#and u all will be forced to just sit around and watch

[iris-qt]

hiiii i have another request! it’s for tom riddle this time. i was hoping u could make a fanfic about tom showing y/n all of his snakes and just geeking out about them and she’s just listening to him and interacting with his snakes even though she’s very terrified of them

Don't Hiss & Tell

-> A/N: ily @kiaxika for this perfect request, i'd kiss your creative brain. MWAH

You would like the record to show:

You are not afraid of snakes.

Well. Not that afraid.

Okay, moderately afraid. The slithering. The scales. The tiny forked tongues flicking out like they’re plotting your doom. It’s all… a lot. But you are in love with Tom Riddle. Which is how you find yourself here: sitting cross-legged on the floor of the Slytherin common room at nearly midnight, while Tom gently lifts the lid off a large, suspiciously ventilated frosted glass crate.

“Ready?” he murmurs, voice low and crisp.

“Mm-hm,” you squeak.

He glances over, brows knitting slightly. “You’re… shaking.”

“I’m vibrating with enthusiasm,” you say. “Completely different.”

Tom pauses. His eyes, dark blue, intense, endlessly clever, scan your face, as though recalibrating every word he’s about to say. Then he lifts the lid the rest of the way. And out spills a tangle of scales and glittering eyes and delicate little flickering tongues. There must be at least half a dozen snakes in there. Some are coiled. One is bright green and eyeing you suspiciously. One loops gently around Tom’s wrist like a living bracelet.

“This is Aracelis,” Tom says, in a voice you’ve only ever heard him use when he tries to make you feel safe after a long day of exams. “She’s a tree viper from Costa Rica. Very sweet.”

Aracelis is not sweet. Aracelis is terrifying.

You force a polite smile. “So cute.”

Tom peers closer. “She’s actually quite affectionate, once she knows you. Watch.”

And before you can protest, he lifts the snake and gently drapes her across your shoulders.

Your entire soul leaves your body.

“Tom—Tom—Tom—”

“It’s fine,” he says calmly, fingertips brushing your collarbone as he adjusts the viper’s position. “She’s affectionate. And she likes warmth.”

“Tom, I am also affectionate and like warmth. That doesn’t mean people should hang me around their necks.”

He huffs a soft laugh, eyes uncharacteristically glittering. “You’re being dramatic.”

The viper flicks her tongue against your jaw. You nearly black out onto the stone floor.

“She likes you,” Tom murmurs, sounding pleased.

“Super,” you choke out. “Love that journey for us.”

Tom leans in slightly, close enough that you can smell the faint hint of ink and old books clinging to his robes. His voice drops lower, conspiratorial:

“You know, they’re highly intelligent creatures. They remember faces. They can feel your mood.”

“I’m pretty sure mine’s terror right now.”

He smirks. “Yes. And yet you’re still here. That’s… admirable.”

Your eyes flick to his. Despite the snake currently coiling a little tighter around your neck, you find yourself softening.

“Why do you like them so much?” you ask quietly.

Tom goes still. His lashes lower a fraction, and for a heartbeat, he looks almost shy.

“They’re misunderstood,” he murmurs. “Everyone thinks they’re cold. Dangerous. But they’re… elegant. Precise. They’re quiet. They don’t waste energy on things that don’t matter. They know how to wait.”

You blink.

It’s the most words he’s spoken about anything personal in… ever.

“You know,” you say softly, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were describing yourself.”

Tom blinks. Once. Twice. Then he clears his throat and gently removes Aracelis from your shoulders, placing her back into the crate.

“Nonsense,” he says briskly, but his ears have gone a suspicious shade of red.

Before you can tease him further, a low, musical hissing fills the room. You freeze. Tom glances back at the crate and responds in a language that makes your skin prickle. Long, sliding syllables, quiet and smooth as silk. Parseltongue.

The snakes go still, all eyes fixed on him like he’s royalty.

“Are you… talking to them?” you whisper.

He looks over at you, a tiny, smug smile curving his lips. “Of course. They’re rather curious about you.”

“Oh, wonderful. What are they saying? That I look delicious?”

“Actually, Aracelis said you smell like vanilla.”

You gape. “Is… is that good?”

Tom tilts his head, eyes glinting. “She likes vanilla.”

You’re about to scream when he gently lifts another snake out of the crate, a pale golden one with a delicate diamond pattern along its spine.

“This is Callidora,” he murmurs, stroking the serpent’s back with feather-light fingers. “She’s a corn snake. She’s quite gentle.”

Callidora blinks slowly at you, tongue flicking out.

Tom tilts her toward your face. “She wants to say hello.”

“Oh God.”

Tom hisses softly again, a few quiet syllables that send the scales rippling along Callidora’s body. The snake slithers closer and gently bumps her nose against your cheek. You squeal. Tom laughs under his breath, a rare, genuine sound that makes your chest feel full and impossibly fragile.

“You’re so brave,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“Don’t patronize me, Riddle.”

He grins. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He carefully returns Callidora to the crate, then looks at you, quieter. “Thank you,” he says. “For… indulging me.”

You smile, heart pounding. “Next time, can we indulge me instead? Like, I dunno… kittens?”

Tom tilts his head, considering. “I suppose kittens would be… tolerable.”

And even though your knees are still trembling, and you can practically feel phantom scales brushing your skin, you lean forward and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You’re tolerable too,” you whisper.

Tom’s lips curve into the faintest, rarest smile.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

You grin. “Your secret’s safe with me. And Aracelis.”

Somewhere in the crate, a snake flicks its tongue.

[crypticsoulz]

how MHA boys would eat you out

18+ minors dni

Everyone in this is over the age of 18

Includes

Izuku Midorya, Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki, ejiro kirishima, Denki kaminari, Hanta Sero, hitoshi Shinso, Mirio togita, Tamaki amajiki

This is my first time writing ever BAHAHAH

pls ignore any spelling mistakes I rlly struggle with spelling

Izuku Midorya

• when you started dating he 100% watched YouTube videos on how do it properly

• learned the femal anatomy so he knew all the best spots

• Izuku loves when you wrap your thighs around his face suffocating him completely

• won't pull away to breath he's a people pleaser and when it comes to you he would rather suffocate than stop your pleasure

Katsuki Bakugo

• he's naturally skilled Dosent need any tutorials to know the right spot

• it's rare he actualy eats you out tho only on special occasions like birthdays he prefers to use his hands and make out or mark you up as foreplay

• On the special occasion he does eat you out he does not stop he makes you cum at least 2 times with his mouth before he moves on

Shoto Todoroki

• when you first start hes not very good

• bro is dence af he thinks he's doing good hitting all the right spots but he Issnt

• after about 1 year of dating he gets better but not much

• he dosent do it often he doesn't even get intamite often maybe 1 or 2 times a month

Ejiro Kirishima

• DEVOWER 100% a munch (someone who is very good at eating u out) he loves eating pussy so much

• once or twice a day depending on yours or His mood

• sees it as the most manliest thing a man can do

• bro 100% gets a kick out of making you cum on his nose

• also loves face sitting, it's his favorite position when eating you out

Denki kaminari

• as much as he loves eating you out he Isnt as good as he thinks he is he still gets you off but it takes a bit longer than he or you would like

• bro gets off just from the taste of you on his toungue 100% short circuits when you cum in his lips

• he also loves face sitting

"But you can suffocate"

"Then I'll die the hapiest a man could be"

Hanta Sero

• MUNCHHHHH

• bro is absolutely the best at eating you out he knows all the spots all the techniques everything

• loves treating his girl right

• the way he moves you bearly last a minute

• you HAVE to look into his eyes at all times if you look away he stops and refuses to start again till you look him in the eyes

• not a single morning that man isnt in between your thighs

• dosent eat breakfast because "you are his breakfast"

Hitoshi Shinso

• skilled af

• bro loves eating you out he's close but not on Munch level

• he loves the feeling of you on his toungue

• loves to lazily eat you out on a morning after you both wake up

• definitely prefers eating than using his fingers

• also loves eye contact but doesn't force it

Mirio togita

• he prefers using his hands purely because he can use his quirk in the process because of this he Isnt so skilled in the mouth

• when you do ask him to eat you out he agrees and he gets the job done but after 1 or 2 rounds he switches to his hands again

Amajiki Tamaki

• he's above a munch he's a master

• he's not very experienced but God he knows how to do it

• his hero name is lit suneater he's skilleddddd

• at the start of your relationship with him he would he super awkward in asking despite the fact he craved the feeling of you on his toungue he didn't want to ask incase he made you uncomfortable

• later in the relationship when he has gained much more confidence he asks at least 3 times a day

•"I'm bored can I eat you out"

•"I'm tired can I eat you out before bed"

•"Hey baby looking mighty fine today can I eat you out"

• he loves when you sit on his face feeling you full weight drives him insane

• even just the taste gets him off he doesn't need any physical touch just you and the way you taste

[hey-itsdollie]

H-H-Hey..! Ok erm anyways i wanted to request blue lock x reader(seperate) but her personality is like cipher from honkai star rail and also looks like her basically like a cat hybrid (I HOPE U KNOW WHAT HSR IS😭) if u dont know her u can search her up but ger personality is like this cunning,and playful, character, with a mischievous personality (IT CAN BE FLUFF OR SMUT IT DOSENT MATTER🐍) BUT IF ITS TOO COMPLICATED TO WRITE I WONT FORCE YOU TOO🫶🏻🫶🏻 BUT IF U CAN THEN TAKE UR TIME BOO

I LOVE UR THEME THATS ALL BYEE🤗🤗

Just like a cat

yesss I love Cipher, would pull for her but I'm saving for Phainon</3

‧₊˚ ┊ In which the bllk guys have to deal with a playful reader

୭˚. ᵎᵎ featuring » kunigami. rin.

⋮ ⌗ ┆cw ⪼ fluff/crackfic, fem reader, mentions of theft

── .✦ Rensuke Kunigami

Kunigami was simply just trying to get home after spending time at the gym. Of course the streets just had to be rather busy due to the time of night–plus considering it was the weekend. So the redhead had to squeeze past a few drunkards and groups of college kids.

Kunigami tirelessly walked through crowds, holding his bag tight to him even though he doubted anything would happen to his things. Yet, he felt something was off. He reached behind his back pocket and there it was.

Or well nothing was there–which was the problem.

The ginger’s head shot up and his eyes soloed in on one person, he hooded figure quickly walking ahead of the crowd. He groaned and pushed his way to the opening and went after the person.

Quickly following them to an alleyway and calling out to them. His large hand gripped their shoulder noting how they seemed rather small. “Hey, I think you have something of mine.” He stated getting straight to the point.

Kunigami turned you around, his eyes narrowing on your features as your hood fell from your head. He couldn’t understand why a girl around his age was stealing, let alone such a pretty girl like you.

“Awe man, did you catch me?” you let out a soft whine pulling his wallet from your pocket. Kunigami was more than confused now. Not only did he catch a thief, but the said thief was just agreeing and giving in immediately.

“Hey bud, you gonna take your wallet or nah? If not then that’s so chill.” You questioned boredly, going through the item.

“Oh wow, you’re even more handsome in photos.”

“Aye stop that.” He groaned and took his wallet from you. Making sure everything was still in it. “Alright, you should stop stealing-”

Just when the ginger was going to give a heroic speech his head looked around him noticing you had already left without a trace. “What? How did she?”

Kunigami looked around once more before shaking his head and walking home. The thought of you still fresh in his mind.

── .✦ Rin Itoshi

“Come on Rinnie, you can do better than that can’t you?” You cooed with a playful grin. Watching your boyfriend do his normal core workouts.

Your words only pissing him off even more as he watched you easily walk while doing a handstand. You were incredibly flexible with your past in being a gymnast–something you were going to be a pro in.

“Shut it.” He scoffed using a single hand to hold his body up. Something you taught him to do.

Rin listened to your giggles as he continued with his yoga poses. He almost dropped from his pose as your hands were on his body, he didn’t even notice you get near him.

“You need to relax your muscles right here, if you don’t you could put strain on this limb.” You directed as your hands were rubbing part of his leg.

Rin nodded with a huff, doing as told. You smiled and backed away.

“There we go, good boy Rinnie!” You praised making your boyfriend’s face redden.

“Oh shut up…”

You let out a soft laugh before sitting down on your own mat and stretching your legs.

“Damn I can’t compliment my boyfriend now? A shame…” You sighed playfully as Rin just glared at you, his face still flushed.

“You’re so easy to tease Rinnie, it’s adorable.”

©hey-itsdollie please don't copy, change, or steal my work. Thank you!

[lascvitae]

idk if ur taking reqs but can i plz request niki trying to play games while u grind on his lap

ᝰ.ᐟ katty gonna go say gamer bf niki in my mirror 3 times brb

ᝰ.ᐟ warnings/tags. smut (18+) 西村力 x fem!reader dry humping (kinda) riding size kink 18O3wc degradation praise kink (if you squint) creampie (use condoms!!!) squirting overstimulation pet names (baby, pretty face/pretty girl), niki is possessive n a lil mean ───── ꒰ 𝓿ault. ꒱

“NIKI.” YOU MURMUR AGAIN, VOICE low and syrupy sweet. your hips move in slow circles on his lap.

his breath catches. he doesn’t look at you, eyes locked onto the screen in front of him like it’s the only thing keeping him in reality. but you can feel how hard he is under you.

you shift again, dragging yourself across the thick bulge in his sweats like you’re starving for friction. and maybe you are.

“i can feel you throbbing.” you whisper, letting your fingers trail up his stomach under his shirt. “you like when i grind on you like this, baby?”

he doesn’t answer. not with words, at least. his head tips back slightly, jaw clenched tight. his hand on the mouse twitches.

you hum, satisfied. you lean back just enough so he can feel every inch of your heat through the lace, slick and already soaking through, smearing over the fabric of his sweats every time you roll your hips again.

“you’re gonna cum in your pants before you even touch me. poor baby can’t even focus, can you?” you tease, kissing up his neck with a giggle.

“stop.” he mutters, but it’s weak. your nails trace lightly over his chest. “but you’re so hard for me.”

you push your hips down, grinding just right until you feel him jerk under you.

“fuck.” he chokes out, one hand flying to your waist. “you wanna get fucked right here?”

“please. can’t wait anymore.” you whisper, lips brushing his.

he pushes the headset off his head, finally grabbing your thighs with both hands and groaning. he shoves his sweats down just enough to free his cock, already leaking at the tip. you suck in a breath at the sight of it, cunt fluttering.

he smirks. “what? you scared now?”

“n-no.” you whisper, eyes locked on him.

“then sit.”

his fingers hook in your panties and drag them to the side. your slick clings to the fabric and he grips your hips and lines himself up, pushing against your entrance.

“eyes on me. wanna see your pretty face when you take it.” he mutters, grabbing your jaw and forcing your gaze up.

you nod quickly, starting to sink down. your mouth drops open as he stretches you open inch by inch, spreading your walls around him. you moan helplessly.

he grins, catching your reaction. “you gonna take it, baby? gonna let me stretch you out?”

“fuck— niki— too big—”

“nah. said you couldn’t wait, remember? so take all of it.” he says, fingers grabbing your hips as he pulls you down farther.

you slide down inch by inch, walls stretched around his length. it makes your toes curl, and when you finally bottom out, sitting fully in his lap, he groans like he’s about to lose it.

“feel that? feel me in your stomach?” he whispers, voice right in your ear.

you nod frantically. he kisses your jaw and then thrusts up into you. hard.

you cry out, hands scrambling to his shoulders as your body jolts.

“ride me. bounce, baby. make that pussy work for it.” he pants.

you start moving, bouncing in his lap. every time you drop, it’s loud. he watches you like he’s hypnotized. “look at you. taking every inch like a good little slut.”

“i’m trying—” you whimper, voice shaking.

“don’t try. take it.” he says, slapping your ass hard enough to make you jolt.

he grips your hips harder, dragging you down while he fucks up into you, making your eyes roll back.

“you close? gonna cum with me stuffing you full?” he whispers, thumb brushing your clit now.

“y-yes, niki, please— feels so good—”

“do it. cum for me, baby.” he snaps, voice tight, thumb rubbing messy fast circles into your clit now.

your mouth drops open and he doesn’t slow down. his length drags deep inside you with every bounce, stretching you open so good your body jerks with every thrust. he’s not letting you set the pace anymore, fucking up into you while keeping you in his lap like you’re his favorite toy.

your body seizes up, orgasm ripping through you. your legs tremble, nails digging into his shoulders, cunt gushing around his cock.

“fuck— baby— shit, look at that.” he pants, watching your slick squirt out, wetting his sweats and dripping down his balls.

you’re gasping, hips twitching as he keeps fucking you through it. he thrusts up once and spills into you with a low, strained groan. he keeps you full, not even pulling out as you feel his cum deep inside of you.

and then his headset mic flicks back on.

“yo, sorry. my bad. lagged out or some shit.” he mumbles breathlessly, still buried in you. his hand lazily grips your thigh and you just blink in response.

“don’t move. you’re my good luck charm.” he whispers while smirking, still twitching inside you.

taglist @saysirhc @blissfulflw @yuyuy90

[satoruan]

r/ATIA for WHAT!? w/Jujutsu Kaisen  

More: Fem!Reader, dark & explicit content, dubcon, piss kink, necrophilia, manhandling, choking, coercion, teacher x student, power dynamics, blackmail, threesome, Cuck!Gojo, drinking. unedited

Featuring: Nanami Kento, Choso Kamo, Ryomen Sukuna, Gojo Satoru

PART 2

r/fuckingmystudent posted by u/Nanami_Kento 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you try to recall the events that lead you to get your brains fucked by your professor. He caught you filming a video for your Onlyfans in his class. So, he took your phone and asked you to meet him in his office after class. There, he forced you to unlock your phone and show him what exactly you were recording. It was utterly humiliating and watching him, watch you, finger yourself with a pen underneath the desk. After, he’d told you that he’d tell the dean you were getting off on his voice lecturing you unless you did something for him.  Which led you ass up on his desk, trying your hardest not to make a peep as his fat cock slammed in and out of you. “Now, what I'm going to do is take out my cell,” He grunts, rolling his hips deep into you. “And record you slamming your ass onto my cock so if you decide to open that sweet mouth of yours, I'll have no choice but to send this video to mommy and daddy back at home, understand?” You nod, tears forming in your eyes from the threat or incoming orgasm, probably both. “Say ‘Yes, Professor!’ and maybe I'll send you the video so you can post it and feed yourself this week.” 

r/peeinginher posted by u/choso_Kamo 

Ankles beside your head, Choso had you folded in half as he pounded into your swollen cunt. He’d been going for what felt like hours and you were about to reach another peak when he abruptly stopped. “Choso?” you rasp, voice raw from screaming. “What’s wrong, baby?” You ask, staring up at him as he stares down at your glistening cunt. He just tilts his head and continues to stare. You’re about to ask again when he blinks from whatever trance he is in and starts thrusting in and out, slower this time. “Nothin’ baby, jus’ gotta piss.” “T-then stop and go, hm–” you gasp when he pushes your legs down further. “Stop and go to the bathroom Cho.” you try to pull his hands off your calves. Choso tightens his hold and grins down at you. “C-Choso?” “Why would I get up when I have a perfectly capable toilet right here.” Is all you hear before you suddenly feel a foreign warmth in your cunt followed by wetness trickling out your pussy.  

r/askinghertoplaydead posted by u/Ryomen_Sukuna 

“You wan’ me to do what?” You ask, staring up at him from your position between his legs. “I asked you to stop suckin’ my cock and hang off the bed like a drugged-up bitch on her last life.” He stares at you with a look that tells you he isn’t truly asking. “B-but ‘Kuna—” He grabs your throat. “Don’t you wanna make me happy, hm?” You grab the hand around your neck. “Mhm.” “This ‘ll make me happy, little girl,” He plants a firm kiss on your lips. “Now do as I told you, actually I’ll do it, I know you aren’t the best at following orders.” He says before pushing you back like a ragdoll. “Yes, now lay there, don’t move, don’t speak.” Sukuna reiterates, finally satisfied with your position, naked on your stomach with your head hanging off the bed. He wastes no time shoving his big cock into your cunt. You groan from the sudden intrusion “Kuna!” “Shut up, dead bitches don’t fuckin’ make sounds.”  

r/forcinga3some posted by u/Gojo_Satoru 

“Sit on his cock love,” Gojo demands, grabbing you by the waist and throwing you onto Suguru’s lap. “S-Satoru!” “’ Toru!” You and Geto screech at the same time. “C’mon guys, it’s fine I don’t mind, Loosen up!” Gojo looks at you on his best friend's lap and his cock twitching underneath his pants. He palms it. Don’t worry, we’ll have our turn. “I know you two want to fuck, c'mon! Do I really have to pull it out and shove it up your tight cunt?” Goji grits out, increasingly frustrated when the two of you stare at him like a pair of deer in headlights. “Baby, I-it was just a truth or dare question!” Your head aches and you put both of your hands on Suguru’s broad shoulders to stable yourself, trying and failing to ignore his hard under your panty-covered pussy. “Was it? So, you aren’t wet right now? And you Suguru? You aren't rock fucking hard at the thought of fucking the same pussy I cum in every night?” Gojo raises his eyebrow holding eye contact with you until you look away, face flushed. Suguru sighs, throwing his head back with murmured ‘fuck this.’ before grabbing your waist. “Yes! That’s what I thought. Ha!” Gojo laughs, watching as Suguru starts grinding you down on his bulge.  

[saymio]

The Salesman headcanons | (NSFW)

Pairing: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Genre: headcanons, smut

Warning: dead dove do not eat, manipulation, stalking+kidnapping, dub/noncon, DDLG, age gap, might be more but im too lazy to write it down

A/N: not proof read. classes started again so I'm taking longer to write, enjoy my hc's while u wait for a longer fic.

The Salesman, the man that found you sitting on a bench all alone crying in the middle of the night. he couldn't help but feel pity for you, like you were a puppy that was left alone out in the rain.

The Salesman, the man that came home late from doing his usual recruiting, feeling his pants getting tighter and tighter every time he replays your bloodshot eyes and shaky pathetic voice.

The Salesman, the man that decides he wants to stalk your every move after he saw you crying all alone. watching you as you try looking for places that would accept you as a worker, or when you pleasure yourself. watching through your open blinds.

The Salesman, the man that will record you while you change, sleep, and do other things around your house. jerking off to your unsuspected body, who would assume a creep was watching them through their window?

The Salesman, the man that gets front row tickets to your freak out. he sent a couple of photos he took of you sleeping to your phone number and now you're frantically running around the house. locking all your doors, windows and covering any opening you could think of. God, you looked so small and weak when you were scared.

The Salesman, the man that met eyes with you while you stood in front of a brightly lit love motel. his jaw clenching and eyes filled with rage, what were you doing here? its obvious you're a virgin, just one look at you and he could probably recite your entire life story. so why were you trying to meet up with someone here? were you going to fuck a stupid child? a boy your age doesn't know how to make a girl feel good...you need an older man to help you..

The Salesman, the man that had kidnapped you in broad 'daylight'. right infront of the motel, right infront of dozens of cameras. watching you squirming body and tears run down your face..but you cant say a word because you mouth has been duck taped shut.

The Salesman, the man that feels a strong urge to just keep you safe. to protect you from the world and let you stay home to do nothing. And the only way you'll be safe is if you stay with him. forever.

The Salesman, the man that will force you onto his cock with no remorse as you yell in pain. you've never had something this big so it feels like you've been split in half...he loves it. he loves your pain.

The Salesman, the man that will treat you like your a stupid child. petting your head and rubbing your cheek while he slowly explains the rules of the game he wants to play with you. like if he were to speak faster you'd get confused.

The Salesman the man that sets you loose in an abandoned warehouse. telling you if you hide for 2 hours without getting touched you win..and get to go home without any more abuse to your hole.

The Salesman, the man that caught you only 2 minutes before the timer went out. dark eyes piercing into yours as he smiles a creepy wide grin. "caught you~"

The Salesman, the man that enjoys your shaky eyes and rapid breathing when he finds you. he thinks its funny, you probably think he's going to kill you. but he wants to do worse

The Salesman, the man that will tie you up to a large bed. items laid out on a desk next to him...the prize for the salesman when he wins was he gets to pick what he can use on you.. he picked a whip, knife, and..his own dick.

The Salesman, the man that whips your body until youre screaming in pain and begging him to let you go...but he only gets worse as his boner gets more prominent against his slacks.

The Salesman, the man that carves "daddies slut" onto your right thigh. licking the blood that dripped down your thighs as he did so.

The Salesman, the man that will make you call him dad and daddy. he finds it so cute how your little voice says it. like a scared little girl calling out for her dad...

The Salesman, the man that drops you off right where he found you. you just had new bruises and cuts now.

Another note: I hope you guys liked this one hshsh, I'm working on a noeul fic rn. idk when it'll come out doe.. T T T T

TAGLIST: @pollys-doublelife @gongyoosgf

[bruisedboys]

john walker x thunderbolt!reader

john grudgingly patches you up after a mission — it gets more intimate than you both expect. post thunderbolts, no spoilers. 1k words

note: umm hi this is me forcing u to hear me out on him xx

“You’re not doing a very good job of that, Captain.”

John sighs loudly, his shoulders tense with irritation. “Shut up. And stop moving around.”

You grin to yourself. He’s fun to mess with.

“M’sorry, but your hands are really cold, John,” you tell him.

It’s true, they are, and he’s not being very gentle either. John wouldn’t have been your first pick for someone to patch you up after a fight, but you’d been unfortunate enough to be paired with him for this particular mission, and none of the rest of your team are back yet. You’re alone with him in one of the many bathrooms of Avengers tower. If you bleed out and die, you’re blaming it on his poor first aid skills.

“You wanna stitch this up yourself, then?” John asks you shortly. He’s got his big hand locked around your hip, holding you still while he stitches up the nasty gash spanning from just above your hip, up to the dip in your waist. His thumb presses into your hipbone. He’s not being rough but he’s certainly not being gentle — and while you’re not made of porcelain, you’d appreciate a bit of softness.

You shake your head. “No, thanks,” you sing-song.

John grumbles something under his breath that you can’t quite hear, but you catch words like useless and good for nothing. You don’t take it to heart. You’ve deemed him chronically grumpy, which he loathes, but you’ve decided it explains why he’s so mean all the time.

You let yourself fall back on your hands and watch him work. He’s standing in between your legs while you sit perched on the counter, your shirt pushed up over your ribs. He wasted a good amount of time letting you know how stupid it was of you to get hurt like this. After he was done grilling you, he grudgingly began to clean your wound, quite messily you might add. He’s halfway done stitching you up now, head bent over your ribs.

You think, secretly, that he looks quite handsome, concentrated like this. With his head bent over you, his hair all messy where he’s run his hands through it. You try not to think about how this position makes you feel. Sure, John’s a jerk, but you’re not blind. He’s handsome.

You realise suddenly that the silence is making you delusional, and you open your mouth to break it.

“Where do you think the others—“ you cut yourself off with a gasp when he pricks you hard with the needle. “Ow.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” John says quickly. He rubs his thumb over your hipbone twice, then lifts his gaze to yours.

“Sorry,” he says gently, wincing. “Accident.”

You blink at him. You don’t think you’ve ever heard the word sorry come out of his mouth since you met him. Not to mention the look on his face. Apologetic, gentle. Not something you’ve ever seen on him before. It suits him, but it’s still weird.

“It’s okay,” you say slowly. You shake your head, a little nonplussed. “It’s fine.”

John just stares at you. You stare back. Then he swallows. He must remember himself, then, because he goes back to frowning.

“Your fault,” he mumbles. He ducks his head again and gets back to work.

You want to ask how on earth that was your fault, but you’re too perplexed. If you’re not mistaken, you’re pretty sure John Walker was just soft on you. The absolute bare minimum, you know, but for John that’s like gifting you a bouquet of flowers and a kiss on the forehead.

You sit there, John’s hands all over you, and try to forget how he’d rubbed your hip, how he’d said sorry so quickly and so gently, how he’d looked at you like you weren’t just a thorn in his side, for once. You can’t forget it. How could you? It’s John. He’s not… soft. Like, ever.

You’re still thinking about it when the perpetrator in question finishes stitching you up. He snips the thread and straightens up. Your chest feels funny, like something’s tugging at your heart.

John lifts his head.

“You’re all done,” he says gruffly. He puts his tools down and tugs your shirt back over your stomach. “Try not to get so sliced up next time, alright?”

He’s back to sounding perpetually irritated again. Still, you find it difficult to ignore his hand on your waist as he smooths down your shirt.

“Why, ‘cos you care about me?” You joke weakly.

John rolls his eyes. He removes his hand from your waist to press it to the counter palm down, using it to hold his weight as he leans forward a bit. He’s not in your personal space, but he’s close enough, and the fact he’s standing between your legs doesn’t help.

“No,” he says in a low voice. “Cos you’re a nuisance to look after.”

You don’t know if he’s challenging you, threatening you, or if this is something else entirely, but you push yourself up with your palms pressed to the counter, leaning into his space. Whatever this is, you’re too stubborn to back down.

You tilt your head and plaster on a lopsided grin.

“Am I really?” You ask in a sweet, lilting voice.

John just looks at you. He’s closer now, so close you could kiss him, if you wanted. You’re not sure what you want, actually. But you can feel his body heat, and his broad shoulders block your vision of anything else, and he looks a bit like he wants to eat you. Or maybe kill you.

His hand creeps back towards your hip. He leans closer. Your heart hammers but you ignore it. John lowers his gaze. You’re pretty certain he’s looking at your mouth.

“You’re a brat, you know that?” He murmurs.

“Is that so?” You ask, feigning confidence. Really, your veins feel rampant with electricity. Your heart thud thud thuds in your chest.

“Mm,” John hums back. His thumb skips over the outside of your thigh. He’s breathing heavier than usual. You think you are too.

You don’t know why, but you reach up and touch his face. You drag two fingers over the rough stubble growing at his jaw. John shows no reaction on his face, though you notice his chest heaving so close to yours.

“Thanks for patching me up,” you whisper, so close now that your lips ghost over his when you speak. “You know, with how careful you were with the stitches, I’d say you actually care about m—“

John kisses you to shut you up. At least, that’s what he tells you afterwards.

-

thank u for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed x

[shariasweet]

JAKE AND READER WATCHING 🌽 TOGETHER PLEASE PLEASE 🙏🙏

s.jaeyun x f reader

𝓦c ::: est -1k 𐙚 𝓢harinote ::: omg I'm so happy sb said this nonnie I'm gonna kiss u I've been wanting to post this forever 𐙚 warnin𝓰.ᐟ ::: porn · masterbationation · competitiveness ??? · swearing · pet-names · f.ᐟreader

you set up your computer at the foot of the bed—the screen in front of you blown up to full size—as you crawled back to your boyfriend.

“whoever cums first loses,” he grinned.

the two of you sprawled out, naked legs intertwining, as one of jake’s arms reached toward the mousepad—clicking the play button just as pornographic moans ripped from the speakers.

and that’s when you began.

two of your fingers tapped your clit—smearing slick along the expanse of your slit. you bit your lip, eyes rolling as they flicked in the direction of your boyfriend.

jake’s hand wrapped around his chubbed hard-on. his thumb ran along the veins of his cock, slowly—almost teasingly—making its way to the sticky slit of his swollen, mushroom tip. “f-fuck…” his other hand ran through his hair as his head fell back.

“hah…” you gasped, slipping a finger between the precum-lathered walls of your cunt. “you sensitive already, jakey?” you laughed breathlessly, your ring finger forcing itself between your clenching walls as you fucked yourself at a steady pace.

“no… n-no way, you wish… ngh!” he gritted his teeth, still fisting his cock, letting his head snap toward the screen.

all of this had started because of the competitive nature of your relationship. playful kisses had turned into a playful argument about who was easier—who came the quickest. “aww… baby, you know how good i make you feel,” you cooed, condescendingly twirling your fingers in his black locs as you smiled against his neck.

“maybe.” his grip on your waist tightened, pressing you into the tenting bulge in his pants. “but don’t i make you feel better?” he groaned against the shell of your ear—proposing there was only one way to find out.

on the screen, the girl was face-down, her leg propped on the counter as her partner ravished her. cum dripped from her slick-glistening folds, his moans guttural and uncontrolled as he fucked into her at a relentless pace despite having already come so many times.

the video reminded you two of yourselves.

“shit… i’m close,” jake huffed, squeezing his shaft hard, like he was trying to milk himself dry. “m-me too.” you frowned, back arching into your touch as three fingers thrust into you, your thumb massaging your clit. one hand worked your nipples—pinching the sensitive buds between your thumb and index finger.

“t-truce? please, ‘wanna watch you cum, angel,” your boyfriend whined, sounding eerily like the man on screen as his orgasm grew closer.

“yeah… mpf! oh my god, jake, baby!” you swore, head spinning, dizzy with need.

so was jake’s. he tugged his cock—sore and throbbing—pre-cum slicking his hand.

“cum with me, please, please… ‘want to cum together, y/n.”

“mhm..! fuck, i’ll cum with you, baby. just—ah! hah… oh, shit!” your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, warmth blooming in your core as you rode it out.

you could feel spurts of jake’s cum paint your mound, globs of pearly white dripping down your cunt as your hips jerked—clear liquid shooting from your fluttering hole as you screamed like the woman in the video.

the sheets beneath you were soaked—ruined by the slobbery, slicked-up mess you and your boyfriend had made.

the video on the screen had faded to black, the next one auto-playing.

“fuck…” your thighs trembled. jake breathed deeply, trying to catch his breath, while the two of you chuckled at the mess you’d made.

when your heads turned to the screen again, a new video was playing. “we should try that next,” he grinned.

“think you’d last?” you cocked your head, smirking as you sat up on your elbows. “is that a challenge?”

“only if you’re not willing to admit you’d cum first.”

you rolled your eyes. “challenge accepted.”

he squinted, sitting up—already preparing for round two.

hms for links:

1 ❥ 2 ❥ 3

[lemmesayimyourbiggestfan]

Say my name again

Hwang In-ho x reader

word count: 2k

warnings: blood, gore, violence… if u watched SG, you’ll be fine

as always, requests are open!

You’ve been watching him for some time now. Paying attention to the way his mouth moved when he talked to his teammates, following his gaze wherever he looked. After the second game, you overheard him introducing himself. Young-il. What a coincidence he looked like the police officer that visited your flat so many years ago. The name was what made you suspicious - you could have sworn the police officer introduced himself to you as Hwang In-ho. And it’s not as if you could’ve gotten those mixed up; you two spent many restless days trying to find the ones who were behind the robbery of your home. But, you smiled with some bitterness on your tongue, the outcome was obvious based on your situation.

You knew you were the only one watching him so closely. One of your teammates even joked about it, saying you were mesmerised by that man. But he just made you nervous - his presence planting a bug in your brain. Was he a spy for the government? Or was he just as miserable as the rest of you?

With another unsuccessful vote behind you, you could finally rest and get off of your adrenaline high by leaning against the railing of your bunk bed while nibbling on some bread. You took off your bloodied shoes that always made you nauseous just by looking at them and while doing some breathing exercises your eyes of their own volition found that familiar face in the moving crowd. Of course he is still playing, you thought. He was a cop, no matter what. You watched him give his own share of milk to the pregnant girl. Did he do it out of kindness or to manipulate those people?

“Seriously, Y/N, you must have a problem. What is wrong with you? Staring like that at that poor guy- he might get the wrong idea.” One of your teammates said to you, sitting next to you on the bed.

“Don’t worry so much. I’m just watching and that’s harmless on its own.”

“On its own, yes. But what you’re doing is more than that.”

You raised your brow in annoyance and curiosity and moved your eyes to her.

“And what is it that I’m doing?” You pursed your lips.

“Stalking, mildly put.” She grimaced at your look, sensing how close to irritated you were becoming.

“Stalking? Such a nonsense, Se-mi.”

“Well, whatever. Just be careful so he doesn’t notice or in the next game you might have even more trouble staying alive.”

“Yeah? Is that because you’re so done with me you’re gonna finish me off tomorrow?”

Both of you were grinning then.

“In your dreams, Y/N.”

***

The platform beneath you jerked to life but all your eyes could see were the puddles of blood everywhere. Your shoes were already drenched in it, the palms of your hands covered by it. You slipped on the blood so many times that your clothes were already camouflaged.

“Today I die,” you breathed out, ragged and scared. You knew you were right.

The music echoed in your head even as it quieted and the platform stopped. But you still couldn’t look away from all the blood, not caring anymore about the people around you.

“Two.” said the woman’s voice and panic began. You finally lifted your gaze, searching for Se-mi or anyone familiar but no one was around. People were screaming, dragging each other down, pushing, always pushing. And you just stood there, awaiting your unavoidable end.

“Come on!” There, a body appeared, and someone crashed into you with such force it was hard to stay on your feet. Hands grabbed your waist and with unbelievable strength half pushed you half carried you to the nearest unoccupied room. Only when your body connected with the floor and the doors locked behind you did you look up at the person who saved you.

“Tell me what you want from me.” Young-il or In-ho said, blocking the exit with his body, freezing you in place with those piercing eyes. So he has noticed, you thought, finding it hard to swallow, let alone speak.

“I know who you are.” you croaked and In-ho said nothing, but his laugh lines grew heavier.

“Do you?“ he asked after a while, his eyes sparkling. Was this just a game for him?

“Why didn’t you tell them your real name, In-ho?”

“What made you think you could talk to me like that?” You shivered at his words but your face remained impassable. Somehow, you weren’t scared of him, no. Just… curious.

“Same question.”

“You think I don’t remember you, right? But you’re wrong. The moment I noticed you here I knew exactly who you were, Y/ N.” It was hard to pretend that those words meant nothing to you.

“At least I don’t hide behind a different name.”

“It’s a precaution. Some of these people are criminals and if they recognised my name they wouldn’t be as happy as you to see me here, understood?”

Your cheeks reddened but that didn’t stop you from holding your ground. His gaze made you nervous and you started biting your lower lip.

“Would you stop doing that?” In-ho asked and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not the only one watching, Y/N.” he gave you a tentative smile.

Before you could say anything, the doors clicked and In-ho extended his hand to you as an offering.

“I can keep a secret… Can you?” A corner of his mouth curled up slightly and in answer you accepted his hand.

***

After you walked out of the room, the two of you didn’t speak until later that day in the dormitory. It was as if your roles switched - the whole day you felt his gaze following you wherever you went. It was driving you insane.

Thankfully In-ho approached you on his own, holding you by your elbow and gently leading you to a tranquil corner of the room.

“Stop staring at me to distract me!” you whisper shouted at him.

“Oh, I’m not staring at you to distract you.”

Again, the blush creeped into your cheeks. Flustered and ashamed, you looked away and bit your lip.

“I shouldn’t be here, you know.” he went on. His eyes were flickering from side to side, probably trying to see if anyone paid any attention to you.

“Well, I can keep a secret, can’t I?” you looked up at him from beneath your lashes, a spark in your eyes. A smile crept on his face but quickly disappeared.

“As soon as the lights go out today, the other team is going to attack us so they have more people voting tomorrow for the games to continue. You hide under the bed and be quiet, you understand?”

“Is this a trap?” you asked and stepped away, your hands starting to shake.

“Do as I say.” And that was that. With it, he meant to turn away, but you gripped his wrist.

“In-ho-“

“Would you stop doing that?” he retorted and moved his hand so it was him holding you. His knuckles were all white but he wasn’t hurting you.

“Doing what exactly, In-ho-“ before you could finish the sentence, the palm of his hand covered your mouth. Your nostrils were met with a musky and tangy smell.

“Don’t test me.” He let go of you and stepped aside. As he turned to go, he spoke over his shoulder: “When the lights turn off, come and find me. I’ll keep you safe.”

And somehow, no matter how dangerous this place was, knowing that you cannot trust anyone here, you trusted him.

***

“Light out in five minutes.” The woman’s voice resonated in the dormitory while everyone climbed into their beds. You sat at the edge of yours with shoes on, checking for the fifth time In-ho’s location. In your mind, you tried to blindly navigate your way and when you were finally convinced that you could do it, you loosened a deep sigh.

“Why so tense, Y/N?” Se-mi asked from the bed beneath yours. You climbed down onto her level and quickly checked if anyone was listening, before you whispered: “After the lights go out, gen under the beds. Trust me.” Thank god she didn’t question it, because you felt ridiculous enough for the both of you for even listening to In-ho. He didn’t have a motive to keep you safe. He had one to kill you, though. You were the only one here who knew his real name. You just didn’t know if it was information worth killing for.

“Lights out in ten seconds. Ten, nine, eight…” You looked around for the last time. The air was stale and tense. Your body started shaking immediately.

“Three, two, one.” The darkness fell like a heavy curtain. You quietly stumbled down the ladder, careful to make as little noise as possible. Your left knee nearly collapsed under you as you made the first step but you kept a firm grip on the railings as you slowly passed between the bunk beds. Two railings, you go right, tree railings, you touch the wall, you follow it into the corner, then four railings before you go left…. But it just wasn’t possible to move as quickly as required. You were three quarters in when hell was unleashed. The sounds of stabbing, screaming and gurgling filled the air but your legs refused to move. You were completely paralysed with fear.

Someone jumped screaming from their bed and stumbled into you. You fell with a yelp on the cold floor and tried to scoot under the closest bed, but someone was already there pushing you out, frantically repeating: “Get out, they’re gonna find me, you have to go!”

You scrambled on all fours and stayed as low as possible while crawling to where In-ho was supposed to be. You were such a fool.

There was a sudden kick to your abdomen and you gasped, pain resonating through your body. Someone tripped over you and fell with a scream, their hands trying to hold onto anything, which just happened to be your hair. You screamed with pain, blindly punching around yourself in a desperate attempt of defence.

“In-ho!” you finally screamed, not caring anymore if someone tracked you down because of it. There was so much noise that it didn’t matter.

“In-ho!” you kept on shouting as you got up and started frantically running in the direction you thought was the right one. You were starting to get desperate, your voice turning into a rasp, tears forcing their way out of your eyes.

Earlier, when you said that you were going to die that day, maybe it would actually happen.

Suddenly, a hand grasped your ankle and you were prepared for the worst. But when your name fell off In-ho’s lips, your shoulders sagged with relief and with a desperate cry you got on the ground and slid next to him under the bed.

“I thought I was dead,” you gasped out, hand on your racing heart.

“Well, me too if that calms you down.”

“It certainly doesn’t, In-ho.” you glared at him. He was looking at you in a strange way, something in his expression you didn’t know how to identify.

“What is it?” you asked, your stomach dropping. Was he actually betraying you? Or was he trying to kiss you? With that look on his face, you couldn’t say which one.

“Say my name again,” he breathed out, your breaths mingling. Suddenly, you noticed all the points where your body was touching his, your skin heating up at the contact.

“In-ho,” you mumbled and stretched out your hand to tuck a strand of his silky hair behind his ear.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” In-ho looked at you with a pained expression.

“Not in the slightest,” you whispered softly against his warm lips as you kissed him.

[dwaekkicidal]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: 'Intense Desire' ༄࿔ L.F.

⤷ Sex Pills | Overstimulation | Squirting

♱ word count: 2.9k

♱ warnings: fem!reader, sex pills usage (felix accidentally taking them), mention of a handjob in a car, he gets “mean” for like a split second, unprotected p in v, rough sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampies, squirting, if u quint theres 1 sentence of angst at the end, i might be forgetting something

♱ notes: sorry this was delayed! I made it a little longer than the others in hopes that it would make up for the tardiness <3 also 1 the beginning might feel rushed (it was) and 2 sex pills dont completely work like this?? But its fiction so.. pls bare with me im so stressed out LMFAO

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

The pounding in Felix’s head was just enough to distract him from the colorful clothes around the two of you. The initially exciting shopping trip to the mall with your boyfriend had quickly slowed down thanks to the headache he developed out of the blue. Your comforting words and warm hands on his face only helped so much, and he felt horrible for his body refusing to let him enjoy your date.

It wasn’t until you reminded him of the medicines he had packed away in his bag that he let up on his pouting Then, with the familiar feeling of the plastic of a pill bottle on his fingers and a gentle reminder from you that this should be fun for the both of you, Felix finds himself leading you to the food court. He quickly buys a bottle of water and chugs down 3 pills. It’s over the dosage of 2 he normally would take, but he’s desperate to have a good time with you.

Not long after, he’s back to his normal self and the thumping pain in his head is long gone. Wide smiles and crescent eyes watch you pick out interesting clothes, some even meant to match with him. Everything is back to normal!

That is until 30 minutes after the fact when he’s patiently sitting outside of your changing room waiting for you to try on the next outfit. He starts to feel a new, less painful ache. One between his legs that he’s all too familiar with.

Literal lines of sweat are dripping down his forehead and his neck when you open the curtain to present the outfit you picked out. He forces a smile and has to tear his eyes away from the tight pants to give his opinion. A curt, breathy, “Beautiful.”

The sweat immediately catches your attention and obviously raises concerns from the way your eyebrows furrow. He notices right away and tries not to let it worry you, shooing you away and encouraging you to try on the last pieces of fabric that await you in the changing room.

The second the curtains close behind you he racks his brain for possible reasons as to why a sudden, strong feeling of horniness took over his body. It’s even to the point where his whole body tingles from the ceiling fans above him. The slow gusts of wind make his cock ache in his jeans and goosebumps litter his arms.

He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten this horny in his life. Even the time when you managed to rile him up to the point where he almost came in his jeans when you brushed past him he had never felt this way. He swore he could feel his veins burning as he looked through his bag for his phone, praying that Google would explain everything.

But he doesn’t get far enough to grab his phone, because the realization hits him like a tsunami wave. The pills. He realizes too late that he never checked which medicine he took. And sure enough, when he checked his bag, the tiny plastic bottle he had a hold on earlier wasn’t his Ibuprofen.

Instead, it was a blue pill bottle that he kept for special medicines that he would occasionally get prescribed. This time around, it was the brand new, not prescribed pills he had put to the side for… intimacy reasons.

It was embarrassing at first for him. A young, attractive man in his 20s struggling with his sex life. All thanks to the wear and tear from work stress: the unforgiving cycle of working too much and being overwhelmed, then taking a break and working too little just to fall behind.

You understood! It’s understandable to not be able to get hard when there’s a never ending dread that has made home in the back of your mind. And it was clearly obvious that he is attracted to you, every other time the two of you were intimate is enough evidence for that.

So you offered him an idea that might help! That idea being “horny” pills. It took some convincing and consistent reassurance for him to cave and agree. Which led to that little blue bottle of little red pills that made his not-so-little friend crave your attention.

“Lixie?” Your voice snaps him out of his daydreaming and his head snaps up to see your head poking out of the curtain. Your giggle goes straight to his dick and he has to force a smile to get through the ache. “I need your help with this dress. I can’t get the zipper up.”

You don’t need to ask twice, especially when the promise of getting to see your bare skin is on the table. He’s joining you in the blink of an eye, using his clammy, shaky hands to zip up the dress the rest of the way. Your body flushes at the way he licks his lips as he looks you up and down multiple times.

“Do you like it?” His eyes snap up to yours in the mirror and he nods. It’s pretty obvious to you what’s going on in his head at this point, minus the reason for it, so you rip the dress off and rush to the cashier as fast as you can.

Felix is on your tail the whole time. A hand on your hip and his chest pressed to your back as he shoves his credit card into the card reader. Then again when the two of you get to the car, this time both of his hands on your hips and his face shoved into your neck.

“Need you so fucking bad.” His hard-on is even more obvious now as he grinds it against your thigh, groaning and whining into your neck about how good it feels. You struggle to get the car keys out of his pocket when his hands are all over you, making you feel good when they aren’t even doing much.

“Felix… Not here.” The two of you drabbled in public sex before so it wasn’t a new experience for either of you. But it had been a while since the two of you were intimate so you really didn’t want it to be in the dirty car garage of a mall. In the middle of the day, mind you.

“I need something. Baby, please. I-I can’t do this.” The desperation in his voice is enough to make your neck whip around, almost knocking into his as you look back at him with confusion. He knows you all too well and the answer to your unspoken question is already on the tip of his tongue.

“I accidentally took those sex pills instead of pain meds.” He doesn’t bother explaining further; he doesn’t care anymore. The only thing that’s on his mind is getting you into the car so he can get some sort of stimulation on his poor, achy cock.

You're lucky to even have gotten his hands off of you after that, let alone getting him in the passenger seat and buckled in without him launching at you. However you’re even less lucky as you drive him home, one hand on the wheel and the other- well, on his dick.

You could hear the wetness of him jerking himself off before you saw it. He was keen to get your help though. His eyes were teary and his voice came out a distressed whine as he pleaded for you to help, complaining that his hand wasn’t comparable to how good your hand would feel.

The windows on your shared car are as tinted as legally possible, so you quickly cave and slide your hand toward him. Now 5 minutes away from the house, you quicken your hands in hopes that he’ll cum this soon. But luck isn’t on either of your sides today and the car’s already in park before he’s even close to cumming.

You don’t make it past the entryway before Felix is shoving you forward, pinning you to the wall, and pulling your bottoms to your knees. The sight of your panties all messy and your pussy lips equally as messy from your excitement is enough to make him feral.

“You’re so good to me, Honey. Always so obedient and keeping my pussy ready for me when I most need it. I’m going to give you the world and more.” He doesn’t wait for you to make a comment before he’s pushing your underwear to join your bottoms.

One hand rests on the wall by your face and the other pushes against your lower back, arching your back at the same time that he pushes his cock in. Your walls are warm and wet as they take every last inch of him in, almost as if two puzzle pieces were finally placed together.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and he sucks on your neck, whispering incoherent mumbles until he’s bottomed out. He only stops then to take deep breaths and calm his own body down. Now that he’s finally inside of you, the effects of the pills feel a million times stronger.

He genuinely feels like a dog in heat, hips still rutting into yours even as his mind tells his body to relax. It doesn’t listen in the slightest and after a short pause his hips are finding a rigorous rhythm. 

Felix is a man possessed behind you; nails digging into your skin leaving bruises to come and hips moving with more force than you thought he could give. It’s hard to think he’s not possessed with his filthy mouth, something he’s always been good at but it hits differently when he’s rock hard inside of you and eager to feel every inch of your body all at once.

You start to feel like the pills are affecting you. Your own body reacts to his fervent movements with warm clenches and moans that spur him on. You feel so sensitive and your orgasm sneaks up on you, causing you to wiggle in his hold. The shuffle of your limbs makes him lose his angle and you both whine.

“No, no, no, no, no, no. Stop. You gotta stay arched, baby. Yeah, just like that. Ffuck…” The hand on your back pushes you forward, completely squishing you against the wall as he tries to arch you back to how you previously were. He knows that he did it right when you start to flutter around him again and your moans ascend a few pitches.

With the other hand using all of his fingers to rub your clit back and forth, he pushes you over the edge. You clench around him as you moan into the wall, your arms shaking as you try to hold yourself up against it. He growls against your ear and bites down on it as he continues fucking you through your high.

He doesn’t stop after you’re done. If anything it only encourages him, the ache in his veins telling him that he needs to keep going and make you feel even better. And so he does, with one hand still furiously rubbing your clit back and forth while the other now moves to your waist and holds up your slouching form.

It just squeezes you appreciatively, almost even possessively as he holds you in place when you start to flail. It doesn’t become mean until in the midst of your thrashing, you move yourself just slightly to the point where he loses his angle again. He pushes his hand roughly against you and arches your back himself again, this time with a disgruntled snap. 

“Stop fucking doing that.” He’s huffing into your ear as his hips pick up pace, going even faster than he was before. “Be good or else I’ll bend you over with nothing to lean on.” But it’s hard to control your body when painful pleasure is swimming through your body. Even more so when you feel another orgasm lurking.

“B-Baby, fuck! Give me a sec, you’re-” You cut yourself off with a shriek as the hand on your waist moves to tangle itself in your hair. It uses the grip to pull you back up to rest your back flat against his chest. His other hand finally falters at this point, instead of rubbing your clit it sinks into your thigh.

“I’m what, Honey. Tearing up your guts?” He laughs out a sound of agreement that turns into a guttural groan as his blinding thrusts finally let up. A few sharp thrusts and a series of moans fall from his lips as he empties himself out inside of you. It feels like gallons of his seed are filling your stomach, and the feeling of it leaking out onto your inner thighs is enough to make you believe that’s the case.

If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. He just stands there with his forehead against your shoulder and his arms wrapped around your torso, mind reeling as he comes down from such an intense high.

“Baby. You didn’t cum with me at the end, did you?” He’s more upset that he faltered that badly, but the twitch of his cock lets you both know that he’s not close to being done regardless. The question is a real testament to your faith. Lie to him and maybe bribe him to let you take a break, or tell the truth and deal with the consequences. Though, it doesn’t seem like he was asking.

He pulls out and moves his hand to the small of your back. Neither of you even spared a glance at your bottoms as you’re dragged to the living room and shoved into the couch. It knocks the breath from your lungs momentarily, and it’s all the time he needs to bend you to his will. Your shoulders sink into the bottom cushions and your legs are hovering just above you as he shoves his cock inside of you again. 

The breath is almost knocked from you again as he finds a new, rougher pace to follow. This one isn’t nearly as fast but the new angle, thanks to your ankles being by his ears, sends him right where he wants to be. His previous load froths along his length as he fucks into you like your lives are on the line. 

Your hands find home on his biceps and your nails leave deep crescent shapes along his skin as you desperately try to find something to ground yourself with. The new vigor he fucks you with makes it so that your next orgasm builds up within a minute or two. The feral stare from his lidded eyes only makes your stomach squeeze as you realize that he really has no plans to stop, even if he really wants to. 

“Felix, baby, s-slow down. It feels w-weird.” You push against his stomach in hopes that it will slow him down, but it doesn’t. He stays quiet and only responds by grabbing your wrist and shoving it into the cushion by your head; a wordless command for ‘Hands off.’ You look up just in time to see his gaze grow more intense.

He even leans forward, both of his hands moving to your thighs to fold them into your chest. His hips pick up speed once he has you folded to his liking and you find that strange feeling growing stronger. You get a glimpse of him licking his pink lips that then perk up into a menacing smile and then the feeling grows too strong, forcing your eyes closed and your legs to combat his hold.

Your body can only shake as you gush around him and he curses under his breath at the sight. Your cunt spams around him and you squirt through his merciless fucking. The wet, squelching noises combat the volume of your cries to the point where he periodically goes out of his way to thrust into you even rougher just to hear it more.

“You hear her talking to me? Fucking shit- She really liked that, huh baby?” He laughs in disbelief and slams into you repeatedly, chasing his own sudden orgasm from watching you cum so intensely.

“That was so fucking hot, Baby.” The whine in his voice doesn’t match the cocky look on his face, but you can’t be bothered to comment about it as he finishes inside of you all of a sudden. Your sensitive walls constrict around him yet again and he cums deep inside, riding his own orgasm out to the sound of your overwhelmed sobs.

His chest heaves as he catches his breath and he takes the moment to glance at a clock on the wall. It’s been a few hours since he took the pills so they should be going down soon. He can already feel his brain going back to normal, and his thoughts are clearing up as the two of you sit there unmoving.

“You… Are you ok, Honey?” Your sniffles are enough to make his heart drop into his ass, but when you look up at him the anxiety leaves his body. You smile at him through the tears and laugh as best as you can while still breathless.

“Holy shit, Felix.” He matches your chuckle and leans forward, slotting your legs on either side of his waist as he repeatedly pushes his lips against your cheek. “I’m… great. But you owe me for fucking me within an inch of my life like that with no warning.”

Taglists: (red=can't be tagged)

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@felixsangelicfreckles

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone).

───────────────

There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin�� to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[santaasi]

bet on you

pairing: james potter x grumpy!reader

summary: james bets you that if he wins his next match, you owe him a date. he wins, of course — but you’re not going to make it easy for him.

warnings: fluff, grumpy x sunshine, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 3.0k

a/n: there are so many of you who followed me for james content after obviously blind so i just decided to give you a little thank u for all your love and support.

ᯓ★ now playing…

niall horan - must be love

"YOU’RE TOO COCKY FOR SOMEONE WHO WAS NEARLY THROWN OFF HIS BROOMSTICK LAST MATCH, POTTER."

Your voice was dry, unimpressed, but James only grinned wider, twirling his wand between his fingers as he lounged on the Gryffindor common room sofa. His Quidditch robes were still rumpled from practice, the fabric clinging in places where the sweat hadn’t entirely dried. His hair — Merlin, his hair — was an absolute disaster, even by James Potter standards, the dark curls damp and sticking up in every possible direction, like he’d flown straight through a hurricane and come out victorious on the other side.

You sat across from him, arms folded tight against your chest, doing your best impression of someone completely indifferent to his presence. The common room was warm, the low glow of the fireplace painting everything in shades of gold and crimson, and yet you wrapped your blanket more tightly around your shoulders, as if that might stop the ridiculous, treacherous pounding of your heart.

James tilted his head, eyes twinkling behind the reflection of the flames in his glasses. Too charming for his own good.

“You wound me, sweetheart,” he sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "I was merely faking vulnerability — to lull the Slytherins into a false sense of security.”

You snorted, gaze fixed on the fire. “Right. And I suppose you meant to drop the Quaffle against Ravenclaw?”

James gasped, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose in a performance of deep, personal offense. “First of all, I didn’t drop it — I strategically redirected it. And second, I think you underestimate my skills, and frankly, that hurts.”

You rolled your eyes, fully prepared to come up with something scathing in response, but then James — the menace — moved.

He dropped onto the couch beside you with all the grace of a kneazle leaping onto its favorite perch, effortlessly invading your space, his weight shifting the cushions beneath you. You sucked in a sharp breath as his arm draped over the back of the sofa, boxing you in.

A strangled noise escaped your lips before you could stop it. You shoved at his shoulder in a pathetic attempt to create distance, but James only laughed, low and amused, his body warm beside yours, radiating that post-match heat.

That sound — that deep, genuine laugh — sent something fluttering through your stomach, something entirely inconvenient. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to scowl harder, hoping to smother whatever the hell was happening inside you.

James, of course, remained completely unbothered. If anything, he leaned in closer, his grin widening. “Plus,” he murmured, voice lilting with amusement, “how can you expect me to play properly when the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts is watching me from the stands, sweetheart?”

Your head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. His smile was positively criminal — all mischief and confidence, his hazel eyes glinting with unspoken challenge.

James and his bloody charm.

Your frown deepened, but it was becoming harder and harder to hold onto. He looked so pleased with himself, sitting there with his damp curls tumbling over his forehead, a few unruly strands falling into his eyes. Your fingers twitched — traitorous things — itching to push them back, just to feel how soft they were.

Absolutely not.

You turned away sharply, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way your breath hitched.

Damn James Potter.

You needed to think about anything else.

Quidditch.

Yes. Quidditch.

James was a good player — some might even say exceptional (and maybe you were one of them, in the privacy of your own thoughts). But you’d rather kiss the Giant Squid than admit that to his face. His ego was already large enough to smother the entire wizarding world; the last thing he needed was your praise fueling it further.

It was your duty — no, your moral obligation — to keep him grounded. To roll your eyes at his dramatics, to scoff at his flirtations, to challenge him at every opportunity.

Even if, in moments like this, when the firelight danced across his face and his laughter filled the spaces between you, your resolve felt dangerously fragile.

Even if, against all reason and logic, you were already hopelessly, disastrously in love with him.

But he didn’t need to know that.

So you bit your bottom lip, let out a quiet chuckle, and looked back at him with a slow, knowing smirk.

“Right,” you said, voice dripping with amusement. “Because obviously your Quidditch skills depend entirely on me.”

James grinned, delighted, like you’d just paid him the highest compliment in the world.

“Exactly,” he said, nudging your shoulder. “Finally, she admits it.”

You huffed, shaking your head, but even as you turned away, you knew he could see the smile threatening at the corners of your lips.

Damn him.

James leaned forward, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips again. “Alright,” he drawled, mischief dripping from every syllable. “Let’s make this more interesting.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, but the way his hazel eyes glinted in the firelight sent a prickle of warning down your spine.

“If we win against Slytherin this weekend,” he continued, his voice low and coaxing, “you have to ask me out.”

You blinked.

What did he just say?

For half a second, your brain short-circuited, your thoughts stuttering to a halt like a broomstick caught in an unexpected gust of wind. But you recovered quickly, forcing out a chuckle that (hopefully) hid the way your pulse had just launched itself into orbit.

“You say that like it’s some kind of real challenge,” you scoffed, tilting your head. “Gryffindor always wins.”

James only shrugged, all casual confidence, but his smirk deepened. “Then you’ve got nothing to lose, do you?” He leaned in slightly, his voice laced with unmistakable amusement. “Unless, of course, you’re afraid.”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling through your nose as you turned to face him fully, arms crossing over your chest. Your faces were too close — close enough that you could make out the faint freckle just beneath his left eye, close enough that you caught the lingering scent of grass and wind still clinging to his robes.

And yet, you refused to back away.

At least outwardly. Inside, your heart was performing a particularly violent tango with your liver at the mere thought of going on a date with James bloody Potter.

“I just don’t think it’s a fair bet,” you replied smoothly, ignoring the treacherous heat creeping up your neck. “Gryffindor wins practically every match.”

James hummed, tilting his head as if considering this, though the glimmer of mischief in his gaze suggested he already had a counterattack prepared. “Alright,” he conceded, pretending to think. “Then name your terms. If we lose…” He paused for dramatic effect, then grinned. “I’ll do whatever you want. No complaints. For an entire week.”

Your lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he echoed, looking far too pleased with himself.

You feigned deep contemplation, tapping a finger against your chin, though in reality, you were far too aware of the way James was watching you, waiting, expecting you to take the bait.

“That’s quite the offer,” you mused. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you when you lose, Potter.”

James laughed, bright and easy, before holding out his hand. “Shake on it?”

Your fingers clasped his, and the moment your hands met, a strange sort of certainty settled in your stomach — heavy and inevitable.

Because James Potter had never lost.

And somehow, you didn’t think this time would be an exception.

THE DAY LEADING UP TO THE FINAL MATCH FLEW BY FASTER THAN THE GOLDEN SNITCH IN THE DYING MOMENTS OF GAME.

James was a blur of scarlet and gold, barely more than a passing shadow in your periphery. You caught glimpses of him at breakfast — hair even messier than usual, eyes alight with that reckless, competitive fire — before he was gone again, dashing out to the Quidditch pitch to practice some new, impossible maneuver.

He was taking your bet far too seriously.

And you hated the way your stomach clenched at the thought.

By the time the match arrived, the air at the Quidditch stadium was thick with tension and the unmistakable electric hum of anticipation. The whole school had turned out, huddled together under the late spring sky, the Gryffindor stands an unbroken wave of red and gold. And you — against all better judgment — were sitting among them, wrapped in James’s scarf, the same one he’d tossed around your shoulders before the game with an infuriating grin.

"For good luck," he’d said, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then, lowering his voice, he’d added, "Enjoy the view, sweetheart. After I win, you’re in for the most unforgettable date of your life."

Cocky bastard.

Now, watching the game unfold, you realized with a sinking feeling in your chest that James hadn’t been bluffing.

Gryffindor wasn’t just winning.

They were annihilating Slytherin.

And James — Merlin help you — was everywhere.

He weaved through the air with impossible speed, dodging Bludgers with infuriating ease, stealing the Quaffle like it had never belonged to anyone else, and scoring goal after goal as the Slytherins scrambled to keep up.

Then, just because he could, he banked his broom hard, looped right past the Gryffindor stands, and — of course — paused just long enough to wink at you before somersaulting through the air and landing another goal.

Show-off.

You scowled. The worst part was, it was impressive.

By the time the final whistle blew, Gryffindor had obliterated Slytherin by at least a hundred points. The stands exploded — cheers ringing through the stadium, banners waving wildly, students practically falling over themselves in celebration.

Amid the chaos, James ripped off his helmet, ran a hand through his already wind-wrecked hair, and turned — scanning the crowd, searching.

His gaze found yours in an instant.

And then he winked.

Smug. Smug, insufferable bastard.

The taste of defeat curled bitter on your tongue as you shot to your feet, yanking James’s scarf tighter around your neck before storming toward the exit.

Behind you, James’s name was being shouted from every direction, his teammates tackling him in celebration, the crowd chanting in triumph.

And yet — somehow — you knew his eyes were still on you.

You may have lost the bet.

But you weren’t about to make this easy for him.

THE COLD NIGHT AIR CURLED AROUND YOU LIKE AN OLD FRIEND, slipping through the courtyard’s stone archways and brushing against your skin. You leaned back against the weathered wall, staring up at the sky as the first stars flickered into existence — tiny, distant lights swallowed by the vast darkness above. This was your sanctuary, your quiet refuge from the chaos that raged inside Gryffindor Tower.

And tonight, there was plenty of chaos.

Sirius had cranked up the music, turning the common room into a swaying, smoke-filled mess of bodies. The scent of butterbeer and firewhiskey clung to the air, laughter rang out over the sound of a badly tuned guitar, and James — bloody James Potter — was undoubtedly at the center of it all, basking in his victory like the smug, overgrown golden retriever he was.

You had slipped away the first chance you got. You never did well with crowds, especially after a match like that. The noise, the movement, the suffocating heat of so many people in one space — it was too much. You preferred the quiet, the stillness.

But, of course, James Potter never let you have nice things.

You sensed him before he spoke — his presence a familiar, buzzing warmth in the air. And knowing this, he didn’t waste any time.

“So,” came his voice, smooth and laced with amusement. “About that date.”

You sighed, long and dramatic, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze. He stood in front of you, still wearing that victorious grin, hair a tousled mess from the game, his uniform untucked like he had just thrown his robes aside before heading out to find you.

"I suppose I did agree to this," you mused, drawing out the words.

James nodded eagerly. “You did agree.”

You hummed, pretending to think. “Alright, then. You can take me to Hogsmeade this weekend.”

James beamed, already straightening up. “Brilliant! I’ll pick you up at—”

“But,” you interjected, holding up a single finger, “only if you prove that you’re worth my time.”

James halted mid-sentence. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and his hand came up to scratch the back of his head — his signature I-don’t-like-not-knowing-things move.

For a split second, he looked adorably confused, like a puppy who’d just been denied a treat. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

“What does that mean?” he finally asked, narrowing his eyes at you in suspicion.

You shrugged, pushing off the wall. “Let’s see how dedicated you are, Potter.”

His lips curled into a lopsided grin as he folded his arms across his chest. “Are you testing me?”

“Obviously.”

You took a step closer, your head tilting slightly as you met his gaze. His brown eyes gleamed under the soft glow of torchlight, catching every flicker of warmth from the flames. The moment stretched, charged with something unspoken, something electric.

Then you exhaled, a small cloud of condensation forming in the night air, and added, "Think of this as a trial."

James let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Merlin, you’re a menace.”

You smirked. “What, afraid you won’t be able to impress me?”

James didn’t falter. If anything, he leaned in, closing the space between you just enough that you caught the scent of his cologne — something warm, like cedar and a hint of cinnamon.

Your breath hitched when his fingers brushed against your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

His voice dropped, smooth as velvet. “Oh, sweetheart, I know I can make an impression on you.”

Your heart lurched, traitorous thing that it was.

For a moment, just one moment, you were completely caught in his orbit. Your eyes flickered to his lips — damn him for standing so close, for smelling so good, for looking at you like that. Heat crept up your spine, and you nearly leaned into him, nearly—

But then you recovered.

Rolling your eyes, you stepped past him, shoulders brushing as you went. “We’ll see, Potter.”

And with that, you left him standing there, his victorious smile turning into something else entirely — something intrigued, something thrilled.

James Potter lived for a challenge.

And Merlin, you had just given him one.

JAMES POTTER TRIED.

He tried so hard.

It started small. He brought you textbooks between classes, even the ones you definitely didn’t need, just so he had an excuse to linger. He saved a seat for you at breakfast, nudging aside a stunned first-year with a casual, “Sorry, mate — reserved.”

Then, he got bolder.

A bouquet of daisies — enchanted to float in perfect formation — drifted onto your desk in Transfiguration, twirling in the air before settling neatly beside your parchment. You watched them with narrowed eyes as James, sitting two rows back, shot you a wink.

At one point, he even physically shoved Peeves aside when the poltergeist attempted to douse you in ink. “Bugger off, Peevesy,” James said cheerfully while you stared, half-impressed, half-mortified.

It was cute. It was infuriating.

The final straw?

A stunning display of desperation: an entire stash of Chocolate Frogs left on your bed, stacked like a damn shrine to your stubbornness.

That was it. Enough was enough.

That evening, you stormed into the Gryffindor common room, where James lounged on the couch with Sirius and Remus. Sirius was draped across the armrest, half-asleep, while Remus read with an air of deep patience, no doubt enduring whatever nonsense James had been spouting for the last hour.

James looked up as you approached, his brown eyes wide, pupils dilating like a puppy seeing its favorite person walk through the door. The firelight caught in his glasses, flickering gold against the lenses. It was annoyingly reminiscent of the night you had made this stupid bet, and that alone made you want to hex something.

He blinked. “Uh—”

Before you could think twice — before your pride could scream turn around and flee — you grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanked him up to his feet, and kissed him.

The room went completely still.

The kiss was quick but firm, proof of your surrender, of your utter defeat at the hands of James bloody Potter. His lips were warm and slightly chapped from the cold, and for the first time all week, he wasn’t talking. When you pulled away, James looked thoroughly wrecked — eyes wide, lips parted, hair even more disheveled than usual.

Sirius, naturally, ruined the moment.

“Finally,” he muttered with a long-suffering sigh.

James, still stunned, exhaled sharply. “Damn it.”

You huffed, flustered beyond belief. “You’ve won. Come back tomorrow at two. Bye.”

And with that, you spun on your heel, eager to escape before your brain caught up with what had just happened. But James, damn his Quidditch reflexes, recovered faster than you did. His hand caught your wrist before you had taken a full step, and in one smooth motion, he pulled you right back into his chest.

A disgruntled noise escaped your lips as you landed against him.

James grinned down at you, his voice low and maddeningly smug. “Oh, I know.”

You glared up at him, rolling your eyes so hard they might have fallen out of your head — but your lips twitched, betraying you. James saw it, of course. Smug bastard.

Without missing a beat, he tugged you down onto the couch beside him, tucking you against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arm settled around your waist, warm and comfortable, and when he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, you swore your heart forgot how to function.

Sirius groaned. “Great. Now we have to deal with this.”

Remus, without looking up from his book, simply hummed. “Called it.”

James ignored them entirely, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your hip as he returned to whatever ridiculous conversation they had been having before you stormed in.

You didn’t move away.

After all, a bet was a bet.

hey-hey! <3

thank you so much for taking the time to read my work — it truly means the world to me. if you enjoyed it, I’d love to hear your thoughts! comments, likes, and reblogs not only make my day but also inspire me to keep writing. seriously, every little bit of support fuels my motivation!

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                                     – your santi 🪐

masterlist

[y3sterdaysproblem]

stuck with u - c.s.

takes place after this

cw: smut, angst, chris being toxic, p!link

wc: 2.8k

part of the toxic!fwb!chris series

he’s here again, just like you knew he would be.

he blows you off, hurts you more than you ever thought he’d be able to and then once you’re ready to walk away, he comes crawling back and begs for forgiveness, tells you that he just needs a little more time to figure things out.

it never made sense to you. you were under the impression you’d both stopped sleeping with other people, you spent time together without sex being involved and he did things for you that he never used to do before he knew how you felt.

he’d rub your feet after a long day at work, hold you close when your emotions got the best of you, even make you food to the best of his abilities if you were too lazy to get up.

why wouldn’t he just bite the bullet and tell you how he feels, too? part of you desperately hoped that things would change this time, that this would be the moment that he finally gets the balls to admit what you both know is true.

sure, you had your issues, your own toxic traits like sleeping around when things got hard, looking for comfort in a man when you couldn’t face reality, deflecting when you couldn’t win an argument, acting like you could never be wrong. all of this extended so far past chris, it seeped into your every day life, relationships that meant even more to you than this one, but being around him felt like maybe it would be worth it to try and not be so bitter, so awful.

chris texts you to tell you he’s arrived and you’re at your door in the next ten seconds, pulling it open to reveal him on the other side.

you’re beyond shocked when you see a bouquet of flowers in his hand, your favorites, held out as he grinned sheepishly. “hi,” he says, stepping into the threshold. “hi…” you answer breathlessly as you watch him come closer.

he looked good, exactly how he knew you liked him. baggy, blue jeans, knees ripped up slightly, dirty air force ones on his feet, black hoodie zipped up halfway on top of a black t-shirt and a snapback flipped around on his head, curly hair peeking out the bottom.

he steps into your apartment and immediately presses his lips to your cheek, letting them linger while his hand pushed the door shut behind him. “i’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, wrapping his arms around you, bouquet resting against your back.

you sigh, wanting to melt into him but needing to hold your ground. “for what?” you ask, stepping out of his grasp to turn and walk away, heading to your bedroom to curl up in bed while he inevitably tried to save things again.

chris follows you, setting the flowers down on your table as he passes it. when you guys get into the bedroom, he looks around, noticing that it looked slightly more disheveled than it usually did. “for last night,” he says like it’s obvious, watching you move to sit on the edge of the bed. “for ditching you when i said i’d be there. i don’t mean to make you feel like you’re not important.”

here he goes, his typical spiel when it comes to gluing things back together. you stare up at him, expression blank. you’re exhausted, all the back and forth finally catching up with you. you didn’t understand how he wasn’t tired of all of this, too.

“chris,” you sigh, shaking your head as you scratch at your scalp, messy bun wobbling with your actions. “i think it might be time we call this.”

he looks taken aback, head pulling back slightly in shock. “what are you talking about?” he asks, coming closer until he can sit next to you in bed. “why would we do that?”

you don’t want to look at him but his presence is so demanding any time he’s around you that it’s like your eyes are just drawn to him, your body turning to face his. “because it’s exhausting, chris. i can’t keep doing this and acting like it doesn’t fucking suck. you act like my boyfriend and then turn around and do some shit that fucks me up so bad i feel like i’m crazy! i let my guard down and then you do some shit like go hang out with girls you don’t even know when you’re supposed to be with me.”

“i didn’t know there were gonna be more girls there,” chris groans, knowing exactly what this was about to turn into. but you didn’t want an argument, you just wanted to be done. “come on, it’s not like i did anything with them.”

you stare at chris, not quite believing him and he senses this. “you were drunk around girls and you didn’t do anything?” you ask him, raising your eyebrows slightly, tone flat. “would matt say the same thing?”

“yes,” chris says instantly and his answer shocks you. he sounded so confident that matt would corroborate his story. “i thought about you the whole fucking night. i felt terrible. i was sitting in the corner of the room by myself texting you, trying to call you, waiting for you to just text me back.”

his hand comes out to rest on your thigh that faced him and you knew you should’ve pushed him off, but something about the way he spoke to you had you believing him, a mistake you seemed to make every time you found yourself in this position.

“chris-“ you start, but he interrupts you, turning his body to face yours as well. “i know you don’t believe me, but you can ask him. you know matt would never lie to you.” he sighs, seemingly distressed.

you’ve never seen him like this, this worried. “you know how hard all of this is for me but i’m trying,” chris continues, his other hand coming out to grab one of yours. “i’m trying. i want… fuck, i don’t know. i want you in a way i’ve never wanted anybody else before and that scares me. i’m used to fucking things up, ruining anything good that happens to me but i talk about you all the time, even when i don’t realize i’m doing it. you’re constantly on my mind.”

you stare at him, your eyes searching his for a thread of honesty, and it terrified you how truthful and remorseful he looked. “chris…” you sigh again, and once more he scoots closer, tightening his grip on your thigh. “i can’t do this-“

“stop,” he interrupts, dropping your hand from his to reach up and tuck a fallen piece of hair behind your ear, wanting to take in your full appearance no matter how disheveled you seemed. “you don’t mean that, you’re just mad at me. listen when i tell you that i’m sorry and it won’t happen again.”

“but it will happen again!” you huff as you push his hand away from your face. “that’s the problem. it’ll always happen again with you and i’m sick of it. all this back and forth, all these emotions that come with being around you, it’s exhausting. i never know what version of you i’m going to get, and sure, it’s been a lot better recently but for what? you’re never gonna be my boyfriend, so why waste my time falling for you more and more when you’re just gonna run off some day?”

chris seems taken aback at your words, his hand that rubbed over your skin pausing for a few moments as he thought of what to say. “why… why do we have to label anything? we enjoy being around each other, we’re not sleeping with anybody else, can’t you just give me time to figure out what it is that i want?”

you sigh, expecting nothing more than to hear him say those words. time. that’s all he ever asked for was time. “i’ve given you time,” you say quietly, defeated. “i’m out of time. i can’t do this.”

he shakes his head, not accepting this answer and he moves quicker than you can stop him, pinning your body down to your bed, his hips settling between your thighs familiarly. “don’t push me away,” chris breathes out, voice full of desperation as he looks down at your wide eyed expression. “come on, you don’t mean this. i’ll get better, i swear. give me another chance.”

you’re about to speak, about to push him away and tell him to fuck off, that you’re serious this time, but when his lips come down and start pressing against your jaw, kissing down to your neck the way he knows you love, the only sound that comes out of you is a whiny breath, head tilting away from him as your eyes flutter.

“there’s my girl,” he whispers against your skin, one of his hands sliding up underneath your tank top, his cold fingers triggering goosebumps on your stomach. “i know you don’t want me to leave. you’d just embarrass yourself anyway when you beg me to come back, tellin’ me nobody else can make you feel like i can. just let me stick around and i’ll make it worth it.”

you reach up to hold onto his biceps, torn between pushing him away and just pulling him closer, but you were never strong enough to push him off of you, especially not right now when it’s been so long, when you craved him so badly. “chris,” you breathe out and you feel his lips curl up as they kiss against your collarbone now, teeth nipping gently at your skin.

“what, baby?” he coos, tone almost mocking as he pushes your tank top over your tits, moving his mouth down to wrap his lips around one of your nipples, moaning as he flattened his tongue against you. he craved you just as badly as you craved him if not more.

chris pops his lips off of you, staring down at spit slicked skin. every part of you always tasted so good, whether you had just gotten out of the shower or were covered in a sheen of sweat, he loved having his mouth whenever he could on you, but now as he looked at you, chest already rising and falling as you watched him, too, he needed more.

chris scoots down the bed and wastes no time in slipping your shorts and panties down your legs with your help, throwing them onto the floor haphazardly. you instinctively spread your legs for him the second you were unrestricted, not missing the slight smirk on his face when he saw the slightest glisten in your folds.

“shut up,” you say sternly, wanting nothing more than to smack the look right off of his face. “i didn’t say anything,” chris hums with a prideful shrug, taking off his hoodie and throwing it somewhere as well before he grabs both of your thighs and pushes them up, leaning in and immediately attaching his lips to your pussy.

filthy moans slip from both of your mouths, yours a sound of relief at the feeling of him finally settling where you needed him most and his a hungry groan of desire. despite how toxic things always got between you two, you’d always give into him, unable to stand your ground very long when you would tell him things needed to change.

he ate you out like a man starved, loud slurping noises filling the air as his fingers dug into your skin, holding your thighs apart to keep you spread underneath him.

you reach down and pull the hat off of his head, your fingers tangling in his hair immediately like they always do, holding his face close and refusing to let him move away as he devoured you, deep groans of satisfaction rolling from his lips with every taste.

“f-fuck, chris, i’m not letting you off this easy,” you choke out, voice strained as you throw your head back into your pillow. he doesn’t answer, only hums and slides one hand up until he’s able to dip two fingers inside of you, forcing your thoughts even further back in your head. “oh my- yes, right there.”

his fingers curl and twist inside of you just like he knows you love, tongue still working tirelessly on your clit, bringing you close to the edge faster than anyone else has ever been able to do. chris has always been so good at making you feel good, his tongue, fingers, his dick always taking you to heights you’d never even been able to imagine prior to him, and that fact didn’t change now, even as you tried to cut him off and end things, he was still the only one that could make you feel like this.

just as you’re approaching your climax, chris pulls off and slips his fingers out of you, sliding up the bed between your legs. his free hand comes up to grip your jaw, forcing you to peel your eyes open and look at him as he presses his two middle fingers against your clit and starts rubbing back and forth quickly, soaking in your desperate moans.

“you gonna cum for me?” he rasps, staring into your eyes as your face contorts from the pleasure, your thighs trying to close on either side of him. all you can do is nod while you grip onto the sheets, your orgasm plowing into you violently, entire body trembling.

chris coaxes you through it, only pulling his hand away when you started whimpering from overstimulation, but he only moves away to undo his belt and the button on his jeans, pushing them down just enough to pull his cock from his briefs.

“gonna run your mouth ‘n sound all pathetic and whiny just to fall apart for me, huh?” he teases ruthlessly, wasting no time in burying himself to the hilt inside of you, groaning at the feeling of your walls still twitching from your orgasm.

“fuuuck,” chris breathes, his own eyes fluttering shut for a moment before reopening. you stare up at him helplessly, completely surrendered to him. he was right and you knew it. you’d always give it up to him.

chris reaches his hand for yours and untangles it from your bed sheets, pressing it into the pillow next to your head as he laces your fingers together, holding you tightly as he starts to fuck into you slowly.

“i’m not going anywhere. i’m right where i belong, buried inside this pussy made for me, ruining you for anybody else.” he’s babbling mindlessly as his hips rock back and forth, your slick walls dragging obscenely over his length.

chris leans down and presses his lips to your jaw again, kissing your skin as he continued to whisper in your ear. “you want me to stay, don’t you? keep making you feel like this? i’m right here, baby, you can’t get rid of me. i’ll say whatever you wanna hear just so i can keep tasting you, keeping fucking you like you need me to so bad.”

tears prick at the corners of your eyes as he speaks, his words soft but harsh at the same time, his fingers interlocked with yours overwhelming your senses. you were so close to having the relationship you wanted with him, but it felt so out of reach. you just needed him to be vulnerable and trust you.

chris pulls back and looks down at you, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek, fingers still slick with your arousal, the scent filling your nostrils as you sucked in a deep breath. “you look so fucking pretty when you cry,” he taunts, thumb brushing over your skin as a tear slips out. “just give me time, yeah? you know that’s all i need. you know exactly who i belong to.”

he emphasizes his sentence with a sharp thrust and the gasp that leaves your lips is all he needs for a switch to be flipped, his movements changing from soft and gentle to rough and fast, hips snapping in and out of you as he chased his orgasm now.

“come on, beautiful, give me another one before i show you who this pussy really belongs to.”

you’re completely at his mercy when his fingers work on your clit again, another orgasm cascading over you and triggering chris’s, a loud moan ripping out of him as he spills deep inside you, filling you up like he always does.

you lay there for a few moments, chest heaving as you come down, your hand still wrapped tight around chris’s as he does the same, his face dropping into your neck.

“still want me to go?” he asks, voice muffled by your skin and you can’t help but laugh breathlessly, your other hand coming up to smack the back of his head.

“shut the fuck up.”

a/n: yall fed??? or u need more. lmk. (i already know the answer)

[yunalinwrites]

one of my fav kdramas (called youre beautiful) is abt a girl joining a boy band and pretending to be a boy ohshc style except her fellow members dont know and she has to somehow live with them while hiding it 😭 it's so wattpad i love

so imagine being fem!reader sharing a dorm with the saja boys while trying not to get found out

of course u cant hide forever tho so this is how i think you'd get found out and how they'd react:

❓ mystery knew from the start. you didnt realize he was scrutinizing you so closely bc of them fuck ass bangs but from the day you met he could tell just by looking at you. but, much like he does about everything, he kept quiet because he didnt want to freak you out. he found it cute though, every time you'd slip up and get all flustered trying to cover up why you were staring at the dresses at the mall or why you were caught buying pads. so, he'd just smile, pat your head, and calmly help you make excuses. if you walk into the wrong room at the wrong time he'll quietly direct you to a gender neutral bathroom or drape a towel over your eyes whenever the guys got too... carefree in the locker room. lowk helps you hide it from the other members bc he likes it being his little secret

🍼 baby also found out pretty early but also like not really? he walked in on you in the bathroom once and was like "mb" and then he thought about it and was like "wait a sec..." but then he just shrugged it off. and since then for a while in the back of his head he would catch the way you walk or the way you sit or the way your eyelashes look against your cheek and for a split second would think like "is he a chick?" but he never really came to a conclusion bc he just dont gaf. dude or not he treats you pretty much the same. once everyone else starts figuring it out tho thats when he starts acknowledging it. now that everyone else seems to treat you differently as a girl, he starts questioning how to feel or act around you...

💪 abby started rough housing with the other boys and tried to pull you in. lifted you up and not only were you lighter than he expected, your bodies were right up against each other. you did your best to bind your tits down but when you were chest to chest like this it was still noticeable. he awkwardly puts you down and scratches the back of his neck, mumbling an apology. for the next few days his brain is fried thinking about it. he never verbally acknowledges it but he starts being super gentle around you and treating you like you're fragile. feels the need to protect you physically, even if its against the other boys. always keeping watch to make sure they're gentle with you as well.

✨ jinu overhears you out yourself on the phone somehow and is so mad and so flustered at the same time. he's afraid you're going to be a liability if the fans find out and its gonna be a pain to hide but behind all that anger he's just scared of women fr. blushes every time he remembers you're a girl. every time you end up together alone in the living room or catch each other in the hallway, brushing each others shoulders in the slightest, he turns bright red and freaks tf out. somehow though he finds it easier to connect with you emotionally as a girl. with other guys it sometimes feels weird to be vulnerable, but you don't seem to have that shame at all. he admires it. gwi ma probably forced you into this situation so he empathizes with you.

🫶 romance liked to ask you all the time about your love life. asking what your type is, ideal date, dream wedding, do you want kids, etc. you figured it would be safest to just pretend you were a straight dude who liked girls. he wouldnt have cared though. he was starting to feel a little something for you even before you revealed yourself as a girl but refrained from going down that route to stay professional. but when you do reveal yourself as a girl it starts to get even harder to keep that boundary.

🥤 overall once they figure it out none of them tell each other or really say it aloud bc of the implications it has. but they all show it through actions like making sure you're fed and hydrated, letting you use the shower first, asking you if you need a break during rehearsal, etc. but trust, once they all start offering to help you at the same time--like all of them reaching to lend you their marker during fan signings when yours goes dry or surrounding you with 5 different choices of hoodie when you mention you're cold--they start getting real jealous and possessive real soon; they all want to be the one and only you rely on.

eventually though when they all reveal that they all know and everyone's on the same page, they start working together to protect you. all 5 of them wrapped around ur finger 😋 but still fighting for your attention

a/n: ugh i wish i had time/energy to do this properly along w all my other fics for kpdh (this movie has taken over my life) but idk i prob wont LOLL if anyone else wants to build off of this plz go ahead and tag me

UPDATE !!! PROLOGUE OUT NOW 🤑

also masterlist

[majestyeverlasting]

Hello beautiful ☺️ can I request a Joel miller x reader where like the reader is on her period and gets all snappy with Joel and he just kinda takes it and then she gets all emotional about it later after he gets home from work and is just a big mess but he only cares about her wellbeing?? 😭

Love u btw <3

𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

pairing joel miller x female reader summary when it comes to grace, Joel’s got a well that never runs dry [fluff, 1.8k] a/n love u too anon ♡

.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．

A slender band of gold sunlight graces Joel’s cheek as he stands across the counter. Even more slivers paint the kitchen in similar sleepy streaks. It’s a beautiful day, all things considered. The morning is still young with the promise of what could lie ahead. Yet all you can focus on are the words that have disturbed this beautiful little bubble in time. 

Appointment, oil change, fluid check. 

“I’ve already handled everything on the back end,” he says as he sets his coffee mug down. “All you gotta do is drop the truck off, and you’re good to—”

“Okay,” you say with more force than intended.

Joel remains quiet, and you take it as permission to voice your frustration further, “We could’ve gotten it serviced this past weekend when both of us were free. That would've made more sense.” 

His shoulders square as you direct a piercing, matter-of-fact glance his way. “They were completely booked,” he explains. 

“Of course they were,” you say. “And now it’s my problem.” 

Joel’s gaze flicks into his coffee, black with a dash of creamer. Only a couple of sips left. You’d already finished yours. 

“Made the appointment ‘cause you said you didn’t have anything to do this morning, honey.” His dark eyes are sincere as they meet yours, but you don’t offer any softness in return. 

You mutter something under your breath about your schedule not being the problem. 

Even with all the time in the world, you wouldn’t opt to spend an hour sitting in a service shop—breathing stale air, sinking into peeling leather seats, watching a revolving door of strangers. Especially when staying tucked away at home was a more promising alternative for a day like this, when your body seems to be conspiring against you.

Your cycle had started on the least convenient morning and shortened everything from your fuse to your patience to your desire to interact with other people. 

You watch him finish the remainder of his coffee and lick his lips afterward. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

With a frustrated huff, you slip off the island barstool and walk his mug to the sink. It provides an excuse not to look at him, more than anything. A dull, crampy ache has settled low in your stomach, but you feel his watchful gaze tracking you even more than the pain. He watches you rinse the colorful ceramic and move to place it in the dishwasher, tapping his fingers as he pieces together a new line of action. 

“We can try to reschedule,” he offers. “I’ll take off early and handle it sometime before we leave on Friday.” 

Come the end of the week, you’ll be heading to Boulder, Colorado, to see the girls. So much has changed since Ellie and Sarah moved away for college, but visiting them made the family unit feel whole again. 

Neither of you expected to miss them as much as you did, never mind in all the small ways you did. Once upon a time, you affectionately joked that it’d be quieter and cheaper with them not around. But you missed their shoes at the door, hearing music flowing from their bedrooms, cackling and teaming up against Joel with them on game nights. You even missed the little disagreements fueled by the notion that they were growing up and you simply wanted the best for them. 

“Can’t make the drive ‘til everything’s in good shape,” he says. 

The reminder is more of an encouragement than something he’s trying to hang over your head. Unfortunately, it strikes just the right nerve and leaves you looking for a hole to prod. 

“Then why would we cancel today’s appointment if it’s already guaranteed?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. “No point in switching things around and making it worse.” 

Joel remains quiet as he gathers his words. “So you’ll—”

“It’s not like I have a choice,” you say as you sit back down. 

The need to take the truck in is no more his fault than an inevitable necessity, but a large part of your frustration feels good—justified. 

“You gonna let me finish any of my sentences?” He asks lightly, placing a hand on his hip. The fabric of his shirt stretches over his bicep. 

When you motion for him to finish, he walks to stand alongside you. The warmth of his proximity coaxes you to swivel the stool towards him even as you refuse to meet his gaze. You succeed until he places a thick hand on your thigh and delivers a gentle squeeze. It’s even worse for your resolve that his touch rests against your bare skin. Your sleep shorts rest too far up your leg to shield you from the calloused warmth of his palm. 

“You always have a choice.” He tilts his head to look into your eyes. “We can work something else out.” 

“I already said I’d handle it.” 

“Well, alright then,” he concedes as you stare down at his hand. 

A brief silence passes before he speaks up again, “Hey. Thanks for packing my lunch.”

You shake your head in dismissal. 

“Gonna think of you when I eat it today like always.” A small smile curls at his lips as he speaks. “Do I get my goodbye kiss, or has that privilege been revoked?” The tenderness of his thumb as it strokes your thigh yields a guilt that weaves through your ribcage like the bones constitute a sewing loom. 

When you don’t respond, Joel leans in to peck your forehead, his lips plush and warm.   

Two quick horn honks sound from outside. 

“I gotta run.” He withdraws his touch, letting his fingertips brush down your thigh until they fall away at the bend of your knee. “Thanks for getting the truck taken care of.”

He lingers for a moment before stepping back. “I’ll see you later this evening.” 

When Joel heads towards the front door, you don’t trail after him like you usually would. You watch his steady stride and broad shoulders as he crosses into the foyer. Before reaching for the knob, he pauses to look over his shoulder. 

“I love you.” 

He doesn’t leave until you murmur it back.

You watch the door for a few extra seconds after he’s gone.  

•••

When five o'clock rolls around, you find yourself curled on the couch with a book. Sunlight lights the pages. As beautiful and immersive as the prose is, all that lingers in your mind is this morning. How difficult you’d been with Joel, how he hadn’t taken your bait. Sometimes, you wondered if the well of his grace would ever run dry since all you seemed to do was draw from it. He should’ve stopped you one too many moons ago, but the thought never once crossed his mind. 

When you got to McBride’s Auto Shop earlier, your cramps had begun to subside. Waiting wasn’t nearly as bad as you’d built it up to be in your head, even with the grainy TV and the older woman chewing gum as she flipped through an outdated magazine. The fact you hadn’t kissed Joel goodbye was far worse. 

Soon, you hear Tommy pull up alongside the curb to drop Joel off. In seconds, you place the bookmark between the pages and toss the book onto the coffee table. 

When Joel saunters through the front door, you’re there to wrap your arms around his neck. Your earnestness is reminiscent of when the girls were little and ambushed him when he got home from work, no matter how tired he was or how many bags he happened to be holding. 

A surprised chuckle rumbles out of him as he clumsily kicks the door shut behind himself. You relish the sound of his laughter as if somebody tuned the sound just for you. Joel wraps his arms around your waist as best he can with his backpack still on his shoulders and lunchbox in his grip. 

You nuzzle your nose into his shirt gently, almost felinely. He smells like fresh air, underscored by a muskier, fragranced scent.

“Honey,” he coaxes, attempting to pull away. “Lemme put my stuff down.” 

You ease up long enough for him to pace further inside and set his bags on the floor. Then, your arms secure right back around him like they never left. The attention feels as lovely as it always does coming from you. Joel’s smile eventually settles into something small as he rubs your back in soothing passes. His large frame nearly swallows you, but he’s never come close to crushing you. 

“It’s good to see you too,” he finally says. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur into him, words almost too muffled to comprehend. “I was mean to you this morning and shouldn’t have been.” 

Joel has to laugh again. Not at you, but because he’d let himself believe this particularly warm welcome was completely uninspired. 

“I didn’t mean to make it such a big deal,” you say. “It’s that time of the month, and I took it out on you.” 

“Is that what it was?” he asks lightly, kissing your head. 

When he pulls away to get a better look at you, the warmth in his gaze strikes deeper than you expect. Either that or your hormones have begun to tug on your heart more insistently than they should. Before you can look away, tears well in your eyes, and Joel feels a slight pang of guilt as you try to blink them back. 

His thumb catches the one that slips down your cheek. “No harm done,” he assures.  

You nod as you lean into his touch. It still amazes you how one person can be so kind and attuned. 

“Gonna take a lot more than a bad mood to get rid of me,” he jokes, smiling when a low chuckle escapes you. 

“I’ll never wanna get rid of you.” 

“Give it a few more years,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours. 

You swat his chest gently. 

A future without Joel sounds so far off that it comes across as no more than a joke. It’s so unforeseeable that you can’t imagine it teetering into reality. Maybe it was bold of you to feel that way—for both of you to feel that way, especially when there’s no road map detailing the days of your lives to come. 

All you know is that you’re cultivating your love for one another moment by moment, second by second. Surely, that was enough to endure whatever storms sprung up along the way. 

Joel squeezes you tighter as if he’s somehow thinking the same thing. 

You’re grateful for his grace, the trip to Boulder you’ll share, and everything to come with him. 

“How about carryout from Lorenzo’s?” he asks. 

That beats leftovers any day.

You finally capture his lips in a sweet kiss. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all. 

JOEL MASTERLIST  

ALL MASTERLISTS 

[alinathinkstoomuch]

WET INTRODUCTIONS

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: meeting your best friend's dad normally involves crying and flashing him all in the same night, right? based on this request. an | warnings: chat!! jack and reader are both in their twenties 4 this not to be weird, it still feels a little weird 2 me, hotch is however old u fancy him to be, r flashes hotch (just bra!!), activation of the sir kink, crying in the bathroom, r is just a lil lost bless her heart, hotch in that juicy half-zip sweater word count: 2.7k

✧ masterlist

Your shoes were near enough squelching by the time you made it to the apartment—not yours, but Jack’s. At this point, it was the better and closer option, and frankly, the only one that didn’t involve sitting on a train feeling sorry for yourself while dripping on the seat.

The rain had soaked you clean through, turning your clothes into second skin and your hair into a very clingy, tangled mess. No doubt the downpour also had taken it upon itself to act as micellar water, dragging your mascara into streaks that made you look part of a low-budget horror film. Honestly, the entire date might as well have been a paid actor.

You peeled your jacket off as you climbed the stairs, the fabric now three shades darker and twice as heavy. Your scarf followed, limp and defeated. Wet hair clung to your neck, and you pushed it away with a sigh loud enough that Emma, three floors up, probably paused whatever true crime doc she was watching.

Your jacket slipped from your arms an ungodly number of times as you rummaged through your purse, blindly fishing past gum wrappers and receipts while muttering curses at your keys for playing hide-and-seek at the worst possible moment. After what felt like five solid minutes of fighting the universe, you finally found the right key and shoved it into the lock with enough force to scrape your nail.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you said the moment the door opened, “and yes, you were right, but I don’t want to hear any I told you so’s.”

You stepped into the apartment and immediately dropped your bag onto the floor with a sloshed thud. “He was an absolute dick. Like, the kind who stares down your top every time you reach for the menu. And then—get this—he orders three sides and calls it dinner, which obviously meant I had to get sides too or look like I was trying too hard.”

Your shoes were next to go, kicked off somewhere near your bag. “And he kept saying females like some gigantic weirdo. And then—” you paused to catch your breath, hanging your soaked jacket and scarf onto a hook nearby, “he started mansplaining crypto, and that was my cue to get the hell out.”

You turned towards the kitchen, swallowing down the scratchy tickle climbing up your throat. “If I knew dating was going to be this fucki—”

You stopped dead in your tracks.

Because leaning against the counter was definitely not Jack.

Instead, you were met with a much older man, someone who looked far too sensible to be a burglar, yet absolutely like he’d know his way around a weapon if needed, with how he was holding what now looked like a comically small mug.

Ah. Must be Jack’s infamous FBI father.

“I am so sorry,” your words tumbled out faster than your common sense, raindrops hitting the hardwood floor as if to emphasise just how much of a mess you were. “Jack didn’t mention he had company. Not that I called ahead—which, yes, would’ve been smart—but I just needed somewhere dry, and it’s absolutely pouring out, and you must be Mr Hotchner—”

You extended a hand out of instinct, only to catch sight of your chipped nail polish and soaked sleeve. Immediately, you withdrew it again, cringing. He looked like the kind of man who shook prim and proper hands only. Not ones belonging to half-drenched disasters ranting about failed dates.

He said nothing, which, judging by the look of him, didn’t seem like a rare occurrence. His eyes swept over you slowly, like he was scanning for weak points. Lucky for him, he wouldn’t have to look very hard, the whole bane of your existence had always been a weak point.

Still, you silently begged the universe to cut the power, just for a moment, if only to spare you the full force of his gaze.

You swallowed, then cleared your throat as the scratchy feeling flared up again, determined to ruin what little composure you had left. All while standing in front of a man who clearly thought speaking was optional.

After what felt like eternity, he spoke, saying your name with the kind of authority that made you question whether you were being greeted or scolded. “…Jack’s told me about you.”

You offered the best smile you could manage, trying your hardest to ignore the feeling of wet clothes clinging to your skin. “Good things I hope?”

“Some.”

Ouch. Okay. Not exactly the confidence boost you were hoping for, and this probably wasn’t doing much to shift his opinion of you.

You felt a slow drip of water slide down the back of your neck. “I’m usually more… put together…ish,” you added, immediately cringing, again. “And significantly less soaked.”

He glanced at the growing trail of droplets surrounding your feet. “You’re dripping on the floor.”

Yeah. You were hoping to be tonight, just not in this kind of way.

You let out a breath that could’ve passed for a laugh. “Sorry about that.” You weren’t sure if you were apologising for being a walking hazard to the floors you were fairly certain he helped Jack pay for, or for the mildly inappropriate direction your brain had just taken things. “I’ll just dry off and be out of your hair.”

He nodded, and you couldn’t tell if it was meant to dismiss you or quietly judge you. Probably both. Being an FBI agent must come with excellent multitasking skills. Either way, you took it as your cue and made your way to the bathroom, your damp socks squishing softly against the floor as you went.

Inside the bathroom, you cursed—loudly—the moment you caught your reflection. Your makeup had been completely smudged and smeared, looking like some sort of tragic attempt at human abstract art.

And your top?

Completely see-through.

Not just kind of see-through. Full on hello, pink bow in the centre of your bra see-through.

You grabbed a towel and dried off as best as you could, still muttering under your breath. Fixing your makeup was next, though that just meant wiping away the worst of the smudges with a few torn bits of toilet paper.

And then, for the first time that evening, it felt like the universe finally threw you a lifeline. A hoodie hung on the back of the bathroom door, and you claimed it with little thought. Because if you had to walk back out there, you’d prefer not to half-flash your best friend’s father again.

Just as you pulled the thick material over your head, that same scratchy feeling clawed at your throat, this time triggering a full-on coughing fit that left you doubled over, wheezing through the hoodie.

You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the coughing turned into crying, it just…happened. One minute you were catching your breath, the next you were sitting on the closed toilet lid, your cold hands clumsily swiping at your cheeks, trying to figure out which drops were rain and which ones were tears.

“This is silly,” you whispered, blinking fast as you wiped your sleeve under your eyes. Like you weren’t already soaked enough. “Get it together.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, just in time for a knock at the door to follow, making you wince.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes. All good,” you called back a little too quickly. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

You turned back to the sink and ran cold water over your fingers. It did nothing for comfort, but it was your go-to trick for reducing the redness and puffiness that came with tear-stained eyes. The shock of the cold made you flinch, but you welcomed the small punishment.

Once your fingertips were numb, you dabbed them gently under your eyes until the worst of it faded. Not perfect. But not obvious. Good enough to do the awkward dance of sorry for barging in on father-son bonding time and also flashing you in the process.

You exhaled, pulled the sleeves of the hoodie down over your hands, and gave your reflection one final, grimacing look before stepping out into the hallway again, slightly drier, but no less mortified.

He was still in the kitchen, his back to you, the clink of a spoon against a mug filling the quiet. You moved carefully, just about to slip past, grab your things, and make a quiet, hopefully unnoticed exit when he turned around.

You froze mid-step, again, and briefly wondered if this was a common side effect of being in his presence…sudden paralysis and poor decision-making.

“I was just—” you started, already edging towards the door, “—gonna head out. Get out of your way.”

Hotch’s eyes briefly fell to the oversized hoodie, now covering what had been a very unfortunate wardrobe malfunction, courtesy of your poor weather-related outfit choices. Then he turned to the window, where the rain continued to lash against the glass.

 “Wait until the storm settles. It’s not safe out there right now.”

You opened your mouth to insist that it was perfect walking to the train station weather, but he cut you off before you could get the words out.

“And you don’t sound great.”

“I’m fine, really. I’ll go home, rest, drink fluids, do all the sensible things. I’m sorry for the intrusion, Mr Hotchner.” You turned, already halfway toward the living room when his voice came again.

“Sit.”

You mentally added following orders to the growing list of things Jack’s father somehow managed to get out of you with minimal effort. With half a nod, you moved towards one of the bar stools and sank down onto it as he turned away again.

Technically, you could’ve made a run for it. A quick sprint to the door, barefoot and humiliated but free. But something about Aaron Hotchner kept you in place. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was exhaustion. Either way, you stayed.

“Not sure what time Jack’ll be back,” he said, turning to face you again, sliding a steaming mug across the counter. “He went out to pick up Sophie, but I told him not to drive back until the roads clear.” He paused, then added, “Chamomile with honey. Your throat sounds like it needs it.”

Observant too. Noted.

“Thank you,” you murmured, curling your fingers around the mug. The warmth felt weirdly personal, like something you hadn’t realised you needed until it was right in front of you. It seeped into your hands slowly, and you focused on that instead of the mess of your thoughts.

You took a small sip. Your throat burned a little on the way down, but in a good way. Like it was clearing something out.

“First time meeting Sophie?” you asked, figuring it was safer to bring up Jack’s dating life than circling back to your own train wreck of an evening.

“No. We’ve met a few times.”

Well that ends that conversation. Great.

“He, uh… talks about you a lot, you know,” you added, looking up. “Not like… in a weird way. Just—he really looks up to you. I don’t think he says it enough.”

Hotch nodded again, this time slower. More thoughtful. Like he wasn’t used to compliments being handed to him so directly and didn’t quite know where to put this one.

“Thanks,” he replied eventually.

You winced inwardly at the silence that followed.

“Sorry, I tend to ramble when I’m tired.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I really am more put together usually. I don’t make it a habit of breaking into people’s apartments.”

“You didn’t break in.”

“That is true,” you agreed, bringing the mug to your lips. “I do have a key. Guess that just makes it legal trespassing.” You glanced at him over the rim, catching the faintest trace of amusement in the lines near his eyes. It passed almost immediately, but it had been there.

“You’re not trespassing. If Jack gave you a key, you’re obviously welcome here.”

“Don’t say it with too much enthusiasm.”                 

That coaxed an almost smile from him, though you didn’t get the chance to study it before he turned away, rinsing something in the sink. You watched him move, orderly and specific, as if even washing a mug came with its own method and order. It made you acutely aware of how much noise you actually took up just by existing.

His shoulders were broad, the fabric of a brown half-zip sweater stretching clean across them. The sleeves were pushed up, forearms lean and steady. There was something beyond put-together about him, like someone who’d never once cried in a bathroom or forgotten to bring an umbrella.

“I’m guessing this wasn’t how you thought your evening would go either,” you sighed, setting the mug back down on the counter.

He glanced at you over his shoulder. “No. But I’ve had worse.”

“Worse than a soaking wet twenty-something crying in your son’s bathroom?”

“Much worse.”

You let out a laugh, confused as to why those two words had managed to alleviate so much of the pressure in your chest. Maybe it was the calm in his voice, or the fact he hadn’t once made you feel ridiculous for the crying, or the soaking, or the rambling.

You went back to quietly ogling his back as he dried his hands until a ding from his phone broke the silence. He reached for it once the towel was hung neatly back in its place.

“It’s Jack,” he said, reading from the screen. “They’re on their way back.”

Your eyes moved to the window, noticing how the rain had eased into something gentler, making you shift from the stool.

“The rain’s calmed down, so I’ll actually get out of your hair now.”

“You don’t want to wait until they’re back?”

You shook your head, stepping a little closer, though you told yourself it was towards the sink, not him. “No, I think the only thing that’ll make me feel better is crawling into bed and not leaving it for the next twenty-four hours.”

He moved a fraction as you leaned over to place your mug in the sink, tugging your sleeves up out of habit.

“It’s alright, I’ll do it,” he cut in, making you pause. “Let me drive you home at least.”

You hesitated, hand hovering awkwardly over the sink. “You don’t have to do that. Really, I’ll just catch the next train.”

He didn’t budge, just continued to look at you in a way that was beginning to make your pulse skittish. “It’s late, and you’re still not feeling great.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something about not wanting to be more of a burden than you already had been, but the words didn’t quite form. So instead, you settled on a low, “Okay. If you’re sure.”

He nodded, reaching for your mug in the sink, and you took that as your window to quietly gather your things and slip your shoes back on, still damp, still squelch-adjacent, but you didn’t complain. Not when he'd offered you tea. And a ride home. And not once commented on your see-through top incident.

The drive back was mostly silent, save for your half-mumbled, delayed directions, which he somehow still managed to follow with ease. And then, before you even realised how short the distance had felt, he was pulling up in front of your apartment building, dimly lit and mildly depressing, but yours nonetheless.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned to him with a tired smile. “Thank you, again. And I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

“No trouble at all. Just make sure you rest and drink plenty of fluids.”

“Yes, sir,” you said, entirely joking—but froze the second it left your mouth, your eyes flicking to his, instantly regretting the awkwardness of it all. You cleared your throat, grabbing your bag and damp scarf. “Anyway. Goodnight, Mr Hotchner.”

His mouth twitched as if he were holding back a smile, or something that hovered a little too close to one. “Goodnight.”

You: Met your dad tonight after the world’s worst date. You: Also, I accidentally stole a hoodie from the bathroom—will wash and return.

Jack: Yeah, he mentioned. Jack: Wait… what hoodie?

You: Navy one. Found it hanging on the back of the door.

Jack: Yeah… that’s not mine. Pretty sure that’s my dad’s lol.

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