figure it all out.

But it wasn't uncommon for his friends to tease him about the female attention he got sometimes. And when it was obvious that he was flustered, they kept the friendly teasing going. And every time, he settled on leaving it alone, because he knew it would pass and he wouldn't have to worry about it again, at least until the next woman hit on him in public.

And Y/N? She worked with them. As long as she was in his head, he was afraid he'd never stop being flustered in her presence.

So he had to know. He had to talk to her and see what was going on, no matter how awkward it might get.

For now though, it was Halloween, and he was going to spend the night with his friends while doing the very rare amount of drinking and the more frequent amount of laughter.

The night didn't come without a few looks in Y/N's direction, though. She never came up to him directly, though a few times he'd catch her looking at him. And each time, she'd wave and continue on her merry way, laughing with Emily or doing some silly dance with Penelope in their coupling costumes.

Honestly, if earlier hadn't happened, he would have thought nothing of it. She was being completely normal. Happy, friendly... Simply Y/N, as he'd known her for the past year and a half.

He just finished saying goodbye to JJ, who was leaving early to go trick-or-treating with her kids, when she finally approached him. At the sight of her getting closer, her otherworldliness making his blood go warm again, he tried to compose himself. After all, there was no way she'd do anything sensual in public like this, right?

"I didn't get a chance to compliment you on your costume yet," she said brightly, her voice not carrying that higher tone from before. "You make a very believable zombie."

He looked down at his tattered clothes, a small laugh escaping him. "Thank you... It's no high-level makeup job, but I tried my best."

When he looked back up to her, the shimmer of her makeup basked her in a glow that made it incredibly hard to breathe. She really was pretty. Still sexy, of course, but in an understated way this time.

And he couldn't help but bring up the difference. "You... changed."

Something sparkled in her eyes then, giving them a devious glint that inherently contradicted her costume, and the mere implications of that made him tremble, especially as she said, "Mhm... I figured the schoolgirl costume was a little too inappropriate for the workplace. And besides... I did say I wore it just... for you..."

So he hadn't imagined the whole thing... On the one hand he was relieved to know he wasn't freaking out over something that hadn't actually happened. But... on the other, what did that leave him with?

It left him with a woman who was standing in front of him, dressed like an angel while giving him all sorts of devilish feelings.

Once again she'd rendered him speechless, though now his thoughts were filled with images of those pretty, glimmering eyes above him, watching as he worshipped her between her legs... Of her hands twisted in his hair as he showed her just how much he wanted her, to show her how beautiful she was.

Those thoughts were interrupted when she got closer, toying with a stray curl that stuck out from his head. She twirled it around her finger and looked up at him, doe-eyed again as she purred, "Happy Halloween, Doctor Reid."

She was gone too quickly, whisked away by the throes of an office holiday party that, one way or another, served as the beginning to a long, tempestuous affair.

***

In the weeks that followed, Spencer went about his days as normally as he could, focusing on work, and getting ready for another month of teaching, where he'd be away from his friends and, therefore, also away from Y/N.

It's not that he necessarily wanted to be away from her... Yet, after constant flirting with no direction other than his dreams filling with filthy images of the two of them together and no actual outlet for it, he figured a break would do him some good. Of course, he wasn't sure what would await him when he came back—if she'd forget about all of it and give up or if she'd come at him stronger than before.

It was his final day before leave, and so naturally, Y/N had to make it hard on him. He was sure that's what she was doing.

Since it was getting colder, she strayed away from skirts, though occasionally she would show up to work in a longer dress or a shirt that hugged her in all the right places, especially on the days that he would be working with her more. She had the BAU's schedules on hand always, so she had to be using that as a way to get to him.

On those days, she often used her higher pitch when she spoke to him, and her eyes were always adventurous— they wandered over every part of his body and sometimes quickly blinked away when he caught her, accompanying an embarrassed smile. (Though, Spencer was convinced she really was absolutely not embarrassed.)

Other times she pulled the "Oops, I dropped something," trick, and "You know, it's almost Winter but it's still so warm in here, don't you think?" followed by a stretch of her body as she slowly put her hair up or dragged it over her shoulder.

His plan was to wait until he got back from leave, assess their situation from there after he'd cleared his head for a while, and then talk to her about what the hell was going on. Though the thought of confronting her scared him a little, he knew he couldn't let this go on any longer without some sort of conversation about what was next... What it all meant. It would drive him crazy otherwise.

With all the sensual, suggestive looks and actions she was throwing at him, though, it was a wonder he hadn't gotten to that point already.

As if she'd figured this out—because of course she would have found a way to get into his brain and know what he was thinking and feeling before he could even do so himself—Y/N stood by a storage closet with a clipboard. She pretended to write things down, when in reality she was looking up at him every so often, biting her lip and crossing her legs where she stood. She looked utterly desperate for something, almost like it was painful for her to be deprived of whatever it was she was looking for.

Spencer had a sneaking suspicion he knew what that was. And the thought sent a wave of electricity through his veins. All day she'd been going extra hard in attempts to catch his attention, and since it was his final day before leaving for a month, he knew that had to be the reason why.

If catching his attention was her goal, she'd definitely succeeded.

Across the room, and across a small sea of co-workers who were head-down, going through paperwork, he caught her eye and waited, his fingers twitching like they wanted to reach out to her. She tilted her head to the side and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, staring back at him like she was in a daydream.

And sure enough, she was standing underneath a light, one singular beam that sat atop her head like a halo and bathed her in a soft glow.

Even without the costume, she was an angel... For a moment Spencer wondered if maybe she'd planed on it all from the start— making her move by dressing like an angel on Halloween for one night and then finding any way on purpose to replicate that presence without actually dressing up again. Was it a way to mess with his head, to make him believe that she was calling to him? That she would... save him somehow?

He had to know what she was doing.

So he gave in and stood up, his eyes keeping contact with hers as he got closer and closer. Before he could get to her, though, she winked and then turned around, entering the storage closet and disappearing before his eyes. Still, he followed her, desperately hoping that's what she wanted.

And with a silent prayer that felt ironic as he thought it, Spencer opened the door and entered the adventure that awaited him. Whether it would be heavenly or otherwise he wasn't sure, but either way he was ready to confront it.

Y/N had turned on a desk lamp, its orange glow the only source of light in an otherwise pitch-black space. She leaned back against a table, still standing with her legs crossed over each other, hands bracing themselves on the tabletop. "How's it going, Doctor Reid?"

"What are you doing?" he asked, almost immediately after she greeted him. Now that he was alone with her, away from unassuming eyes, he exhaled and visibly showed his confusion through pleading eyes. "Please, I need to know what you're doing..."

He barely saw the contours of her face through dim lighting as she smiled. "What do you mean?"

"Y/N... Don't do that." He took a step closer, even though the quick beating of his heart signaled that it might have been a dangerous move. "Tell me..."

"Isn't it obvious?" she cooed, her hands coming out to toy with the hem of her frilly skirt.

As he looked down at it, he had to wonder if there really was a God out there, some higher being that sent this angel down to destroy him. How else did it stand to happen that even though it was nearing the end of November, the one day it was warm enough for Y/N not to freeze while wearing a skirt was the final day he had before leaving for a whole moth?—Before it was inevitably snowy and she wouldn't have the luxury to tease him with her skin?

She must have caught his lingering gaze on her legs, because she laughed softly, spreading them to stand a bit further apart while her fingers very lightly pushed the fabric of her skirt up. "I've been trying to get your attention ever since I got here... But you never seemed to notice. So I figured... Why not be a little more... forthcoming..."

"Y—You could have... said something," he whispered, forcing himself to look at her face. But as he was learning, he couldn't look at any part of her without his whole body going up in flames.

By now she was walking closer to him, small, languid steps that perfectly showcased how her body could move. "Well... Truth is, I was scared... Every time I tried to talk to you, I got really nervous..." Her voice was demure, apologetic almost... Embarrassed. But it had to have just been part of the allure, right? Part of her show? "You're just so... intimidating."

Spencer swallowed, a small laugh coming from him as he tried not to collapse at her closeness. "I'm... I'm really not..."

But she laughed, finally close enough to reach out and grab his tie, which is what she did. She held the fabric in her hands for a few seconds before letting it drop, bringing her pointer finger to gently trace patterns on his chest. "Not in a mean way, silly... You're... incredibly smart, and you're good at your job... You're always so nice to everyone... And I bet you really know how to make a girl feel good..."

He found himself trembling under her touch again as she brought her hand down to meet his. She leaned up to nudge his chin with her nose as she moved his hand to the inside of her thigh. It was only the slightest of touches, nothing rushed or passionate about it. In fact, Y/N seemed more taken with the idea of using her touch to draw everything out— to make him pine for it, lose all semblance of sanity until he finally gave in and did whatever he wanted to her.

"Don't you wanna know what it feels like to touch me?" she whispered, her breath hot on his neck. Meanwhile her hand guided his own farther up her skirt, until he felt her skin getting warmer and warmer with each millimeter. His throat was dry, breath shaky as he fluttered his eyes closed and embraced the moment, embraced the guidance... "To feel how wet you make me?"

His heart practically leapt out of his chest once his hand was finally met with said wetness. Her panties were damp and oh so warm, and he couldn't stop the whine that left his throat as she pressed his fingers hard into her against the fabric. Her fingers covered his like a glove, guiding them in small circles over her clothed clit as she sighed into his neck.

"You feel that?" she asked, nuzzling into his skin. "That's what you do to me, Doctor. From the moment I saw you, I knew you'd ruin me..."

He breathed a laugh then, finding it utterly ironic how that's how she felt. She could have just been toying with him, but there was enough longing and desperation in her voice to let him know she really meant it. She'd been waiting for him to come along and whisk her away...

So that's what he was going to do.

Spencer removed his hand from her then, walking them over to the table and pulling her right to him by gripping the waistband of her panties and keeping her still. The gasp she let out fueled him in a way that would have wrecked him if the job hadn't already been done. As he looked down at her, her body was basked in the soft orange luminescence of the desk lamp, a sight that aesthetically added to his desire and farther fueled the heat that had been accumulating in his veins, waiting to be released.

"Is that what you want, angel?" he breathed, the words even taking him by surprise. His sexual experience was far from non-existent, but it was limited enough that he'd never acted this feral before. Never had a partner ever had this strong of a hold on him, so tight that he found it a struggle to breathe. Add on the fact that he wanted to embrace that struggle if it meant being this way with her, and you had a man who was completely unraveling under the allure of one single woman until she ultimately brought forth his demise. "You want me to ruin you?"

Though he was giving in, like he assumed she wanted in the first place, Y/N hummed, tilting her head again and blinking up at him. "You know, I kinda like it when you call me angel..."

Spencer gripped the fabric tighter, and she whined. "Is it what you want?" In other words, Do you want this?

Y/N nodded, and then he crashed his lips with hers as he tugged at her panties and let them drop to the floor in a pool around her feet. She flung her arms around his shoulders and pressed herself into him more, allowing his tongue to part her lips and explore her with liveliness. She was more than welcome to embracing it, verbally giving him praises in the form of whimpers and physical ones in the form of her hips rolling forward to get more friction.

As one of his hands found purchase under one of her thighs, he thought back to Halloween night, and how he'd imagined his head between her legs. The memory had his entire body tensing with pleasure, and without a second thought, he pulled away and dropped to his knees, looking up at her with what he hoped was the purest form of desire.

He looked up at her, admiring the way her face looked in the dim light, as he lifted one of her legs and placed it on his shoulder. Still keeping eye contact, he tilted his head and kissed the inside of her leg. But eventually he let his focus lean to immersing himself in her pleasure, tearing his eyes away from hers and completely shifting his head to face her leg. His lips trailed upwards, taking his time to remember the taste and the feel of her soft skin.

The higher he got, the heavier her breathing became, and it wasn't long before he fully had his head under her skirt. She tried to move the fabric so she could see him, but he gripped her wrists and pinned them at her sides, eliciting a laugh from her that quickly turned into a whimper once he brushed his nose over where she ached for him.

Without being able to stop himself, Spencer inhaled, breathing her in and letting out a shaky breath as he inched closer and involuntarily closed his eyes, completely wrapped up in her like he'd never felt before. He was intoxicated by her, even more so when his mouth finally made contact with her dripping cunt.

Feeling her shudder above him was almost as heavenly as the way she tasted, sweet and bitter and oh so delectable. He'd never craved anything more than her in that moment, his tongue lapping her up and making a point to taste all of her. He explored and worshipped and praised her just how he'd imagined he would, though now that it was actually happening and he'd really had a taste of her, he wasn't sure he could ever go back.

Not that he wanted to. Especially as she whined and rolled her hips against his face, seeking more pleasure as she tried to be quiet in the closet.

Spencer, though he knew the importance of keeping it quiet right then, couldn't say he was the same way. Since his head was hiked up her skirt, and his sounds were muffled by her skin, he was as loud as he wanted to be, groaning into her and mumbling praises in between while catching his breath. He reveled in the feeling of her wetness coating the lower half of his face and the sounds that both pairs of her lips were providing. It truly was better than any symphony or choir he'd ever heard, and if he could spend the rest of his life down there, worshipping at her altar and giving her everything she desired, he would have.

But they were at work, and if they were gone too long, it would get suspicious.

So, as much as he wanted to draw out her pleasure—and by association, his own—he focused on getting her to her peak, flicking his tongue out over her clit and letting her hips rock forward to get her exactly where she wanted to be.

He knew she was about to come when she stopped whining and whimpering altogether, the leg she had draped over his shoulder curling and tightening around him to keep herself steady.

His tongue was relentless, keeping at what it was doing while Spencer imagined what her face must have looked like. Were her eyes rolling to the back of her head or were they squeezed tight? And her mouth— was it hanging open? Was her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she attempted to keep herself from yelling out? And as her hands struggled in his grasp, trying to escape most likely in favor of gripping his hair, he imagined them tied up above her head, attached to his bedframe as he took his time, drawing out every little sound she could have possibly made until she was just as unraveled as he was.

And then her grip loosened all around him, a whiny sigh escaping from her mouth, and Spencer reluctantly drew himself away from her. He dropped her leg from his shoulder and licked at his lips, tasting as much of her as he could before he had to return to work. And then, when he was moving to remove his head from under her skirt, he caught sight of her panties on the ground, picking them up and sliding the garment lightly up along her leg as he stood.

The only thing was, he wasn't putting them back on her.

No, they hung loose between his fingers as they tickled the inside of her legs, and when he finally stood tall enough to tower over her again, he got as close as he could to her, bringing the fabric up between her legs, right where he'd just been, and pressed them firmly to her sensitive pussy.

"Time to clean you up, angel," he whispered, swiping his hand forward and doing exactly that. Y/N whined against his mouth, faintly tasting herself on his lips as he cleaned her.

He kissed her then, gently, removing his hand from under her skirt and depositing the damp fabric right into his pocket.

If Spencer hadn't known already that he was done for, he would have figured it out right then, when he pulled back far enough to see the high, blissed out look in her pretty eyes. She blinked at him and sighed, telling him one final thing before she pushed past him and walked out into the office with no underwear and half-wobbly legs.

"I miss you already, Doctor..."

***

He missed her, too.

The month-long leave was supposed to assist in letting him clear his head, but the longer he was away from her, the more it drove him mad. Occasionally he'd still taste the sweet tanginess of her on his tongue, and no amount of coffee could rinse it out. Sometimes he'd be grading papers and daydream about hearing her whimper out his name as he took care of her.

It didn't help that she also sent him texts, little things that would have sounded innocent to anyone else but had a way more promiscuous meaning to the both of them. They mostly involved the discussion of angels, of course, as she left him with a quote or a song lyric, and other days with a fact about a specific angel.

Today, the morning before classes started, she sent him, She's gonna be an angel, just you wait and see... Spencer didn't know what it meant, what it was referencing, but it was innocent enough that he didn't think anything of it until lunch rolled around and he checked his phone to see another text.

...When it turns out she's a devil in between the sheets.

He couldn't stop thinking about it. All day, even as he was trying to distract himself by lecturing, all he could see in his mind was Y/N. Sometimes with her angel costume on, but mostly with nothing on, her body fitting into his like a puzzle piece as she sighed out his name like a prayer.

And to think, he had one more week until he would see her again.

But then he was looking through his students' quizzes, small sheets of paper with some terminology and matching definitions they needed to pair together. Since there were only about five minutes left until the class was over, he let his students spend the rest of the time how they chose, not really in the mood to burn himself out speaking when he knew it was only a matter of time before he slipped and said something about Y/N that he shouldn't.

The next quiz he grabbed was folded in half, unusual, but he opened it and was looking to go about his merry way regardless. But then he saw a post-it note right in the middle of the paper, reading She's an angel, my only angel, and punctuated with a pair of red lips.

The first thing he did was drop the pen that was in his hand. Not like he did it on purpose, though, he was pretty sure all joint and muscle function was lost upon reading the handwriting he knew so well, and a reference that only she could make.

And then he looked up, eyes scanning the sea of students to find her. She had to have been there, right? A few of the students found it odd that he was just looking through all of them, but all he was worried about was finding her.

And there she was.

Y/N had tucked herself all the way in the back, her eyes locked directly onto him. She winked then, when she knew she had his attention, and all Spencer could think about was how it must have been another dream. Her texts from earlier had gotten to him more than usual, and because of it, he was seeing her everywhere, seeing what he wanted to see.

Even though he wanted to keep looking at her, to try and figure out if she was really there or if she was just a figment of his devilish mind, he didn't want anyone to catch him. To anyone else it would look like he might have been staring at another student, and with the lust he knew was definitely swimming in them, the last thing he wanted to do was get in trouble like that.

So, to his dismay and reluctance, he slipped the note into the drawer beside him and quietly finished grading, even though he was longing to see how else he could let Y/N destroy him.

Even as the bell rang and everyone filtered out, Spencer kept his head low, refusing to look up until everyone was gone and only one person remained.

The quieter it got, the harder he could feel his heart beating. And then the only thing that cut through the silence was that unmistakable, angelic high pitch that would surely never fail to bring him to his knees.

"Did you get my note, Doctor?"

Only then did he allow himself to look up, and when he did, seeing her closer to him than she'd been in almost a month now, it was like the stars aligned. "Yes," he whispered, getting out of his seat and walking around the desk to be as close to her as possible.

She laughed and met him in the middle, nearly trapping him between herself and the desk. Her hands reached out to grab at his suit jacket and he wished that she'd touch him somewhere else. Anywhere else, just to feel the soft warmth of her skin.

"And my texts?" she cooed, taking another step and actually trapping him between her body and his desk.

"Y—Yeah, I got them."

"Oh, good. I've been thinking a lot about how you left me..." She slid her hands then, under his jacket and across his stomach until they reached his waist. "The second I got in my car to go home, you were already on your way here... And I couldn't help but wonder what you were doing with my panties..."

They were currently back in his hotel room, in the drawer and laying atop of his own clothes, a vision that had him reeling, wondering if she was wearing any now. So he asked. "Are... Um..."

Well, he tried to ask, anyway.

Y/N caught on, though, beaming at him as her hands removed herself from him and slipped up her skirt. "You wanna see the pair I'm wearing now?"

"Y/N... There's... Someone could come in, I..."

She clucked her tongue. "Oh, I wouldn't want to get you in trouble, don't worry. I'll just... Give you a quick peek."

She didn't wait for him to respond, lifting the hem of the skirt and stepping back so he could see the front of her underwear, which were white and printed with black cursive lettering.

Angel.

As soon as he exhaled, loud and obviously very turned on at the sight in front of him, she dropped the skirt and smiled. "You like them? I needed to buy a new pair since you felt the need to steal my others..."

Spencer really didn't know what to say. All he knew was that his body was on fire, and the tightening of his pants was extremely dangerous since he had another class in a half hour and there wasn't enough time to take care of it unless they did something right now. And even then, they were in a public area with hardly anywhere to go. His best bet would be to go to the bathroom and be as inconspicuous as possible to take care of it himself. Or, Y/N needed to leave immediately so he could settle down and just let it go away on its own.

Unfortunately, he seemed to have a hard time denying her of anything.

Which was why he didn't stop her when she sunk to her knees.

As she undid his belt, looking up at him with sparkling eyes, she spoke to him. "Honestly, I had every intention to just make out with you a little, just enough to satiate myself until I can see you again next week, but... Well, I'm wearing lipstick, and I wouldn't want to embarrass you."

He'd made out with a woman before, who'd worn lipstick, and surprisingly it was pretty easy to remove, so he knew she had to have been lying as some part of a bigger scheme, but... he couldn't quite figure out what that was. Obviously she had plans to take care of his erection for him, so why make up the story?

But then she kept talking, only slightly pulling down his pants and palming him through his underwear. "And then I thought about how pretty you'd look covered in lipstick kisses, and, well... It's always good to start somewhere, don't you think?"

Oh...

His stomach did flips when she traced his dick through the fabric covering it, gently with her middle finger. And then, looking into his eyes from below, she pulled it out and slowly stroked it with her hand, a low hum coming from her throat. "Mmm, I can't wait to mark up this pretty cock..."

That's when he lost all semblance of control, a strained groan falling from his lips, coming from the great depths of his chest, just from her words alone. And she took that moment to lean forward and press the gentlest of kisses to the base of his dick. She held her lips there for a second or wo before removing them and moving just a little higher, her eyes never leaving his face.

Her kisses trailed higher and higher, centimeter by centimeter until she reached his tip, where she ever so slightly flicked her tongue over the slit at the top, tasting his precum. And then gave him one final kiss—one final red mark.

The temptation to grab her hair and hold her there while he fucked her throat was strong, but as he looked down at her, she was examining her handiwork with a seductive hunger that made him realize that no matter how strong his urges got, she would always be the one in charge. Even if she acted all innocent and submissive, she was the one who held the key to his sexual desires, and therefore she was the only one who had the ability to unlock them.

So, he contained himself as she looked up at him, winked, and quickly tucked his hard dick back into the confines of his pants.

And when she stood up, she leaned up to his cheek and pressed another kiss there, leaving behind a red mark and all all his sanity with it, quickly turning away before he could catch her.

"See you later, Doctor," she called over her shoulder before she disappeared out the door.

Spencer let out a long, unsteady breath, debating on whether or not he should take care of his situation in the bathroom or right there in the classroom, behind his desk and into the trash can underneath it while he still had ample time to do so.

He sat in the chair about a minute later, his hand moving furiously under the desk as he breathed out hushed whispers of her name.

***

No matter how badly he wanted more alcohol in his system, he wasn't going to allow it. After one drink he was already starting to feel the affects, veins buzzing right along with the low hum of the music from inside. The single streetlight above him provided only the dimmest of lights as he took deep breaths in and out, focusing on the bitter cold from the December air and the soft pelting of snowflakes upon the skin of his cheeks.

Y/N's touch still burned him, right along his inner thigh where her hand had firmly rested while they and the rest of their friends ate dinner at the bar. All night so far, she'd been teasing him to no end, whether it was a brush of her hand against his crotch or a tiny kiss on the shoulder when no one was looking.

How no one had figured them out yet was a mystery.

Spencer rubbed his hands together, trying to keep them warm when he felt it. She was behind him.

"You've been out here for a while, Spence, is everything okay?" Even when she wasn't speaking to him in her angelic higher pitch, he still felt like succumbing to the sound her voice regardless.

He turned around to face her, and sighed. It figured that even surrounded by a street that was covered in brown-tainted snow, she wouldn't have let it taint her beauty. He was convinced that no matter where she was or what she looked like, she'd always be perfect— capable of knocking the breath out of him every time he looked at her. "Honestly, you've been driving me crazy."

"Oh," she said, her eyes slightly shifting to the ground. "Maybe I... did take it too far, I... I'm sorry." The slight tinge of embarrassment and maybe regret that filtered through her voice nearly ran him to the ground— How could she ever believe that he would feel overwhelmed by her? Sure, to some extent, he was extremely overwhelmed by her, but it was never a negative thing.

"Oh, angel, that's not what I meant," he explained softly, taking a few steps towards her.

She lifted her head, eyes doe-eyed and sparkling, though not as they usually were. This time they were swimming in a softness that made him yearn for her even more. "What?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm absolutely mesmerized by you... Y/N..." Spencer brought a hand to lightly caress her face, and when she leaned into his touch it made him so warm he thought it would melt all of the snow. "I can't get you out of my head, and I... I don't know if I ever want to. I mean that."

"Y—You're not... weirded out or anything?" she asked softly. "That I just... sprung all my feelings and my lust out onto you all at once? B—Because I know it was sudden, and I came on really strong so fast, I just... I thought you liked it, and so I just kept going, but really I should have stopped and... I don't know, asked if you were okay with it..."

He'd seen this softness in her before— When she watched over JJ's kids in the office sometimes, and when she helped Penelope set the table for their 'family dinners'. Every time, on the rare occasion that she actually went on cases with them, when she helped JJ comfort the families who'd lost their loved ones, he saw it. And even through all the lust, that sweetness in her soul was what truly made her an angel. Even though the lust is all he'd been swimming in since Halloween, deep down he really knew that it was only a small part of who she really was.

So, he said to her, "Y/N, I'm enchanted by all of you. I don't... I don't know what happened to make you want to come on strong to me, but... I'm glad you did. Believe me when I say, there is nothing about you that would scare me away."

He didn't know how she was feeling, but she practically visibly melted at his words, right in front of him. "You really mean that?"

With a smile, Spencer stepped even closer and brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. "Of course I mean it, my angel."

She laughed then, her hands wrapping themselves over his waist. "Your angel, huh?"

"Mhm... If you'd like to be..."

Y/N leaned up and pressed her lips to his in answer, firmly and with all the sweetness she had nestled inside her soul.

But the longer they stood there outside the bar, kisses growing warmer and hungrier with each passing second, Spencer realized that he didn't want her sweetness any longer, not tonight anyway. He cradled her face in his hands, feeling the fire in his veins come alive when she whined into his mouth and willed herself closer.

Before he could say fuck it and decide to take her right there outside, he pulled away, still needing her but not entirely willing to get themselves caught for public indecency.

Y/N spoke before he got a chance to, her higher pitch coming back and almost bringing him to his knees.

"What do you say you take your angel home and show her a good time?"

***

She didn't even get a chance to close the door to his apartment before he was on her, his hands tugging at her coat to get it off.

It was a frenzy, at least while they were stripping. Jackets and boots and scarves were strewn across the entryway and leading into the living room, until each of them only had two layers: their regular clothes and what they wore underneath. And that's when they finally allowed themselves the luxury of wrapping their limbs around each other.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he grabbed ahold of her ass to keep her steady. For added support, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him the whole way to his bedroom, but not without a few stumbles. Either way, they were so quite literally wrapped up in each other that the imperfections didn't matter.

Like she could ever come with imperfections... Spencer thought as he set her down, immediately bringing his hands to the back of her dress.

Meanwhile she unbuttoned his shirt, fumbling around so much that he thought she might choose to rip it open, and selfishly he wished she would have. But she got it open without tearing any buttons, and the fabric slid easily off his shoulders at the same time her dress slid off her own.

He was going to kiss her again, but once he caught a glimpse of what she'd been hiding under her dress, there was nothing he could physically do but rake his eyes over her figure and pray for forgiveness for all the devilish things he wanted to do to her.

It was a white set, all lace that was detailed to look like feathers as it hugged every curve of her body perfectly. She wore a set of garters that attached to the panties, which he was pretty sure were crotch-less and outlined in a pretty gold shimmer.

"I knew you'd like it," Y/N drawled sweetly. The pure innocence that dripped from her tongue would have thoroughly wrecked him had her appearance already not taken care of that. And she seemed to understand how immobile he'd become at the sight of her, because she moved of her own accord, gliding over to him and reaching her hand out to undo his belt. "I'm gonna take your silence as a good sign..."

"You're stunning," he breathed, just barely, and she gave him a smile through softly biting her bottom lip.

"You're too good to me..." Her hands pushed down his loosened slacks and waited until they fell to the floor. And then she hooked her fingers under the waistband of his underwear and leaned into his neck. "And I think your kindness deserves a reward..."

Her lips gently pressed to his neck before she dropped to her knees once again, and as she descended, her hands and his underwear did the same, leaving him completely bare and open for her to do whatever she wanted. No matter how badly he longed to throw her on the bed and get to showing her just how much she'd inhabited his every fiber of being, he didn't dare stop her as her tongue darted out and licked a featherlight line along the length of his hard cock.

He let out a sigh and twitched at her touch, a feat that must have pleased her, because she smiled and hummed happily as she repeated her action. Only, this time her tongue was more firm on him— not teasing anymore, but it brought him to damnation all the same.

And then she fully wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, slowly gliding herself down until he hit the back of her throat.

The sound he made was inhuman.

She wasted no time then, bobbing her head at a steady rhythm and moaning around him as she did so. It didn't take long for saliva to start gathering above her chin and dripping down onto the exposed area of her breasts, just above her bra. Occasionally she would hold him at the back of her throat and choke as she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, and the sight of his little angel happily crying with his dick in her mouth sent Spencer into a tailspin.

But as tempting as it was to paint the back of her throat white, he knew he'd prefer to take that action to a more interesting place. So he pulled away from her and breathed out, "Please, not yet..."

He looked down at her as she smiled, wetness coating her skin in the form of tears on cheeks and saliva on breasts. Her hands rested at the tops of her thighs, even as she stood up and blinked a final stream of tears down her left cheek. "Why, is there somewhere else you'd rather fill me up?"

"Please," was all he said, his breathing labored as he imagined what she would feel like.

Thankfully she seemed to take mercy on him— Y/N grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bed, where she laid him down at the headboard and straddled his thighs. "As much as I love spreading my legs for you, I think I'd much rather take a ride..."

"Anything you want," he told her, his eyes traveling up the length of her body as she got comfortable. She was, in fact, wearing crotch-less panties, and the feeling that coursed through him at the sight of her glistening pussy in decent lighting (AKA when he wasn't under her skirt in a storage closet) sent him straight to Hell all over again.

He sighed out as she played with herself, gliding her fingers delicately along the planes of her body, from her thighs to her clit, and eventually she gripped his dick to line it up, lifting her hips above him.

"Are you ready?" she asked gently, rolling her hips to slick him up with her arousal.

"Always ready for you, angel..."

The pet name sprung her into action. She sunk down slowly onto him, and he willed his eyes to stay open so he could watch as her mouth dropped open, eyes rolling back into her head as she moaned out deliciously. He let out a groan himself, the feeling of her tightly wrapping around him like velvet almost too much to handle.

"Ohhh, you fill me up so good," Y/N sighed, gently grinding her hips in slow circles as she finally had all of him inside her. "Just like I knew you would..."

Everything she was doing, between the gradual increase of the speed at which her hips rolled and the way she looked down at him with pure desire, had Spencer wondering what he'd ever done without her. What had he known before knowing the feeling of her nails gently digging into the skin of his stomach as she rode him, before knowing the sound of his name falling from her lips in a whisper? It couldn't have been anything good, because as far as he was concerned, she was as good as it would ever get.

But at some point it felt like he needed to take more. She was giving him her body, offering it to him like the most precious gift she had to offer, and yet he wanted to tear into it and leave nothing behind except her voice, calling out his name into the heavens above. He longed to give her something in return, something that would leave her just as ruined as she'd left him.

And, as always, she could tell.

Y/N laughed seductively as she leaned down, her hips still rocking into his. Her lips pressed a gentle kiss to his before she spoke. "Everything alright, baby?"

All he could do was let out a broken moan as she clenched around him on every upstroke.

"Aww... You want more? Huh, you wanna lay me down and give it to me good? Show your little angel what it feels like to be fucked so good she can't even speak?"

"Don't... tempt me," he was finally able to choke out, and she laughed.

"Aww, come on... Show me what you got..."

Spencer wasn't sure when he actually did it, but one second she was nipping at his bottom lip, challenging him to take control, and the next he was on top of her, her legs spread as wide as they could possibly get as he rocked his hips into her at a deep, bruising force.

She laughed amusedly through whimpers of pleasure, her hands spreading out at her sides like wings as he gave her everything he had. Looking down at her, head thrown back and hair fanned around her head like some sort of angelic crown, he soaked it all in and wondered if this was what Heaven was— the feeling of her succumbing to his lust, the sight of her lost in the throes of weeks of pent-up sexual tension that never entirely got released, the sound of her near-incoherently whining at how good he was...

If it wasn't Heaven, it was surely something pretty damn close.

He was almost there, tension stretching out inside the pit of his stomach, when Y/N grabbed one of his hands and brought it to her lower belly. He felt himself slamming into her at full force every time, the small bump against his hand bringing him further along the road of release.

"You feel that?" she whined, keeping his hand there. "You know what that means, don't you?"

It could have meant a lot of things, but his brain was too far gone, lost in in the fog of pleasure to even begin to think about what it was. But then she answered for him, and it was just about the hottest thing he'd ever heard come from her mouth.

"It means I'm all yours... to do whatever you want with... to fill me up with your cum as much as you want... maybe turn your little angel into a mommy..."

With a loud, guttural groan, Spencer held himself still, deep inside her, and gave her every last drop, his hand remained pressed firmly to her stomach. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel his cum spilling out and filling her to the brim through the barrier. She pulsed and came around him at the same time, warmth spreading between the two of them like a drop of water would soak through fabric, until it completely enveloped them like a heavy blanket.

And then they'd given everything, their bodies clinging to each other for dear life as they settled into the gentle aftermath of such a heavy feeling of ardor. Their breaths slowed and their lips explored each other tenderly, hands doing the same until, finally, they felt themselves drifting off.

***

Spencer dreamt of Heaven that night, glimpses of a future he'd always longed for with other people, but that he would get to spend with her.

A wedding dress, white, but haloed by a gold fog as the woman wearing it glided along the aisle and made her way to him.

A house, small, but fenced in and just perfect enough for the two of them and the baby that was on the way.

A picnic table, damp, but drying out in the sun as it gradually became littered with plates of birthday cake and a little candle that was shaped into the number 3.

A woman, old, but beaming as she showed a photo album to her multitudes of grandchildren, telling them stories about the wonderful life she lived with her husband who always called her Angel.

And when he woke up, seeing that old woman as she was now, sleeping in his bed as the sun beamed through the curtains and basked her in a heavenly light, he knew what Heaven really was.

It was her.

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#willsannievent #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #criminal minds #criiminal minds fanfiction

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acourtofsnakes · 4 years ago

Text

Returning The Favour - Bucky Barnes x F! Reader part 2 (smut)

Summary: After one hell of a day, you decide to help Bucky relax, and to repay the favour from a few nights ago.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut ahead! Oral/blowjob – M receiving, hand job – m receiving, swearing/cursing, p in v sex (unprotected) – doggy style, face sitting, cowgirl, just pure filth, tbh.

Smut under the cut!!

Word count: 4.5k+

A/n: A little bit of body positivity added in here too. You are all beautiful, and don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise

A/N: This is part 2 of A Helping Hand, but as there isn’t much of a plot (aside from the smut. I mean, c’mon), it can also be read as a standalone!! It touches briefly on the plot of FATWS, but nothing really detailed.

Permanet Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @undiscovered-misunderstood

Part 1

A few weeks had passed by since that night Bucky had devoured you, tearing your soul to pieces and burning through you like wildfire.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about it… and hadn’t stopped thinking about him.

His hands on your body, searing lines into your skin, one hot and one cold.

The drag of his tongue inside your walls, letting you ride his face whilst the world crashed down through you.

His hand, that damned vibranium hand fucking you into oblivion.

God, you needed him. You needed more of him, all of him. You wanted him to tear you apart again and knit you back together with his lips and his tongue.

You wanted him to feel the same release you had the same earth-shattering pleasure.

You’d tried to calm the fire by using your own fingers and toys, but no matter how much you replayed that night in your head – in perfect clarity – it just wasn’t the same anymore.

Your toys, which you had spent a hell of a lot of money on… just didn’t do it. They weren’t enough.

They weren’t… him.

You couldn’t concentrate on your work, earning you more disapproval from Fury and he even asked you what the hell was going on and would you mind keeping your thoughts on the job, not on whatever was making you zone into space for twenty minutes straight with that look on your face.

Luckily, you had managed to escape anymore of Nick’s wrath, by tagging along with Bucky as he went to help Sam, who was engaged in trying to take down a group of rebels called the Flag Smashers.

You’d arrived to help him and the three of you set about doing what you could, also whilst trying to avoid John Walker, who had been rebranded as the new Captain America.

Touchy subject. Best not to go there.

Anyway, back on the case of the Flag Smashers. They were being supplied with Super soldier serum from someone called the Power Broker, and the boys were at a loose end as to how to learn more.

Well of course, there was one person who was the most knowledgeable about the serum.

Helmut Zemo, a Sokovian villain who looked like he’d walk straight out of a film about British spies, fast cars and imaginative villains.

You knew Bucky’s past with him, of course.

You had fought alongside the others when Zemo triggered Bucky into becoming the Winter Soldier again.

So, you had to admit you were surprised when you learned that Bucky himsef had ‘hypothetically’ given Zemo the way out of his German prison.

Plans had been made, which is how tonight, you’d found yourself in Madripoor, each of you posing as a different persona.

Sam was to be the ‘Smiling Tiger.”

You were Zemo’s… acquaintance. His “Little Bird” he’d called you – much to Bucky’s frustration. At first, you thought it was simply because Zemo was… well, he was a ‘bad guy’.

But as the night wore on, you noticed the looks Bucky shot the pair of you, his jaw clenching every single time Zemo’s hand brushed your waist, or he pressed his nose to your hair.

The Baron didn’t touch you in any way you hadn’t already discussed, and you were comfortable but… the icy glint in Bucky’s eye, the tightening of his mouth when you asked him what was wrong, and he stayed silent…

Something more was going on. More than just the role he was required to play.

Bucky was be the Winter Soldier again. The very man he tried so desperately to escape from, the man who’s actions he was still trying to make amends for.

You’d had to watch him play the Soldier all night, watch the tension build and build in the clenched muscle of his jaw, in the hard line of his shoulders and the tight prowl in his walk.

Which was why, after escaping a fight and getting a little banged up yourself, you were looking into the mirror in your hotel room, adjusting the straps of the lingerie set you had slipped into.

Okay, so maybe it was cliché.

But Bucky had had one hell of a night. You could practically feel the tension rolling off of him from his hotel room opposite your own.

You still had a favour to repay him, so why not go all out? He deserved it.

Besides, you had spent a long time working up the confidence to look into the mirror and be happy and proud of what you saw, instead of feeling the need to change.

You were proud of yourself and needed no-one else’s approval.

But it didn’t mean it wasn’t rewarding to hear.

Especially from a man with a wicked jawline and killer baby-blues.

With one final shake of your hair, you pulled on your silky robe, padding to the door of your hotel room and you slipped into the cool hallway. Goosebumps rose on your skin as you moved across the plush carpet, knocking on Bucky’s door.

Thank the lords, saints, old-gods and the new that Zemo was a Baron. This hotel was expensive, luxurious and did not have that funky smell that most hotels seemed to have.

The rooms were lavish and richly decorated, the bathroom dripping with taste and money and the bed… well. The bed was certainly big enough for what you had in mind tonight.

You were thoroughly determined to wreck the neatly folded covers.

A few moments later, you heard footsteps and then the door opened. Those eyes greeted you, though they were deeper, like the colour of the sea in a storm.

Bucky tilted his head, one hand braced on the door to open it, frowning slightly when he saw you. It was late after all. “Is everything alright, doll?” He peered down the hallway, like he was looking for threats.

You shook your head lightly, “Nothing’s wrong, Bucky…” Lifting your eyes to his through your lashes, you moved your hands to the front of your robe, “I just thought I’d return the favour. And help you relax…”

At your honeyed tone, at the movement in your hands, Bucky went rigid. Less in a tense way, more in anticipation. His eyes zeroed in on your hands, watching as you undid the sash and let the silk robe fall open, baring your body to him.

Clad in gorgeous lace and delicate fabric of your favourite colour, the lingerie clung to the shape of your body, flaunting it and accentuating every beautiful line.

Oh, it had so been worth the small fortune it cost.

You were glad you had purchased more.

The door creaked, wood protesting as his vibranium arm gripped it. Bucky’s pupils dilated, black blotting out the blue as he raked his eyes over every inch of you. It wasn’t creepy or possessive. It was… worshipping. Awestruck.

You had him in the palm of your already.

Soon, it would be physically.

“Are you going to let me in, Buck? There’s so many ways I could help you relax…” You let the robe slip off of your shoulders, leaving you incredibly bare in the middle of the very open hallway, in the very expensive, reputable hotel.

But you didn’t care.

Not with the way his Arctic eyes had deepened to the colour of cobalt, searing into you with the same fire that he had consumed with the other night.

Not as he stood back, letting you in and following every single movement you made, the sway of your hips, the feline smile gracing your lips as you sashayed past him. He was enraptured by you, rendered helpless by the mere sight of you.

You saw his hands clench just before he turned to shut the door, like he was stopping himself from pulling you into his body and shredding the scraps of lace and velvet that were a barrier to your gorgeous skin and curves.

The door snicked shut softly, shutting you both off from the rest of the world.

You turned to face Bucky, extending your hand to him, “Come here.” You kept that honey rich tone, but you had no need to raise your voice, because Bucky had moved before the words even left your mouth.

He slid his left hand into yours, the vibranium cool against the warmth of your skin. It was welcome, for you were burning an inferno inside that you were hiding very, very well. In fact, you were already wet, since the moment you slipped that lingerie on and saw your refection in the mirror.

You pressed your lips to the back of Bucky’s hand, saying with movement what you knew he wouldn’t believe in words.

That it was beautiful, strong… an extension of the graceful, deadly power that he had honed. You were never, ever afraid of it. Not even tonight, when he was playing the Soldier. Not even when he was the Soldier.

Lifting your eyes to his, you let your tongue dart out, tracing along the golden grooves in the plates of dark vibranium.

Fuck, the mere taste of the cool metal brought you back to that night.

You moaned a little in the back of your throat, appreciatively and flattened your tongue over his knuckles, bringing his fingers into your mouth and sucking on them delicately, just as you had before. Except this time, it was you in charge.

Bucky twitched, in every sense of the word. The plates of his arm clicked just faintly, like he was restraining himself even as a soft growl rumbled in the base of his chest. The sight of you sucking on his fingers again only made his jeans even more uncomfortable and he longed to feel your hot wet tongue on his skin. Every single inch of his skin.

His own hand wasn’t enough anymore, especially not after that night. It had been near painful for him when he left, and he’d barely made it back to his own room before his hand was jamming into his boxers and he fucked his own palm until he was crying your name through gritted teeth.

Never before had he felt such an urge to have feeling in his left hand, to feel your walls clench around him as you fell apart above him.

It was like you could read his mind.

You slipped off of his fingers with a small pop, a wicked gleam in your eyes as you dropped your hands to his belt buckle. Seconds later, you were undoing the zipper to his jeans, wasting no time in looping your fingers into both the waistband of his jeans, and the band of his boxers.

You pulled them slowly down, lower and lower past his hips until his heavy swollen cock sprung free.

Holy fucking shit.

He was huge.

Thick and smooth, the head already swollen and leaking.

You wanted to taste him.

You wanted him down your throat and buried inside you every single way until you could feel nothing but him, think of nothing but him.

Forcing back your impatience, you slowly lowered, pulling his jeans down until they reached his ankles, and you were on your knees before him.

Looking up through your eyelashes, you saw his head tilted down to watch you, is chin touching his chest. Those ridiculous eyes were fiercely burning, and his full, plush lips had parted in an effort to suck in more air.

Oh, you were going to wreck him.

You rose up a little higher, pressing your lips to the patch of neatly trimmed curls before following a trail lower, and then dragging your tongue up the underside of his cock, over that swollen vein that made you positively feral.

Bucky’s hands flew into your hair, a barely restrained groan rising from his chest and he muttered, “Shit – shit.”

Barely able to restrain the grin, you darted your tongue into the tiny slit, gathering that little bead of precum and then you took him into your mouth, inch by inch.

Fucking hell.

He was heavy, hot in your mouth and the velvety feel of his skin against your tongue and teeth was something you might just have died to feel again.

You kept him still for a second, really wanting to draw this out for him – and because the weight of him against your jaw was sending floods of pleasure between your thighs and you knew the expensive lace of your underwear was already drenched.

Bucky twitched, both inside your mouth and out and he tugged a little on your hair, “Baby, you gotta move – please, move.”

Had this been a normal game you were playing; you might have let him suffer a little longer. But this was about relaxing him, about making him feel better so you granted him his wish and began to bob your head up and down.

His soft moans were a symphony to your ears, a song you quickly learned the rhythm of as you moved faster, hollowing your cheeks now and then so he felt the drag of your wet, warm cheeks.

His moans turned into curses when you reached up to toy with his balls, massaging them just slightly as you dragged your lower teeth against the vein.

He jerked forward, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat suddenly, “Fuck, sorry baby, I didn’t mean to-“

His apologies were almost stammered, but you swiftly cut him off with a sinful moan.

The mere feel of him, the pressure of him pushing against your throat nearly made you explode there and then.

Your eyes rolled back slightly, hips rocking against nothing by instinct and fingers digging into his thighs.

Bucky swore softly under his breath, his voice nothing more than a broken whisper, “You – you liked that?”

Nodding around him, you pulled all the way off briefly, “Yes.” You gasped the word, pumping him with your hand a few times before taking him in your mouth again, sucking him with all the force of someone eating a five-star meal.

You devoured him, setting a relentless pattern of kitten licks, hollowing your cheeks and licking that throbbing vein. You let him brush the back of your throat a few times, never gagging, only crying out with pleasure at the press of him.

And Bucky’s moans… God, you could forgo music for the rest of your life and listen only to those noises his made.

Wanting more, more of those delicious moans and growls from him, you relaxed the muscles in your throat, pushing him down all the way until your nose was once again brushing his curls.

It was hard to distinguish your moan from his, the way his hands yanked hard in your hair, your fingers digging into his ass cheeks to force him deeper down your throat. You took a deep breath in through your nose, moaning at the heady scent of him as it pervaded your sense.

More, - you wanted to take him deeper and deeper until you couldn’t speak tomorrow without feeling him there.

You slid a hand down, grasping his balls once again and you palmed them, massaging and tugging them as you shook your head lightly against him, making him rock against your windpipe.

“Fuck!” Bucky’s head tilted back, his rough moan bouncing off the elaborately decorated walls and his legs trembled, signalling how close he was, how thoroughly you were hauling him toward that edge.

You felt his balls tighten in your hand, felt how close he was so you squeezed them harder and at the same time, swallowed around the thick length of him.

A broken version of your name echoed above your, both of his hands tightening in your hair so fiercely, you feared he might snap a bone. “Shit, shit-” His hips jerked forward and then he shattered apart, exploding in hot ropes down your throat.

You heard him mutter an apology, but you didn’t care, you couldn’t care because he tasted divine.

You drew back slowly, pumping him a few times with your free hand until he was gasping in a ragged breath, his legs threatening to give way, so with a gentle judge, you pushed him back on the bed.

He plopped down weakly, watching with wide eyes as you lifted your head, wiping the corner of your mouth with a feline grin. “Sweetheart, that was-“

A finger to his lips cut him off, “Oh, no no. I’m not done with you yet, Buck.” You quickly rid him of his shirt, revealing the broad plane of his shoulders and chest and then you urged him up the bed. As he lay back, you climbed on top of him, rising up on your knees. “I believe you made me come… three times was it?”

And that was when James Buchanan Barnes whimpered. A sound of pure carnal need and anticipation.

You grinned at him, reaching behind your chest to unclasp the delicate bra, before sliding it from your shoulders and throwing it to the side of the room. “I intend to repay the favour, and then some, Soldier.” You reached down for both his hands, placing them on your breasts. One warm, one icy cold.

Both your moans echoed in tandem, especially when he tightened his hands, squeezing and pulling at the soft flesh. “So beautiful…” He mumbled the words lowly, his voice a rough rasp and his ministrations caused you to arch your back further into his touch, allowing yourself a moment of pleasure.

But not for too long, because you soaked through the lace of your underwear, and you might well have been dripping down your thigh at this point. Dropping a hand, you moved your underwear to the side, before gliding your fingers through your glistening folds.

Yep, you were right.

“All of this is for you, Bucky. Because of how good you tasted in my mouth.” You moaned delicately, eyelashes fluttering as you circled your clit a few times, “How thick you were in my throat.” You gathered some of your wetness on your fingertips, before pressing them to Bucky’s lips, “See...”

He wasted no time in drawing your fingers into his mouth, dragging his teeth along the skin and cleaning every single millimetre. He seemed determined to pay you back, to try and make you feel some of the desperation he had felt.

You let it go, only because the combination of his hands pulling at your nipples and his hot tongue sliding between your fingers. You lowered down, resting over his already hardened length before dragging up and down it a few times, coating him in your slick. Low moans came from your throat, your eyes fluttering closed as you rocked yourself against him, waiting for him to recover for round two.

He soon groaned around your fingers, earning you a muffled, “Baby.” In an impatient tone as he twitched underneath you, hard and throbbing again.

Fine, you could give in.

You grasped his cock, before rising up and then lowering back down, taking him in.

Every single damn inch of him.

The stretch of your walls was painfully delicious, making you throw your head back and cry out softly, a low keen until you were seated on his thighs again. He was buried to the hilt inside of you and you could feel him everywhere. In your belly, in your toes, in your spine even.

Bucky’s back arched off of the bed, teeth clamping down on your fingers and his hands tightening on your breasts, before falling to your thighs where his fingertips dug into the soft flesh, “Fucking hell.” He gasped in a breath, lowering his head, “Look at me.”

The words were choked as you dropped your chin, meeting his eyes and the look int hem nearly floored you.

Near midnight blue with desire and lust, but they glinted like the night sky, full of admiration and… adoration of you. Complete and utter adoration.

Shit.

You stayed where you were for a second, speechless from the look of unbarred emotion on his face as the pair of you adjusted. Bucky soon swallowed, croaking again, “Move, darlin’ – please, move.”

Well, you didn’t need telling twice.

You rose up off him a few inches, before dropping back down with enough force to sear your spine in half. You quickly set an earth-shattering pace, rising up before sinking back down, his hips rising to meet you and push that little bit further inside.

Once again, the room filled with the scent of sex, the symphony of your bodies gliding with each other, mixed with Bucky’s rough moans and mutterings and your keening cries.

His hands grasped your hips, tight enough to bruise even with his right hand, but you didn’t care. You wanted to be marked, you wanted to feel him tomorrow.

And you wanted to mark him too.

You dropped down over his body, bringing him for a messy, deep kiss that was all stroking tongues and teeth.

He groaned into your mouth when you rotated your hips around him, this new angle causing your clit to drag against his firm muscles and rough curls.

The sensation was absolutely mind-blowing, and you dragged your mouth from his to bite at his jaw and neck, swearing against his hot skin, “Fucking hell, Bucky, you feel so good. You have no idea how good you feel – filling me up. So big-” The words were stumbly, broken sentences but you knew he understood them because he matched them.

Telling you how tight you were, how deep you were taking him. How good you looked fucking yourself and taking what you deserved – it was all yours.

You soon felt the pressure build in your lower back and belly, at the same time Bucky’s hips were snapping up into yours with more urgency. Quickly, you dragged yourself back to sit up, and began to ride him with wild abandon. His left hand came up to yours, giving you an anchor as you fucked him relentlessly, making the pair of you cry out with wordless groans of ecstasy.

To Bucky, you looked like – no, you were a goddess. Your body moving with carnal grace, head thrown back and those gorgeous moans and curses falling from your parted lips.

To him… there would never be a more beautiful sight.

Just as you began to grind your hips in circles with each downward motion, words started to spill from those plush lips, like he wasn’t in control, “You have no idea how much I wanted to tear Zemo apart tonight. His hands all over you – they shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t be touched like that.”

His lips parted wider for a moment, his hips thrusting up to meet your circular motions and it made the head of his cock thud against that spot deep inside you, sending shockwaves through your spine.

Your whimpering plea spurred him on, kept him hitting that spot with hard pressure that threatened to tear you to pieces, “You’re a goddess - Not a fucking piece of arm candy. The sight of him touching you-” He snarled, pulling you down hard on his dick for a second, taking the opportunity to rotate his own hips this time, “That should be me. Worshipping you. Not him.”

His rough words and the sheer intensity of his thrusted hurtled you closer and closer to that edge, the admissions sending just as much pleasure through you as his hard length.

That should be me.

Did he mean…?

You looked down through hazed eyes, like you were seeing all of this with a fresh gaze.

Bucky was already a mess beneath you, his head tilted back, and the line of his throat held taught. His deep curls with a mess, ruffled up over his forehead and the pillows.

Beautiful.

Bucky’s hips were starting to lose rhythm as he jerked up into you, but he never failed to repeatedly hit that spot, again and again.

You both chased down your orgasms, and with one final grind of your hips, one final sharp jerk of his own, you fell to pieces in tandem.

Bucky’s back arched, freezing as he spurted his hot load up inside you, at the same time your walls clenched around him, milking him for everything he had as your combined wetness slipped down his balls, making a mess of his skin – and the bed.

Like either of you could care.

Time lost all meaning yet again as you came down from your high, and later, you’d remember only by the places your bodies occupied.

Bucky hauled you up, finished with the lack of control and he took you against the floor to ceiling windows, your breasts pressed to the cool glass, the city twinkling below you as Bucky fucked you deep from behind, that vibranium hand against fitted snug around your throat.

Then on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, his dick sliding down your throat again as his tongue dragged between your folds, your knees braced either side of his head as you held onto his thighs.

When you retired to the sunken tub to wash up, you found yourself seated on Bucky’s lap, riding him once more with the hot, jasmine scented water splashing over the ornate tiles, your combined moans mingling with the steamy air.

The whole time, Bucky’s words played over and over in your head, echoing in the tiny space of your mind that wasn’t sex-addled.

He wanted to be the one to walk into a club with you on his arm. He wanted everyone in the room to know he worshipped the very ground you walked on, the air that you breathed.

It wasn’t like the feelings weren’t reciprocated either.

It had been the blue-eyed soldier in the forefront of your mind for months and months now, perhaps even far before that.

And it wasn’t until you were back on the bed, covers strewn on the floor that things truly shifted.

Bucky’s hands were gripping your thighs, pulling you down to fuck his face and tongue whilst you gripped onto the headboard, his groans of delight muffled against your wet heat.

The feeling was… other-worldly.

Your sexual partners of the past had gone down on you, sure. You’d even been in this exact position once, but it was nothing compared to Bucky.

No one worked you over with the same acute knowledge of what you liked, before you even knew it yourself.

His nose nudged against your clit, providing the perfect pressure whilst he spearheaded his tongue deep within you. Every time he did, he pulled you lower, shaking his head from side to side so that his stubble scratched your sensitive inner thighs and your swollen folds.

Words were beyond you, and all you could do was make incoherent moans and keens, sure the people in the rooms surrounding yours could hear your screams, but you didn’t care.

Especially when Bucky dragged his teeth over your clit, ever so lightly biting it and causing you to hurtle into the outer atmosphere and forget everything.

You collapsed, losing the tension in your legs and only Bucky’s hands shooting up to your ribs stopped you from smashing your forehead on the wall.

Light exploded across your vision, your blood roaring in your ears and you couldn’t move, your body was completely boneless. You were truly spent, muscles twitching with aftershocks and you only just noticed Bucky coaxing you to lay down next to him.

You faded in and out of a warm haze, registering a warm cloth gliding between your legs, over your flushed skin.

“Go on a date with me.”

The soft words underlined with that oh-so familiar rasp brought you rushing back to the present. “You... what?”

“Go on a date with me.”

You snapped your eyes open, only to be met with the Arctic ocean, almost glowing from within with sated desire.

Curling your lips up into a smile, you gently dragged Bucky’s head down to yours, pressing your lips to his equally swollen ones, “Okay.”

#well that happened #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #tfatws fan fic #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader smut

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calaofnoldor · 4 years ago

Text

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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ghoultramp · 4 years ago

Text

study buddies [sukuna x reader] {req}

▷ jjk

↳ pairing: sukuna x f!reader

↳ content: { request fic } - dom!sukuna, subby!reader, curvy&soft!reader, college!au, dubcon, choking, spitting, marking (biting, scratching), dacryphilia, degradation (?), breath play (?), a sprinkle of praise (as a treat), nicknames for reader (princess, babygirl)

↳ words: 4.7k

⇢ summary: sukuna’s a little fed up of yuji having you all the fun with you, so when yuji suggests you should take a break from studying, sukuna decides it’s the perfect opportunity to have a taste of yuji’s little princess.

also available on ao3

⇢ note: request for nemi; i’m so sorry it took so long to get around to this but i hope this makes up for the wait! a huge thank you for being my partner in crime on this and for some of the fantastic ideas you shared.

Yuji had been grumbling at his textbook for the better part of ten minutes before you peered over the top of yours. While he lay chest down on the floor, your legs were lazily propped over the small of his back. Your own back was supported by a pillow against your bed frame, comfortable enough, but you were starting to ache. Yuji wittered beneath his breath, he looked sweet when he tried to concentrate; his eyebrows furrowed and his nose wrinkled, but it was the way his tongue poked over his top lip that made you giggle.

“Stop,” he groaned, “this is hard.”

You cleared your throat as you closed your book, placing it on your lap.

“Which question is it now?” you asked, lifting your legs off him.

He grumbled incoherently, flipping the same page back and forth. You shook your head and shuffled next to him, straightening out your skirt as you brought your knees together to retain some modicum of decency. You leaned your weight against your left hand and softly patted Yuji’s head with the other.

“Uhm,” he mumbled, “still on the first one…?”

“Yuji-Kun,” you sighed, “have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

He looked at you through his peripheral vision while his mouth fought against a nervous smirk. You playfully tapped him against the side of the head. Yuji feigned injury, holding his head and rolling onto his back; you were trying so hard not to laugh as he rolled about, wailing dramatically.

“You’re such a baby,” you told him, throwing the textbook to the side.

You watched as he stopped and spread his limbs out like a starfish, he turned his head in your direction.

“Says the little Princess,” he retorted, he flashed a grin when your cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink.

He loved rendering your speechless with the utterance of a single word. To everyone on the outside, you and Yuji were this cute, Hallmark-movie, high-school sweetheart-type couple, barely even kissed, blushing at the sweet whispers you exchanged; how wrong they were.

Those sweet whispers that made you blush wildly were due to Yuji sharing with you his demands for you that evening—because you would always be his good Babygirl, his good little Princess. They would never see him grope you beneath the lecture hall desks, purposefully dragging you to the back. He’d ignore you as you cried into the sleeve of your sweater while his fingers fiddled with your sensitive little bud behind your underwear.

He rolled onto his side to prop his head up with his hand, you brought your hands up to cover your flushed cheeks.

“Hey,” he was trying not to laugh, finding your bashfulness absurdly loveable, “why don’t we take a break?”

A squeak escaped through the fingers of the hand that covered your mouth. Yuji awkwardly shifted onto his hands and knees, crawling toward you. When he sat up next to you, he swung his legs around to place them on either side of you; trapping you between him and the bed frame.

“Now who’s the baby?” he cooed, teasing you more by poking your hands playfully.

He laughed at your attempt to look annoyed, it was wasted. You resigned, watching as he began to lean into you, his hand pressed against the back of your head and his lips brushed against your ear.

“Or should I say,” his whisper was a low growl, “Babygirl?”

“Yuuuuuji,” you were whining as you squirmed between his legs, “you’re doing this on purpose.”

The warm breath expelled by his chuckle brushed against your neck. You felt the grip he held on the back of your head fall to your wrists, you didn’t fight him as he pulled your hands from your face. You knew he got off on how bashful you always were, and maybe you played into that a little, he felt the hot flush of your cheeks radiate against him.

He could devour you so easily.

You felt a thumb press hard against your chin, pushing your head right back. A pitiful laboured noise escaped your mouth, now pushing his palm against your throat. It wasn’t quite enough pressure to stop you from breathing, but enough to cause you discomfort. Enough to satisfy him. For the moment, at least.

“…ji,” you were fortunate enough to be able to squeeze the last syllable of his name.

Using his free hand, he kneaded at the delicious pudge of skin that poked out above your slightly-too-tight thigh-high socks. They were just a part of one of your many little uniforms reserved only for Yuji, and today was one of his favourites; a just-tight-enough shirt opened enough for your delicate, frilly lingerie—of his choosing, of course—to peek out, paired with a simple, pleated skirt.

You were ever so grateful when he lightened the pressure on your larynx, allowing you to urgently drag in a deep breath. But it was mere seconds before you were gasping and panting, succumbing to his will as his fingers pressed gently against the damp cotton of your panties.

“Finally,” you heard him say, the lowered tone of his voice triggered your flight response.

“Yu-Yuji?” you whimpered.

“Yuji’s not home right now, Princess,” he declared, “it’s not fair that he gets to have all the fun anyway.”

“Su-Sukuna, please,” you whined, tilting your pelvis back in an attempt to escape his roaming fingers, he only pressed against you harder.

“Why don’t you let me take you for a ride, babygirl,” as he said it, he dragged his finger downward, following your sweet, little slit beneath your underwear.

“You p-promised you wouldn’t,” if it wasn’t for the fact that Sukuna was so close to you, he never would have heard your feeble pleas.

“We all promise things we don’t really mean,” he groaned, removing his hand on your throat.

Sukuna smirked all the while you gasped for air—once again—and then whimpered, the focus in your sight made everything soft, your head felt full of cotton wool. Sukuna sniggered, the dumb, heavy-lidded look on your pretty, little face was nothing less than perfection. He pressed his fingers a slightly bit harder against your clit, inhaling sharply when he pulled strangled little mewls from behind your slightly parted lips.

Sukuna was more than a little fond of Yuji’s choice of mate, he’d been waiting far too long for this opportunity and he wasn’t going to squander it.

He was going to savour every moment.

“Let’s see,” Sukuna contemplated, relieving your clit of his fingers. He’d want you to beg for it, prove just how much of a needy little whore you really were; he’d have you screaming his name soon enough.

You whined at him as his hands crept along the outsides of your thighs, under your skirt, grabbing hold of your shapely hips. He ignored your cries while he pulled you toward him, your skirt now ruched above your waist.

“C’mere,” he grunted, jostling you with some force when you didn’t move quick enough for him.

From your position—your head now propped where your back had been, Sukuna suspending your arse with his large hands—you could almost pretend that it was still Yuji. It was still his body after all, right? Your eyes passed over the dark lines that only Sukuna had—you always thought they looked like tattoos—and the closed, second set of eyes. Those eyes unnerved you, scared you. You dropped your gaze.

You didn’t ever think you’d have to face this situation, Yuji had reassured you time and time again that he had control of Sukuna, that he wouldn’t be able to take over when things got hot and heavy between the both of you. Now, you supposed Sukuna had lied about being compliant the entire time.

Sukuna continued, “I demand a taste of this—“ he yanked your underwear down your thighs, pulling a little too hard on the waistband, “—sweet fucking cunny.”

Dumbfounded, you were only able to watch him with curious, wide eyes as he moved your legs to benefit him while he struggled to remove your underwear. He was clearly getting impatient, throwing your soaked underwear over his head and across the other side of the room.

Sukuna let out a long, deep moan, as he shuffled himself back. He brought your legs down, pressing his muscular upper-arms against the back of your thighs; this was his way of stabilising you while having both of his hands free.

With his biceps pushing into your thighs, you yelped as your neck was forced into an uncomfortable position. The top of your head pressed against the base of the bed while your ear squashed into your shoulder; you scrambled to hoist yourself up, pushing your palms against the floor.

“Ah-ah,” he growled, yanking you down by the hips.

Sukuna mumbled something, you may not have been able to hear it, but your widely spread cunt certainly felt him say something. He brought the index finger of his right hand up to hover just out of reach of your presenting hole; raising his gaze to catch you looking at him--your chest heaving with your gulping breaths, your eyes almost entirely closed, with your tongue gently lolled out over your bottom lip--he certainly hadn’t expected you to submit to him like this so easily.

“I can see why Yuji likes you,” Sukuna mused, you gasped loudly when his thick finger penetrated you for the first time, “a needy little bitch in heat, like you?”

He let out a satisfied groan as you convulsed against him, nowhere for you to go as he twisted his finger, left to right and back again, fucking you with little care as his thrusts became almost violent. You cried out when he began to hit his palm quite forcefully against your clit with each thrust of his finger; Sukuna’s dark eyes glared up at you, his thick brows pulling together in the middle of his brow while he snarled at you.

You really were trapped.

“I happen to know you like it rough,” he was smirking, the loud, wet sound that came from between your legs as he removed his finger with a yank make you shrink beneath him.

“But, let’s get one thing straight,” he continued, moaning while he sucked at your sweet juices that soaked his finger, “your little Yuji-Kun won’t ever compare to a demon,” Sukuna watched the panic set in your eyes, felt your thighs shaking against his arms as he angled you up.

“It’ll be so delightful and easy, making you teeter on that edge,” he snarled, “between pain and pleasure until I see fit.”

You yelped uncomfortably when the pad of his heavy thumb pressed into your clit; you heard him chuckle above your cries, pressing against it harder. Sukuna pursed his lips against your inner thigh. You felt his smirk against your skin when his thumb quickly shifted from your clit to your hole; it was without warning, your slick allowing him to pull in and out with ease. But the intrusion made you shudder, followed closely by an uncontainable wail.

“Oh, Princess,” he cooed, talking into your thigh, “you’re going to make over-stimming you so much fucking fun.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” it was a pitiful attempt at finding your voice.

Sukuna either couldn’t hear you or at the very least, he didn’t want to hear you. He dragged his tongue along your delicate skin, playfully nipping at you every few inches.

Oh, how it amused him when you squirmed, afraid of his real bite, perhaps? The thought excited him.

You continued to whimper while Sukuna roamed your thighs, but when he flicked the tip of his tongue across your clit—fucking you with his thumb, his fingernails digging into the flesh of your arsecheeks—you brought your hand to your face, biting down on the flesh of your wrist.

Sukuna ignored you, giving attention to your throbbing clit, using his free hand to spread your lips just a bit more, enough for him to sink his lips down and around you. He loved when you made those whiny, little bleats—so pathetic, so fucking easy.

But, no, this wasn’t enough for Sukuna. He jerked his thumb out—your walls quivered around the empty space—and replaced it with his tongue; he groaned loudly as he sloppily lapped at your dripping, wet cunt.

Crying into your hand, still biting down on your already raw flesh, you felt the pull of your hips, ready to spasm with the release that was building up within your core. Sukuna masterfully worked his way around your insides, tensing the tip of his tongue to satisfy that sweet spot within you.

“Cum for me, Princess,” his deep voice was cast even lower as he growled as he spoke those words, commanding you; you felt a pressure within your pelvis vibrate and coil.

A pretty, choked sob found its way behind your lips as you relaxed your head to the side. The arm you had been using to silence yourself came down on Sukuna’s head so hard he scratched at your outer thigh; that would surely leave a mark. Whether you were willing to admit it or not, the thought excited you, you wanted him to hurt you.

Sukuna seemed frustrated when you didn’t obey his demand.

“I said fucking cum for me, Princess,” he snarled, firmly placing his hands on either side of your arse. You gasped, feeling the sting of him driving the points of his nails into your flesh. “I won’t hesitate to hurt you, y’know,” he continued in between tending to your soft, little cunt, “but I get the feeling you’d—“ he huffed, driving his nails into you, eliciting a strangled, wailing moan from your lips, “—like it.”

A whimpering, twitching mess was all you were beneath Sukuna’s grip. You heard the sloppy, wet noises combining with his hungry moans, tasting as much of you as he possibly could. Leaning back onto his knees, Sukuna noticed the bright flush in your cheeks.

“Sweet, little thing,” he laughed, “look, she’s embarrassed.”

Sukuna delighted in having you as his play-thing, but he wasn’t quite done with you yet. While he stared at you with his impossibly dark eyes, you heard the distinct jostling of a belt being undone; you heard it land with a thud when he discarded it to the side, triggering your body to shudder once more.

He wasn’t impressed with you when you lowered your gaze away.

“No, no, no,” he chuckled, “you will return the favour, Babygirl.”

Your heart beat wildly against your chest, your breathing was nothing but desperate, clamouring gasps as he hoisted you by your hair. Your protesting cries meant nothing to him as he effortlessly pulled you to your knees and the sight of your eyes brimming with tears amused him all the more.

“You’d do it for him, wouldn’t you?” he gave an inflection to his voice, trying to mimic Yuji’s, “It’s still his body, right?”

Sukuna’s grip on your hair tightened while he fiddled with the zip of his trousers, you felt helpless, watching as he relieved his thick, hard cock from its clothed prison. It was Yuji’s body, but like this—when Sukuna felt the need to barge his way in—it was his, not Yuji’s.

“Isn’t it?” he spat, pushing you down toward his crotch, cock in hand.

You may have been too shocked to form words, disjoined syllables tumbling from your lips, but not shocked enough to resist him. You didn’t recoil when your lips pressed against the swollen, wet head of his cock, as he brushed his pre-cum across your lips. In fact, you were eager, Sukuna laughed when you parted your lips, ready to receive him.

“See, it’s not that bad, is it?” he mused as he tugged your head back to look up at him.

You heard him stifle a low growl, looking up at him with your pretty, glassy eyes and your puffy, pink lips.

Whining at him as you placed your hands on either side of his muscular thighs, you were a desperate little pet eager for master’s attention. You didn’t care that he held your weight by your hair, it didn’t matter that it hurt. You didn’t care how aggressive he was; it didn’t matter when it felt this good.

“That’s it,” his smile was devilish, allowing you to lower your head into his lap on your own terms.

When you moved Sukuna’s hand away from his cock, he let out a chortle that made your heart flutter. He was gentle while you teased the aching head of his cock. You were ever so pleased with yourself when you pulled guttural, feral moans from his lips; it was your turn to tease Sukuna. For however long he might allow it, that was.

Which wasn’t long at all, it would seem.

Sukuna was impatient and you were taking far too long, he wanted his dick rammed as far down your throat as he could, and he would. He wasn’t being gentle now, not when he pushed your head down onto him. When you let out a surprised yelp, he took the opportunity to take advantage.

“Fuck,” he hissed while you gagged on the intrusion of his length.

Your throat felt raw, there was no niceness about him now as he held you down. You were sure he would be smirking as you convulsed within his grip, feebly attempting to push against his tensed thighs with very little effect. Yuji might be rough with you, but Sukuna was on a different level, and you quickly understood just how utterly useless any and all attempts to save yourself would be.

It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt, and you knew—for certain—that someone was going to be you.

You closed your eyes and held onto his thighs so tight your knuckles turned white; it was the only thing you could do to distract yourself at that moment. The tears he’d forced from your eyes dripped onto your chest with your clumsy movements. You let out a wail of relief when he pulled you away, even just for a moment, it was welcomed.

"There's a good girl," he grunted, admiring the spit that dribbled down your chin, "there's my good little Princess."

Your moan at his words was cut off by a cruel shove of his hand; you gagged under the duress of him ramming into the back of your throat. He didn't care that you choked and spluttered beneath him, in fact, you knew it excited him; the way his cock twitched with each uncomfortable noise you made told you everything.

Every bone in your body screamed at you to submit to him, you would hope it would be less humiliating than this. Sukuna was surprised when you fell limp within his grasp and jerked you back once more.

“I wasn’t sure I’d break you so easily,” he chuckled, raising his free hand to your tear-stricken face.

You shuddered when his thumb stroked away at your wet cheek. You kept your eyes closed as his hand snaked its way across your face and down to your mouth. He tightened his grip on your hair as he held down hard with his other hand.

Your eyes darted open, Sukuna was a God looking down upon a mere mortal.

He hissed, you felt a heavy pressure against your lips as he used his hand to push you back against the pillow still propped against the bed. He was quick, untangling his hand from your hair to rest it on your inner thigh. He was laughing as his fingers tightened around your thigh, claws pinching at your flesh.

“Open wide, Babygirl,” baring his teeth at you, he looked maniacal, his hulking shape looming over you.

You sobbed helplessly as the mouth on his palm opened up, summoning a tongue that successfully infiltrated your mouth with very little effort. He laughed as your pretty, flushed face twisted, breathing frantically through your nose.

You were unable to make out the words he growled while he dragged his claws along the tender flesh of your inner thigh. The games he’d played with your throat, and consequently your oxygen, had dulled your senses—all except the ones that mattered, of course.

The bottom of his palm hit hard against your abused clit and your eyes widened with realisation. Sukuna smirked, both hands pressing so impossibly hard against both sets of your lips as he leaned into you.

“Just a little more,” he growled, “and then you’ll be ready for me.”

There was no time to think before the hand at your mouth pushed your head back, the finger and thumb on either side of your nostrils were dangerously close to completely restricting your airflow. Another tongue infiltrated your aching hole, he laughed at you as you convulsed beneath him. He allowed you to shake your head from side to side but nothing more, he found your efforts at yet another struggle tempting.

Your hips bucked defiantly beneath his hand as he bore against you. You whimpered against the tongue at your mouth as the one inside your twitching hole tickled against your most sensitive spot. Sukuna brought his face down impossibly close to yours, now gently grinding his palm against your clit; the only thing you felt were tight shocks that battered away within your core.

Sukuna gripped your face with his fingers, careless as his claws almost scratched at your face. When your head was brought up to meet him, your noses touched. It was unnerving.

You felt Sukuna’s tongues retreat. You were conflicted when you felt the gnawing ache of emptiness that was left behind. Formulating thoughts seemed impossible, coherency was nowhere to be found. With heavy-lidded eyes, you lazily watched as Sukuna knelt back.

It was cute, the way you opened your legs even wider for him. It wasn’t enough for Sukuna, nothing ever seemed enough for Sukuna. You felt his clawed hands grip the underside of your tender thighs; your breath shuddered, feeling the wet head of his cock bump against your widened hole.

“Good girl,” he breathed, “open wide.”

There was no other warning than his words as he shunted his hips forward, you moaned low in your throat—a strangled, feral noise—as your dripping wet cunt enveloped his throbbing length with very little ease.

“See,” he grunted, tightening his grip on your thighs, “I can be kind—“ he pulled his entire length, your hole quivered at the empty space, “—when I want to be.”

You wailed as he bottomed out against you, digging his claws into your flesh hard enough to draw blood as he frantically thrust. He’d been patient long enough but, while you’d been a good girl and indulged him, playtime was over.

Your head whirled and your limbs were numb. The only nerves that you felt any connection to were the ones in your pussy, the ones that made it possible to feel every protruding vein of his achingly hard cock The nerves that made it possible to feel every twitch it made as Sukuna put all his weight into you. He grunted, pushing back on your thighs, you yelped when he folded them against your stomach.

Sukuna delighted in hearing the moan you gave him after yet another deep, unrelenting thrust, his pelvis grinding roughly against your clit. You found yourself unraveling beneath him, you no longer felt within your own body.

“Yuji,” you mewled.

It was an easy mistake to make, a mistake that Sukuna did not appreciate. He laughed down at you as he picked up his pace. An unrelenting pace that shunted your body with each and every thrust. A pace that made you see stars.

“Silly little bitch,” he growled, spitting on your cheek, he was surprised when you let out a gasp of arousal, “say my name.”

He watched you convulse beneath him, felt you writhe and twist in his arms. It was delicious. The way your cunt clamped on his cock, tighter and tighter, and harder and harder until your cervix felt bruised.

“You’re mine right now, Princess,” he told you breathlessly, “Say it.”

You felt his spit hit your face again and your pelvis tightened. Things like that were supposed to feel this good, and for a brief moment, an internal struggle between arousal and embarrassment took place. Your arousal when Sukuna spoke.

“Say my fucking name,” was his final demand, but you could only cry out nonsense, “Say it!”

“Su-Sukuna!” you cried, obliged to obey him.

You were rewarded with the relief of Sukuna removing one of his hands from your thighs, too fucked-out to move—or care—your leg still rested against your stomach. He bared his teeth and brought his hand back; you were astonished that he never lost his momentum.

He grunted as he breathed.

“That’s right,” his voice began to waver, close to his own climax, “good girl.”

You could almost believe you weren’t just a piece of meat to him, the way his tongue wrapped around the words he used could make anyone feel special. But you were rudely reminded this was Sukuna, not Yuji, when his swung-back hand collided with your thigh.

The Earth itself could have shattered at that very moment, and all you’d feel would be him; you thought yourself lucky enough to remember your name.

“Good—“ he grunted against your arching hips, begging for more you couldn’t possibly take, “—girl.”

Sukuna juddered on top of you, within you, while his claws made their final assault on your skin, while he buried himself as deep within you as possible. You writhed and mewled beneath him, your hands grasped at the carpet, desperate to hold onto something while the pressure of his hot cum filling your battered cunt overwhelmed you.

There was a faint sting that broke through the pleasure as he continued to roll his hips against you, gently for the time being, now that he was spent.

It astonished you how quickly his breathing returned to normal while you struggled to draw any breaths that felt satisfying, still recoiling and twitching. You could speak only broken gibberish.

Sukuna lowered your legs, you wished he’d more gentle; you winced as your hip joints creaked having been forced into such an uncompromising position. You felt the weight of his chest press against yours and his nose nuzzled gently against the crook of your neck.

There was a tense moment as you lay under him as your senses regained consciousness.

“Yu-Yuji?” you whimpered, tears threatened the edges of your eyes.

The pretty pink man who lay on top of you let out an angered growl, the hands that tightened around your wrists no longer had claws; there was care in the grip.

“I’ll kill him,” you heard him growl, his grip tightening.

“Yuji I’m—“ he didn’t leave you room to finish as he lifted his head, gazing down at you with furrowed eyebrows and bold, dark eyes.

“But first,” he told you, looking down at the mess between where your bodies connected, “it looks like I have to punish you first.”

He looked back to you—was he enjoying this?—and cast a dirty smirk at you.

“Because despite what Sukuna may think or say,” he continued, looming closer to you, his cock twitching with every word, “you haven’t been a good girl, have you, Princess?”

Your lips may have been moving but your voice was inaudible.

“You can thank Sukuna for one thing though, Princess,” he growled, nipping at your neck.

His voice broke when he deliberately moaned in your ear, a sound that made you squirm with delight.

“There’s no more holding back,” was the last thing he said before raising your arms above your head and locking his teeth to your neck.

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