fic-dump-dotcom

[fic-dump-dotcom]

christ in hell i need him in a way that would destroy feminism

false god | s.r.

A/N: hehehehehineedhimcarnallyheheheheh.

summary: in which spencer finally comes home from a case after you've just finished exams and can't resist showing you just how proud he is

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, university!reader, p in v sex, creampie, overstimulation, fingering, oral (f receiving), heavy petting, praise kink, pet names, aftercare

wc: 3.3k

The apartment is quiet when Spencer slowly opens the door, twisting the knob back into place with so much care that not even the faintest click could be heard. It’s been nearly a week since he’s been home, since he’s seen you. While in normal times it would be bearable because he’d call and facetime you every day, you were unfortunately also too busy with school and finals to even engage or drop a quick hello to him. You knew he was busy, he knew you were busy right back. Time got so far away it jumbled your synchronized schedules.

He missed you, a lot, is what he’s trying to get at.

Careful not to make any noise, he slides his shoes and satchel off and leaves it by the door. Spencer walks to the kitchen as he takes off his suit jacket to hang it on the chair, and opens the fridge to grab a glass of water. He notes that while he’s been trying to be quiet, the apartment has been quiet. You’re probably sleeping, he knows how exhausted you’ve been the past couple weeks. 

Spencer should feel guilty when he walks to the bedroom, mindlessly undoing the cuffs of his dress shirt. He can’t bring himself to feel such a way when he finds you sprawled out on the bed—your shared bed, he still thinks in disbelief—softly snoring away while your hair fans around you and your pajamas crumple about your body.

You stir slightly at the sound of his footsteps and he freezes, watching you settle back into deep sleep right as he reaches the edge of the bed. He kneels down to be level with your face and reaches a hand out to gently brush your hair back, no longer concerned with not waking you and suddenly overwhelmed with the dire need to see your eyes.

“Hi angel,” he murmurs, “I’m home.”

You sigh and flutter your eyes open, a lazy smile growing in recognition of the face in front of you, “Spence, missed you.”

He has to consciously hold back a groan. The way you even just say his name is enough to bring him to his knees—evidently so by his current position—but he has to be a gentleman and considerate of how tired you must be.

“Missed you too,” he continues to stroke your hair, “You alright? Exams go okay?”

“Mhm, all A’s.”

Spencer beams, “That’s my girl.”

You preen under his soft touch, “Case go fine?”

He nods, “Took a while but we got him, glad to be home now.”

“Oh good,” you mumble, “come to bed now.”

“Let me go change first and I’ll join.” he almost stands to his full height before he feels your hand stopping him, “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t go.” you whine.

His thumb goes to rub over your outreached hand, kneeling back down to your face, “I’ll only be five minutes.”

“Too long,” you sigh, “need a kiss first.”

Spencer lets himself be pulled closer to you and presses his lips to yours. He smiles into you, but it’s a deep kiss that shows how much you missed each other. Your lips deepen the kiss and your hand holds the back of his neck close to you. If he wasn’t so attuned to you he would have missed the faint whimper you let out. But he knows you like a native language, subconsciously able to pick up on the nuances you give.

“What’s really wrong?” he mumbles against your lips.

You pout, “Missed you.”

He chuckles softly, “You said that.”

“Meant it,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” Spencer rises to sit on the bed to sit next to your lying body, his hand smoothing down your face to take place on your neck, “Left my poor baby all alone.”

“So cruel of you.”

“So cruel,” he echoes. You’re laid out on the bed with a blanket barely covering you, leaving him no question that you’re wearing the silk pajama set he bought you a few weeks ago. He’d seen it in the window of a shop walking home from the library one day, and walked about three blocks thinking about you in the set before turning around to purchase it.

You don’t usually splurge on luxury items, you found it made you feel silly to spend that kind of money on yourself when it could go towards bills or other important necessities. Spencer did not find it silly, in fact he found it imperative that you are spoiled and shown how loved you are. He doesn’t buy into materialism, he knows the way he loves you speaks louder than any item or string of words can hold. But he’ll argue it’s a compulsion, a way of life even. 

“Cute pajamas.” he says, trailing a hand down the length of your arm.

A lazy smile grows on your face again, “Thanks, my boyfriend bought them for me.”

He grins, “He must really like you.”

“Something like that.” you giggle.

“You look really nice in it.” You can tell he’s restraining, for who’s sake is still up for question.

“Just nice?”

“I’m trying to be polite here, pretty girl.”

“But what if I wore it because I don’t want you to be nice?” you push.

Spencer lets his hand rest on the inward curve of your hip, squeezing slightly at your taunt. “You’re not tired?”

“Not for you.”

He hooks his fingers below your waistband and lingers, “I think you’re too good to me.”

“Sometimes I think it’s not enough,” you grin.

“Oh it’s more than enough, angel. Don’t worry.”

His fingers travel further down and ghost the front of your panties, the flutter of your eyelashes giving him all the confirmation he needs to keep going. He gently strokes a digit back and forth, watching as your breathing deepens quickly.

“Shh, I got you,” he coos, “just relax.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder to help you curl further into him, his other hand lazily stroking lightly against your slit. “Must be so tired from all that studying, hm?”

You nod into him, your lower lip pouting as his strokes begin to take root in pleasure. “Needed you.”

He hums, “I know baby, I’m sorry. I’m here now, can I make it up to you?”

A sharp gasp leaves you as his finger dips below the fabric, swiping intently and slowly up your folds before returning to above your panties, “Please,” you beg.

Spencer smiles and hooks two fingers onto the fabric covering your core and tugs it to the side, using his index finger to hold it in place. He uses his middle and marriage to collect the slick at your entrance and smear it all over your cunt, finally using his thumb to work it into your clit with soft circles.

You moan out at the intense sensation, deeper breaths escaping as he dips his fingers into your cunt. “Fu—uck, Spence.”

“Feels good?” he asks, you nod quickly digging your head further into his chest, “Good, look so pretty like this baby.”

He pumps his fingers at a deathly slow pace, more so for him to feel every ridge and inch of you as he enters and leaves. He was gone for so long, and while his eidetic memory has served him well, there is nothing in this realm that will ever compare to the feeling of you at his mercy. He would sit in his hotel room and stare at the ceiling, trying his hardest to move heaven and earth to materialize you out of the atomized memories he has of you tucked away into his hippocampus.

It’s no use, he’s come to realize. Nothing will ever capture the way your face contorts when his long fingers brush against that spot inside you, how you say his name in that breathy moan that makes him wonder with all parts doubt in how he could ever leave you alone to your own devices. Someone like you should never have to lift a finger in their life, should never feel pain or sorrow or anger.

So in an act of repentance, he snakes the arm that was around your shoulder down to your chest and lets his hand dip under the silk tank top to cup your breast. He catches your nipple between his thumb and index and rolls with love, with a yearn to fill the void of lost time and to present himself with the worthiness of forgiveness. 

You grant him salvation, in the form of you preening at his fingertips like a goddess in full divinity, soft moans falling from your lips in sacred prayer. 

He speeds up his fingers when he feels you clamp around him every other thrust, “Close?” he murmurs.

You hum deliriously, “S—So close,”

It’s only one, two, three more deep strokes until you come undone all over his fingers, his pace not letting up as it takes you to the peak and leaves you floating above. Only does the gentle circling of his thumb on your clit regain your consciousness and tether you back down to the ground.

You weakly push a hand against his arm, “Too much,”

“Okay, okay,” he gently removes his fingers and immediately pulls them into his mouth, softly moaning as he swirls his tongue and swallows all of you. 

God, does he love how you taste. His eyes roll to the back of his head—you’re practically nectarious, a testament of what truly stood in the way between Eve and sin. Spencer finds himself moving on his own accord, much like Eve entering the Garden of Eden, because he simply cannot resist temptation any longer.

“Spence…what are you,” you whisper, words slurring in your post orgasmic haze.

He kisses down your shoulder and trails down your chest into your torso, slowly climbing further down your body until he’s reached the crest of your hip bones. His thumbs smooth the expanse of the skin, pushing the silk fabric of your shorts up to reveal the lacy panties you’ve chosen to wear that night. Lavender, his favorite.

You feel the ends of his curls tickle the inside of your thigh, and it’s then you realize his goal. “Baby, I don’t think I can…oh—ohh.”  You’re cut off by him pressing a firm kiss to your clothed cunt, his thumbs symmetrically kneading the flesh of your thighs.

“Good, don’t want you to think,” he mumbles, “just want you to feel me.”

He hooks his fingers into the sides of your shorts and panties, pulling them off you in one fell swoop. You take a sharp inhale at the exposed air reaching you, but he quickly soothes it by returning his lips to the crevice where your thighs meet your core.

“I don’t mean to sound crass, but I need you to know that I had every intention of coming home to you and just letting you rest. Maybe fuck you to sleep once if you were a little more awake.” he wraps his arms around your legs and locks down, “I’ll take the fault for thinking I could be satiated with just a little taste of you, but it’s not my fault you were laid out looking so beautiful and tired. You understand I had to do something, right?”

He slowly lets his tongue trail from the bottom to the top of your cunt, your face contorting with deep pleasure and his eyes fluttering shut.

“My apologies, pretty girl.”

His tongue dives back into you like a selfish man, in a way that shows indulging in you is merely an incentive for him and no one else. Your voice singing out his name in breathy moans is a worthwhile bonus. He laps up every drop of you while you drift in and out of consciousness, the exhaustion of the past few weeks coming to a head and dispersing at the mercy of Spencer Reid. 

“Spence—oh,” you whine, your hand going to lazily perch in his hair to tug lightly. He groans into your cunt and grinds down his own length into the bed, the insatiable hunger building between his own legs yet his desire too desperate to be anywhere but between your own to take care of himself properly for now.

He unhooks an arm around one of your thighs and slips two fingers into your hole, nearly whimpering at how easy you took them in.

“There we go, there’s my girl. All ready for me,” he murmurs, “just need one more from you like this and I’ll give you what you want, angel. I’ll give you anything you want.”

You inhale sharply, voice getting caught in the overwhelm of it all, “G—Gonna come,”

“ ‘m right here baby, come all over my mouth. Need it so bad.” he begs.

Spencer Reid rubbing his own length onto your bed while he lays between your legs with his tongue buried deep inside you, begging you to come for him because he sounds like he might actually die if you don’t—is what sends you over the edge.

Your second orgasm washes over you like a soft wave hitting the shore, deceptively calm yet sneaking into every crevice and corner of your being and occupying it with full intention and purpose. Your back arches and falls back to the bed with a thud, your chest heaving up and down as it tries to bring you to rest.

“You okay?” Spencer grins up at you from between your thighs with that stupid smile that makes you feel all funny inside, an added bonus when it’s glistening with you.

You hum in soft agreement, hands aimlessly reaching for him. “C’mere, please.”

He slowly slides back up your body atop you, your arms linking behind his neck and tugging him down to kiss him resolutely on his lips. You start off with little pecks, peppering in little I love you’s between each one, you don’t even realize he’s turned your bodies so you’re both laying on your sides facing each other.

Spencer breaks the kiss reluctantly, his hands smoothing down your torso before gently turning you around so your back is flush with his chest. “Think you can give me one more, sweet girl?”

In all the rustling and movement he’s somehow rid himself of his underwear, evidenced by you utterly melting as he lines himself up at your entrance. Spencer wraps his arms around your stomach, one finger ghosting over your clit as he guides himself to your core. He lets the head drag tauntingly between your folds, gathering all the slick and spit onto himself to coat in.

“I—I don’t know,” a low groan escapes you, “i—if I can.”

“Oh baby, I know you can take it.” he coos, slipping himself into you inch by inch, “always take what I give you, hm? That’s why you’re my good girl, my best girl.”

You whimper as he sinks further into you, the overstimulation from your previous orgasms catching up to you.

He bottoms out, nuzzled in between your legs and into the crook of your neck, and moans out softly at how your close proximity is soothing every ailment he claimed to have in the time spent away from you. If he had to compare your divinity to a being, he could be basic and say Aphrodite for all the obvious reasons in which your beauty is a weapon. But if you were to really ask him, he would say Apollo for how you could simply smile at him with the radiance of the sun and heal him entirely.

For now, he’ll settle by giving his appreciation through slow thrusts and low murmurs in your ears. His hips pull back and gently push forward, lips immediately tacking onto your neck.

“Oh, angel girl,” his voice drips with wreck, “missed this so much, missed you so much.”

Your senses are on fire, every last one of them screaming with the memory of your previous peak, and the one before that. And yet, in thinly veiled love disguised as sadism, the burning ceases and all you can feel is him.

Suddenly, it’s not nearly enough.

Your hand reaches behind your body and clasps onto his cheek, holding him in place and close to you—as if there’s anywhere else he’d rather be. “More,”

He doesn’t think twice and hooks an arm under the bend of your knee, holding your leg pulled back towards him, and opening you up beautifully for him to thrust deeper into you.

“This what you want?” he pants, beginning to thrust at a relentless pace, “my baby just needed me to come fuck her dumb, hm?”

You whine out again, nodding mercilessly as he picks up the pace and adds two fingers to your clit. He circles the nub furiously, biting back a groan as you clamp down on him every other stroke like you did before on his fingers.

“Fuck,” you whimper, the familiar coil tightening in your gut, “think I’m go—oh—nna come.”

His fingers move faster on your clit, his thrusts deeper, “That’s it, baby. Come on, let go f’me. I got you.” he whispers.

For the third time in the last hour, your orgasm crashes onto you. Silently, you preen against his chest in absolute and total pleasure overtaking you. Spencer continues to fuck you through your peak, feverishly chasing his own high.

You fall limp against the bed, Spencer holding you against him for a few more deep strokes before spilling himself into you. He whimpers into your neck as he pushes through the overstimulation and fucks every last drop of come into you, whispering sweet nothings as you both calm back down.

He follows suit and limps behind you, an arm lazily swung around your torso still as your deep breathing syncs up. “Feel okay?”

You giggle dreamily, “More than okay, oh my god.”

“Good, baby. Don’t move, let me clean you up.”

“Don’t think I could move if I tried.”

He delicately slips out of you with a soft exhale and goes to the bathroom, wetting a washcloth with warm water before walking back over to the bed. He tries to suppress his moans as he parts your legs to see his come dripping out of your hole like a work of art. He swipes the washcloth gently between your legs making sure to take away every last sticky spot, and massaging the skin with love and care.

Spencer walks back to the bathroom and drops the dirtied washcloth into the hamper, washing his hands before walking over to his dresser to grab a pair of boxers to slip into.

He walks to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water and the Ghirardelli caramel chocolate squares from his satchel that he picked up on his way home. When he enters the bedroom again he grabs one more pair from the dresser to slip you into, and opens the window to let the fresh night air in before sliding back into bed with you.

He gingerly drags the clean boxers over your legs to rest on your hips, then hands you the glass of water and watches you to make sure you chug the whole thing down. He smiles when you present him with the empty glass, and rewards you with a chocolate square.

“My favorite!” you gasp, “I love you.”

“I love you too, I’m proud of you by the way.”

You moan again at the taste of chocolate melting in your mouth, “Sorry, this is so good,” he chuckles as you swallow and continue, “I know, thank you. Means a lot.”

You make him eat a square too before licking the excess chocolate off his fingers, a fit of giggles flowering the bedroom before you both doze off tucked into each other’s arms. It’s the best sleep both of you have had in weeks.

[fic-dump-dotcom]

PLEASE the quote at the end to mimic episodes i can't why don't you just fucking shoot me instead uGFGGhJJVwbwnd

there's a monster under the bed | s.r.

in which Spencer brings you back to your apartment for the first time after it was broken into, and it seems the burden might be too much to bear

hotchner!reader masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: home invasion, gun violence, hospital, physical/sexual assault, blood, panic attacks. word count: 2.65k a/n: hotchner!reader my dearly beloved <3

You wrapped your arms around yourself as best you could while Spencer dug the keys out of his bag. Fortifying a barrier of your own flesh and blood as if it could protect you from the sights inside of your apartment. The seal that had been placed by MPD had previously been broken, unfamiliar guests walking in and out of your home without your knowledge, further marring an already tainted portrait of what had previously been your sanctuary. 

He looked back at you for one final approval before turning the key, tattered remnants of police tape flowing pathetically in the rush of the door. Shattered pieces of the door that were once splayed on the floor were now carefully organized in a box with your case number written on it. Left on a shelf in Quantico to collect dust while your world slowly began to turn again. You wished the broken door was where the reminders ended, but as you carefully stepped into your home, you became hyper aware of everything that had happened. 

You felt like you were scavenging your own home after a natural disaster, trying to see what had survived the storm after a week of letting things settle. You’d gotten the call that morning, laying on the couch in your dad’s office and trying to catch up on sleep that you’d missed the night before. Everything had been fully processed, and the crime scene cleaners were done taking care of the remnants. With your connections, you could’ve gotten in sooner, but there were some things that you only ever needed to see once. 

Various members of the BAU had been there to take care of things for you. Emily had taken over watering your plants, your dad came by to pack a bag of clothes when you were released from the hospital, and JJ stopped by to get everything that your dad had missed—despite the detailed list that Penelope had scribed for you. Every corner of the living room felt vaguely familiar to you, but each piece that was out of place only proved to be an acrid reminder of what happened. You don’t even remember hearing the doorframe break. 

Glancing up, you found concerned brown eyes boring into you. Spencer’s eyebrows are raised curiously, watching you the way people always did with catastrophe, waiting for the powder keg to explode with the wrong movement. “Huh?” You hummed quietly, pressing your lips in a thin line before meeting his eyes. At least, you picked a point near his eyes to stare at, wary of making direct eye contact. 

“Did you want to wait here while I grab your things?” He offered gently, willing to take the brunt of the crime scene so you didn’t have to. Studying your body language, he gauged how you were feeling based on the way you stood, each mannerism cluing him in to how you were doing, since you wouldn’t tell him the truth anyway. 

Absentmindedly, you shook your head, dragging your fingertips across the drywall while he led the way further into the apartment. When the entryway parted and the kitchen was visible, you saw what was different—what had been taken. Your knife block was still toppled over on the countertop, but all of the knives had been taken out and processed for evidence. 

Spencer hoisted the bedazzled overnight bag over his shoulder, on loan to you from Garcia. “I’ll start in the bathroom,” he told you where he was headed before he went there. “Why don’t you find a good blanket to bring back to my place?” 

He didn’t wait for you to respond. There was no gentle touch on your waist before he walked away, no chaste kiss on your temple, and in that moment, that was precisely how you wanted it. He’d deduced that from the first time he tried to comfort you once the paramedics brought you outside of your apartment complex, into the light spring rain that greeted you within the twilight.

Leaving the door open behind him, you watched as he expertly went through the drawers and took things you needed. Things you could go a week without, but not much longer. You stepped forward hesitantly, ears pricking up at the sound of the floorboards creaking beneath you. Trying to wrap your arms tighter around yourself, you faltered slightly when you remembered you couldn’t bend your wrist. Your mobility was restrained by the splint around the joint, and you winced when you realized it was just about there that it had been sprained. 

Your instinct had been to find a weapon, knowing you weren’t strong enough to fend off an attacker, the best thing for you would be to be armed. You had been the one to knock over the knife block, leaving all of the blades exposed while holding a chef’s knife in terrified hands. You still remembered the feeling of the blood draining from your face when he pried the knife from your fingers, hurling it at the wall. When you looked to your left, you saw the hole that it had left, and you supposed people expected you to be grateful that the knife hadn’t left that hole in you. 

You saw it in everyone, the sheer relief that they felt when they found out you were fine. You’d heard it when your Aunt Jessica had painstakingly read the messages of well-wishers on her Facebook wall aloud in your hospital room. 

It hurt that you couldn’t admit to any of them that you wished he had just killed you—turned the knife on you instead of leaving you as a hollow shell of yourself, partially shattered and left to pick up the pieces. It hurt that you happened to be surrounded by a group of people who were certified mind-readers, knowing that they all knew what had happened to you from the moment you pulled away from Spencer. They all knew what happened when you asked for Emily to conduct the interview instead of your dad, when you wanted JJ’s help getting around the hospital room instead of Spencer’s. They all knew, but none of them would be the one to bring it up. 

He’d chased you around the limited space of your apartment, knocking over lamps, leaving shattered glass across the floor. You followed the path, walking to the basket of blankets you kept by the couch, only to find they were all covered in wax. In a moment of desperation, you pulled a burning candle from your side table, hurling the molten contents at him so you could get away. If you tipped your head to the side, you could make out the silhouette of your attacker, the wax drips falling like an abstract art piece of your worst nightmare. 

Your phone buzzed relentlessly in your pocket, your dad’s contact name flashing across the screen. Instead of answering, you powered down the phone, leaving the screen dark and silent in a way you felt suited you. In response to your actions, you heard Spencer’s phone ring, startling at the sharp and sudden noise, but you relaxed slightly when you heard him speak. “Hey, Hotch,” Spencer greeted, his tone soft and wary, like it’d been all week. 

Filtering through the blankets, you sighed at the realization that they were all ruined, all covered in what used to be your favorite candle. Now, you found, you couldn’t tolerate the scent, even the cold throw of it made you queasy, and the conversation in the other room wasn’t helping. 

“Yeah, I’m with her,” he reassured your dad, his volume so low you had to strain to hear him. “She might’ve shut her phone off,” he admitted. “She’s pretty overwhelmed, and the noise probably wasn’t helping… I know, but I wanted to take her before the sun went down… Yeah, I’ll let you know when we get back to my place… Thanks, Hotch. You too.” 

You heard him set down the phone on your bathroom counter, and you imagined he was leaning over the sink, taking deep breaths to calm himself down so he could be there for you. You wished you could apologize to him, apologize to him about what he was going through, but last time you tried, it made him angry. 

He wasn’t angry at you, no. It would be a cold day in hell when Spencer took his frustrations out on you.

Setting your shoulders, you stood up from your place in the living room and made your way into your bedroom. Consoling yourself by believing it couldn’t be that bad. The crime scene cleaners had spent days going through your apartment, you already knew they threw out all of your bedding, which was probably why you were so surprised to find what you did when the door creaked open. 

The mattress was still in there, from the bottom of it, blood had seeped into it, sprawling through the fibers like a crude Rorschach test. In flashes, memories had been coming back to you throughout the week, but now, even looking at the physical remnants of your attack, you couldn’t remember what happened to you in here. Plastic was wrapped around your window, but you couldn’t recall how it had broken. 

There had been a scramble, throwing the wax in your assailant's face had startled him just enough for you to get to your room—to the safe that your father had bought for you, the one that held the snubnosed revolver he had given you when you first moved out. 

You’d been tossed on the bed, losing your grip on the firearm in the tussle, and everything felt dark then. You could only remember the pit you felt in your chest, like your heart was tearing itself apart while he pinned you to the bed. At some point, you started crying, maybe you had been crying the whole time, but the gunshot had stopped your sobs. You shot him through the gut, the only shot you could get off, and just like that, the attack was over. 

After hours of begging, you’d been able to read the internal reports on what the police had written about the attack, a sickening narrative about a girl asking—begging—the cops to get him off of her. 

Get him off me. Get him off me. 

Even though you couldn’t remember it now, your subconscious knew what happened to you. It’d woken you up every night since, the feeling of being weighed down until you screamed yourself awake. You’d had to stop sleeping with the covers on, and they nearly restrained you in the hospital. If not for the persistent protests of the BAU, they probably would’ve tied you to the hospital bed. 

“Hey,” a soft voice says from behind you, not anything more than a whisper into the surrounding air, and despite the fact that you knew it was Spencer, you still spooked. 

You shrieked, turning around and facing him, stumbling back into the room while your brain recognized his face. Before you could hit the bed, Spencer caught you, grabbing you at your waist so you didn’t touch the soiled mattress. Panting, your skin burned where Spencer’s hands touched. You looked up at him, forcing yourself to see him as he was instead of as a threat. His lips were moving, but every word he said fell on deaf ears—he might as well not be saying anything at all. 

Slowly, he lowered you down to the ground, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around you through sheer will if nothing else. Together, you waited. Sitting on the rug in your bedroom that smelled like antiseptic, Spencer gathered you up in his arms, faintly rocking back and forth in an attempt to comfort you. His lips kept moving, trying to force his words through the barrier that your brain had put up around you. 

Still, you couldn’t hear him, your mental recording of that night playing on a persistent loop while you tried to claw yourself back to him. The thumping of your feet on the floor, the shattering of glass on the wall, and so much screaming. Your voice had been raspy for days while you were in the hospital, screams you hadn’t remembered until they came back to you in nightmares now permanently seared in your mind. 

As your heart rate ebbed, you began to hear your own breathing, the slight whistle of air through your nostrils gave way to the words coming from Spencer’s lips.

In a gentle voice. He was whispering to you, at first you thought they were sweet nothings, seemingly meaningless words with no purpose other than to coax you out of an anxiety attack, but as he continued, you noticed he was recounting memories for you. Information about you, your birthday, your favorite food, his birthday, his favorite book, and memories that the two of you shared. When you realized the story that he was telling, you smiled softly despite the terror that thrummed through your veins. Quietly, he told you the story of your first date, how you agreed to go with him—against your father’s wishes, and how he showed up late, but brought your favorite flowers with him to soften the blow. 

You didn’t tell him until weeks later that Penelope had texted you behind his back, telling you he would be late because your father had given him additional paperwork. Carefully, he reminded you of the day your father had finally accepted your relationship. 

While you couldn’t pinpoint the moment it had happened, your tears dried in their tracks, and your breathing had evened itself out. Spencer’s arms remained securely around your body, keeping you close to his chest while you found your center of gravity, your spirit returning to your corporeal form while you blinked through sticky eyelids. “Spence,” you whispered, the only thing you’d been able to choke out since entering your bedroom. 

“It’s okay,” he reassured you, “I’m here.” His palms gently skimmed up and down your back, soothing away the last of your shuddering breaths. “You’re safe with me, baby. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

The gunshot hadn’t killed him, but once he was in prison, your attacker would stay there to pay for his crimes—both for what he had done to you and what he’d previously done to others like you. Burying your face in the crook of Spencer’s neck, you sighed, “I want to go home.” 

Home. Home was no longer this apartment, five-hundred square feet that were now inhabited by memories that haunted you more than they comforted you. Home couldn’t be with your father, while he might be more comfortable keeping you somewhere he could watch you, you couldn’t keep waking Jack up with your nightmares. So, home was the person sitting on the floor with you, keeping you secure in his arms until he was sure all was well. Home was with Spencer now, your drawer of things at his place expanding into half of the closet space. 

He slid you off of his lap, standing before lending a hand to help you up. With your hand in his, he began to lead you outside of the room, but you turned your head, daring to take one more look at the bed in the center. 

In shock, your lips parted at the sight before you. The bloodstain that you could’ve sworn had been there before had been entirely erased, the mattress on the bedframe was pristinely white. You stumbled over your own feet, just to be met with a familiar hand on your waist, “What is it?” Spencer asked, studying the room, looking for something that was causing your alarm. 

You swallowed back your fear and shook your head, “It’s nothing.” Though now, there wasn’t much you were sure of, “Let’s go home.”

“I have survived everything but I fear that I cannot survive myself.” — Cynthia Chapman

[fic-dump-dotcom]

Off the Record (and on his knees)

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: rockstar!eddie munson x famous!reader 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a rockstar, a secret, and the kind of bad decision that tastes like more 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.8k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: just a lot of cliches probably, smut, mdni, honestly idk i need sleep 𝐚/𝐧: was supposed to be taking exams but ended up in the hospital so i had some downtime, hopefully this will bring some positive energy my way for resits (also a massive shout-out to @littlexdeaths for helping me edit this!!)

There are two fundamental truths that make Eddie Munson into the glorious, unrepentant disaster he is to this day.

One: He couldn’t give less of a shit what the world thinks of him.

Take seventh grade, for example—back when his voice still cracked mid-sentence and his hair was an unholy tangle of DIY bleach jobs, a walking middle finger to both genetics and good taste. He’d been a scrawny thing back then, all sharp elbows and a sharper tongue, but what he lacked in muscle he made up for in sheer audacity. Tommy H., in his puffed-up, wannabe bravado, had cornered him in the locker room after gym class, sweat still gleaming on his forehead like he’d just run a marathon instead of dodging dodgeballs for forty minutes. He’d squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest like a rooster preening for a fight, and sneered, “You’re a waste of space, Munson,” like he’d just invented the insult. Eddie’s response? A slow, shit-eating grin, a lazy glance up through the mess of his bangs: “Takes one to know one.” And then he’d just… walked away. No fists, no shouting, just five words and a smirk. The other kids had gasped, like he’d just pulled the pin on a grenade and tossed it over his shoulder without looking. (He’d found out later that Tommy had punched a locker hard enough to bruise his knuckles. Eddie had worn that knowledge like a badge of honour.)

Or fast-forward to last year, when Gareth somehow—through a combination of dumb luck and family ties that shouldn’t have counted as networking—scored them an appointment with his aunt’s ex-husband’s nephew, who just so happened to be a mid-level A&R guy at Universal Music Group.

The band had collectively lost their shit; Jeff had stress-bought a button-up shirt from some overpriced boutique, then spent twenty minutes in the van trying to figure out how to tuck it in just right so he didn’t look like he was attending his own funeral. Gareth had rehearsed his "professional musician" voice in the mirror until he sounded like a Wikipedia article narrated by a malfunctioning robot. Even Don, who usually had the emotional range of a brick wall, had gone suspiciously quiet, staring out the window with the vaguely nauseous expression of a man mentally preparing to sell his soul. Eddie had simply rolled out of bed that morning, pulled on the same ripped jeans he’d worn the day before, finger-combed his curls into something that defied both gravity and basic hygiene, and strolled into that glass-and-chrome office building smelling faintly of cigarette smoke, cheap diner coffee, and zero fucks given.

The exec—some slick-haired suit with a watch that probably cost more than Eddie’s entire van—had barely looked up from his phone when they walked in. His office was all sharp edges and sterile lighting, the kind of place that made Eddie’s skin itch just by existing.

So Eddie did what Eddie does best.

He cracked his knuckles, dropped into the chair across from the guy like he owned it, and said, "Wanna hear some real shit or what?"

No pretending. No apologies. No watered-down pitch about marketability or brand synergy. Just him—raw, unfiltered, a little too loud, a little too much.

For a long, excruciating moment, the guy just stared at him, eyebrows creeping toward his hairline. Then, he smirked. Leaned back in his stupid ergonomic chair. Muttered something under his breath about "angst sells, I guess" and "decent fucking tunes" before reaching into his briefcase and sliding a contract across the desk. Gareth had nearly choked on his own tongue. Jeff’s carefully tucked-in shirt had come untucked from sheer shock. And Don? Don had actually smiled—an event so rare it should have been documented by National Geographic.

Two: Eddie Munson doesn't get nervous. Never has, never will. It's practically part of his DNA at this point, woven into the fabric of his being as tightly as the faded tattoos on his knuckles and the ever-present smell of leather and Marlboros that clings to his clothes. 

Not when Corroded Coffin played their first sold-out stadium show, amps screaming loud enough to shake the teeth in his skull and the foundation beneath their feet. He'd stood at the edge of that stage, sweat dripping down his temples, staring out at a sea of faceless bodies that stretched so far back even the stage lights couldn’t reach them—and instead of freezing up like some wide-eyed rookie, he'd just grinned like the devil himself, cranked the volume higher and played the opening riff of "Blackened Skies". 

Not when they were nominated for their first Grammy—or the second or the goddamn third. Each time, he'd strutted up to that mic like he owned the place (and in his mind, he did), tossing off irreverent quips that had the crowd howling. "Guess hell really did freeze over," he'd drawled the first time, dangling the golden gramophone from two fingers like it was a beer he'd just been handed. The camera had caught the exact moment some blue-haired socialite in the front row had choked on her champagne.

Nerves? Nerves are for people who give a shit what others think. For choir boys and politicians and anyone with something to lose. Eddie thrives on the chaos, feeding off it like some kind of beautifully messed-up symbiotic organism. The louder the crowd, the brighter the spotlight, the higher the stakes—that's when he comes alive, electricity crackling under his skin like a live wire just waiting to set the whole damn world on fire.

So why the hell is he suddenly hyperaware of every rumour that clings to him like cheap cologne? America's favourite Casanova. The man who could sweet-talk the habit off a nun with nothing but a crooked grin and a well-timed power chord. Sure, maybe there's some truth to it—he's got charm coiled in his veins like nicotine, confidence that borders on pathological, and absolutely zero shame. Flirting is his native language; he thrives on the electric back-and-forth, the dangerous tilt of a smile, and the way pupils dilate when he crowds just inside someone's personal space like he's got every right to be there.

Five minutes ago, he'd been holding court across the room, spinning that ridiculous story about smuggling a live chicken into the Bellagio as part of a bet with Ozzy's bassist. His hands had painted the scene in the air—the squawking, the feathers in the minibar, the security guard's face when they found the damn thing wearing Eddie's sunglasses. The crowd had eaten it up with fucking spoons because Eddie Munson could make reading the phone book sound like a rock opera if he felt like it. He'd been radiant, incandescent, the human equivalent of a lit match in a fireworks factory.

Now Eddie’s tongue feels like it’s been swapped out for wet cardboard, useless, sticking to the roof of his mouth as if his body’s forgotten how to function. His fingers twitch at his sides, restless, aching for the familiar weight of a guitar pick between them, the grounding burn of a cigarette, anything to steady himself as the world tilts violently beneath his feet.

And then there’s you.

Leaning against the bar like some fever dream made flesh—all sinuous curves and effortless grace, the kind of quiet confidence that doesn’t need to shout to be heard. It screams louder than any of his stage antics ever could, louder than the roar of a sold-out crowd. The dim lighting catches the edge of your signature ring—that ring, the one from the Gucci campaign that had been plastered across every billboard last summer. It glints as you tap it absently against your glass, a slow, hypnotic rhythm that matches the erratic thud of his pulse.

He should look away… 

He can’t.

Because you’re not just beautiful—you’re impossible. The kind of impossible that makes his chest ache, the kind that shouldn’t exist outside of late-night fantasies and the pages of his most dog-eared poetry books. And yet here you are, real and radiant and right there, close enough to touch.

And Christ, he knows you. Not in the way of shared cigarettes backstage or whispered confessions after last call, but in that primal, bone-deep way sailors know a storm rolling in—through the electric charge in the air, the ominous stillness before the first crack of thunder splits the sky. The kind of knowing that prickles the back of his neck even as it pulls him helplessly closer to the cliff's edge.

The headlines from the Met Gala flash behind his eyelids like a vintage film reel stuck on repeat: you in that scandalous embroidered silk dress that clung to every curve like liquid gold, the neckline plunging with the same reckless abandon as a dive into midnight waters. The world had collectively lost its goddamn mind—fashion critics penning breathless odes to your "rebirth of modern glamour", Twitter wars erupting over whether you'd "saved or slaughtered" haute couture. Half the internet had clutched their pearls raw over the "death of modesty". The other half had been reduced to a single, guttural scream for you—your name trending with fire emojis, your walk immortalised in grainy cellphone footage that still played on a loop in Eddie's darkest, most private moments.

And now here you stand, all that barely contained lightning in human form, close enough that he can see where your perfume clings to the hollow of your throat. The realisation hits like a cymbal crash: he's spent months watching you through screens and tabloids, but nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for the reality of your presence, for how the oxygen seems to thin when your gaze drags over to him.

Your head turns.

Your eyes meet his.

And just like that, his entire fucking operating system crashes.

The clever greeting he'd been mentally workshopping? Deleted.

His usual arsenal of one-liners? Corrupted file.

Every ounce of that legendary Munson charm—the same silver tongue that had talked his band out of a back-alley brawl in Berlin, flirted his way past VIP bouncers in LA, and charmed a room full of jaded music critics into giving his album a standing ovation—has short-circuited into white noise. What emerges instead is a strangled "Hey" that cracks halfway through, the single syllable tilting upward like a question, like a prayer, like he’s not entirely convinced you’re not some whisky-fuelled hallucination conjured by his traitorous subconscious.

His pulse thrums erratically at his throat, a wild staccato beat visible beneath the edge of his collar. For one horrifying second, he’s just a man reduced to bare wiring and exposed nerves, utterly certain that if you asked him his name right now, he’d stare at you like a dial-up connection trying to process the request.

What's worse? You know who he is. Or at least, you've absorbed the stories—those wild, larger-than-life legends of Eddie "The Freak in the Sheets" Munson that circulate through VIP lounges and gossip columns like holy scripture. The stories about him talking his way out of actual police handcuffs in Munich. The whispered accounts of how he once seduced a Rolling Stone journalist mid-interview, resulting in a profile so scandalous the magazine's servers crashed from traffic. The kind of reputation that usually has strangers crawling into his lap before he's even finished his first drink.

And yet…

The way you're looking at him now—head tilted at that precise angle of clinical fascination, like a virologist observing a particularly intriguing strain under glass. Your lips quirk in faint amusement, not the starstruck grin he's accustomed to, but the expression of someone who's just discovered the magician's trapdoor. There's no awe in your gaze, just patient analysis, like you were promised a category-five hurricane and got a stiff breeze that barely ruffled your hair.

Your lips twitch, not quite a smile but something far more dangerous—the smirk of a chess grandmaster who's already played this match twelve moves ahead.

"Hey," you echo, your voice smoother than the whisky in his abandoned glass and twice as intoxicating. Eddie catches the glint in your eyes first—mischievous, daring, the same glint he's seen in mirrors right before doing something stupid—and feels his pulse kick up a notch. Then your fingers skate up his arm, nails dragging just barely hard enough to raise goosebumps under the sleeve of his blouse. His breath stutters like a dying engine when your lips brush the shell of his ear, warm and teasing. 

"Are you going to stare all night, Munson, or are you actually going to say something?"

The slow arch of your eyebrow is the most devastating thing Eddie's ever witnessed—a silent challenge that hits him like a well-placed chord vibrating straight through his ribs. That deliberate lift, paired with the smug curl of your lips, sparks something primal in his chest. You look like the cat that got the cream, the guitarist who nailed the solo, like you've just won some private bet he didn't even know you were playing. 

And that—that smug little quirk of your mouth—is what finally kickstarts his brain. Because Eddie Munson doesn't lose. Not at banter, not at bets, and definitely not at whatever this sudden, unspoken game is that you've started between heartbeats and heated glances.

He exhales sharply through his nose, the sound almost a growl as he straightens to his full height. When he finally speaks, his voice is all rough edges and smoke, the kind of tone that precedes either a killer riff or someone getting thoroughly wrecked against a backstage wall. 

"Funny thing about staring, sweetheart…" his fingers dart out, catching your wandering hand just as it begins its ascent up his chest. He twines his fingers through yours, pinning your palm against the rapid-fire beat of his heart. "—it takes a hell of a view to make a man forget his words." 

The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes—because the joke's on him, really. You haven't just stolen his words; you've taken the air from his lungs, the rhythm from his pulse, left him feeling like an overstrung guitar about to snap from the tension.

Just as Eddie begins to find his rhythm in this dangerous little dance—just as he starts to anticipate your steps, to recognise the subtle hitch in your breath when he leans in too close—the music screeches to a halt.

Someone materialises from the crowd like a poorly timed jump scare, designer cufflinks glinting under the club lights as his arm slides around the sliver of exposed skin at your waist. The touch is possessive, practiced, the kind of casual intimacy that makes Eddie’s molars grind hard enough to spark.

And you—

You don’t even flinch.

The realisation hits Eddie like a kick to the ribs. He watches, jaw clenched, as the guy leans in—close enough that Eddie catches the cloying scent of his expensive cologne, the glint of veneers too perfect to be anything but bought. The way he kisses you is all performative passion, a showy press of lips that lingers just a beat too long, complete with a theatrical tilt of the head, like he’s mentally checking his angles.

Christ. It’s like watching a bad rom-com.

The guy pulls back with the smug satisfaction of a man who’s never been told no, his thumb brushing your hip in one last obnoxious display of ownership before he turns to Eddie. He extends a hand, his Rolex glinting under the strobe lights.

“It’s Edgar, right?”

Eddie’s eye twitches.

“Theodore”, the guy continues, flashing a smile so white it’s practically radioactive. “I take it you’ve met my girlfriend?”

Checkmate.

Fuck.

How could he have forgotten?

He’d been too busy writing sonnets in his head about the cadence of your voice when you whispered in his ear and too busy memorising the way your nails felt dragging up his sleeve to even fucking remember you have a boyfriend.

And not just any boyfriend.

No, it’s Theodore fucking Langley. Actor. Heartthrob. The guy whose face is currently plastered on every teen magazine from here to Tokyo, the same guy who got voted “Most Likely to Make You Swoon” by Seventeen or some shit. The kind of guy who probably has a skincare routine longer than the Lord of the Rings trilogy and a publicist who writes his posts for him.

Eddie forces a grin, sharp enough to draw blood, and shakes the guy’s hand just a little too hard. 

“It’s Eddie. And yeah, she was just warning me to steer clear of the right-hand stage.” He nods toward the VIP section, packed to the brim with Hollywood’s most gossip-hungry vultures. “Unless I want to end up as tomorrow’s TMZ headline.”

The excuse rolls off his tongue smooth as honey, but inside, his thoughts are a fucking hurricane. 

Because, honestly?

He doesn’t get it.

Not just because he’s got the hots for you (which, yeah, okay, he definitely does), but because the whole thing is so goddamn ridiculous. From what you even see in this guy to what the two of you could possibly talk about—Eddie knows the type⁠ in the way you know a bad sequel—overproduced, underwhelming, all flash and no substance. He’s met a hundred variations of Theodore at industry parties. ⁠Does he even know you? The real you? Or just the version that looks good on his arm during red carpets?

The tabloids are eating it up, of course. “Hollywood’s New It Couple!” bleeds across magazine covers in obnoxious neon fonts, while gossip sites run breathless slideshows of you and Theodore at every red carpet event, gala, and painfully staged coffee run. The cameras love the way his Armani-clad arm possessively anchors you to his side, how your designer dresses complement his tailored suits like you were manufactured as a set.

But they're not looking closely enough.

If they did, they'd notice how Theodore's fingers indent the fabric at your waist just a fraction too deep—the kind of grip that leaves bruises blooming like ink stains beneath fabric. They'd catch the microsecond delay in your smile when his lips graze your cheek, the way your eyes flicker toward the exits like a caged animal calculating escape routes. They'd see what Eddie sees with devastating clarity:

A mismatch.

A performance so polished it's rotting at the core.

The greatest fucking waste he's ever seen.

And then—the moment Theodore releases you to go charm some studio director who could "really take his career to the next level, darling," your hand snaps out with viper precision, your fingers curl around his wrist with deliberate precision—not tight enough to leave marks, but firm enough to make the veins in his forearm jump under your touch.

"Meet me backstage."

The words lick against his ear, molten and venomous—a command wrapped in velvet. Your teeth graze his earlobe just hard enough to remind him this isn't surrender. It's an ambush.

It's not a request.

Eddie's no stranger to the value in playing along, but Christ, the sixty seconds he forces himself to wait feel like slow torture. He counts each heartbeat against the sticky bar top, his fingers drumming an erratic rhythm that betrays the calm facade. The ice in his whisky melts unnoticed as his pulse hammers in his throat, torn between walking away and breaking into a run toward whatever fresh hell you're offering.

The hallway to the dressing rooms is a study in controlled chaos, narrow enough that Eddie's shoulders nearly brush both walls as he stalks forward, the buzz of faulty fluorescents casting strobe-like shadows that make the space feel both claustrophobic and thrillingly illicit.

And there you are—a vision of calculated nonchalance leaning against chipped paint that flakes under your fingertips. One foot props against the wall behind you like you've been waiting lifetimes rather than minutes. When your eyes lock onto his, they're dark with knowing amusement, your lips curling into a smirk that says you've already scripted this encounter and he's just now catching up to page three. 

"Took you long enough," you tease, your voice a velvet-wrapped blade that cuts through the bass thumping from the main room. The words dance across the scant inches between you, each syllable weighted with unspoken challenges.

The dressing room door clicks shut with finality behind you, the sound louder than it should be in the sudden quiet. Eddie's body thrums with restrained energy—you can see it in the way his carotid pulses against the collar of his shirt, in the white-knuckle grip he maintains on his own belt loops to keep from reaching for you. The air between you crackles with the kind of tension that precedes summer storms, heavy with the promise of lightning.

You'd expected him to pounce—to back you against the nearest flat surface and finally give in. But instead…

He hesitates.

The space between his eyebrows furrows into a crease—the one that appears when he's tuning a stubborn guitar string or trying to decipher some cryptic lyric. But now it's deeper, more vulnerable, as his dark eyes roam your face like he's searching for answers in the slant of your cheekbones, the part of your lips. When he finally speaks, his voice is wrecked—rough as sandpaper and twice as raw, like he's been screaming himself hoarse backstage. "Is this what you want?"

The question hangs between you, weighted with something that makes your ribs ache. There's an unfamiliar tremor beneath the words. "Really?"

You blink up at him, and for one terrifying heartbeat, your carefully constructed mask slips—the one you wear at press junkets, the one you've perfected for Theodore's arm. Your breath catches audibly before you can school your features back into indifference. "What, don't you want me?"

The words slice through the charged air, sharper than you intended, laced with a surprise that has nothing to do with the game you've been playing. Eddie drags a hand through his hair, sending those riotous curls into glorious disarray. The movement makes his biceps flex, the tattoos peeking out from his sleeves suddenly vivid in the low light. "I don't give a fuck about my reputation, sweetheart." His usual smirk is nowhere to be found—just raw honesty that terrifies you more than any of his staged bad-boy antics ever could.

He exhales sharply through his nose, the sound almost pained, like the next words are being ripped from somewhere deep and rarely visited. "But yours?" A muscle jumps in his jaw as he gestures between you, his rings glinting. "You really wanna risk it all for this?" His usual swagger is fraying at the edges, revealing something far more dangerous beneath: a man who cares too much.

You tilt your head, lips quirking in a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Since when do you care what people think, Munson?”

“I don’t,” he snaps, stepping closer—close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the leather-and-cigarettes scent of his jacket. “But you should. That boyfriend of yours? He’s got the media eating out of his palm. You really think they won’t tear you apart if—”

“If what?” You step into him, chest brushing his, and watch his throat bob as he swallows hard. “If they find out I’d rather be with you?”

Your fingers twist in the front of his shirt with deliberate purpose, the fabric straining under your grip as you yank him down into a kiss that's more collision than connection—all clashing teeth and shared breath and the kind of desperation that borders on violence. Eddie makes a raw, punched-out noise against your mouth, something between a groan and a curse, before his hands find purchase on your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave tomorrow's bruises as he walks you backward until the sharp edge of the dresser cabinet bites into your thighs.

The moment your legs hit solid wood, his tongue swipes against yours with devastating precision—hot and demanding and tasting faintly of whisky and the cigarette he sneaked between sets. And fuck, he kisses like he plays guitar: all calloused fingertips and effortless skill, bending you to his rhythm until you're gasping against his mouth. There's that same reckless passion he channels into every riff, that same single-minded focus he reserves for chasing the perfect note—except now, he's chasing you, chasing this, like he's reaching for something sacred in the space between your bodies.

Your back arches instinctively, pressing every inch of yourself against him, and the sound Eddie makes—a broken, shuddering groan muffled against your jaw—sends a thrill of power straight down your spine. One of his hands slides up to cradle the back of your head just before it would've connected painfully with the mirror behind you, his touch unexpectedly tender even as his hips grind forward with unmistakable intent. The contrast makes you lightheaded—this is Eddie Munson at his most dangerous, equal parts rough edges and brutal softness.

But then—

He tears himself away, breathing raggedly. “Wait. Wait. What about—?”

“Theo?” You nip at his lower lip, relishing the way his fingers dig into your waist. “What about him?”

Eddie’s brow furrows, that crease between his eyebrows deepening like a fault line splitting open. “I don’t want people thinking you’re—”

“A slut?” you murmur, dragging your nails down his chest in one slow, deliberate scrape, revelling in the way his breath hitches, the way his muscles jump under your touch. “A cheater?”

He flinches like you’ve struck him. “No.” His voice is rough, almost angry—not at you, but at the idea, at the world that would dare reduce this to something cheap. “I just—fuck—” His hands flex at your hips, like he’s holding himself back from something far more dangerous. “I don’t want you to regret this.”

And that—that just drives you crazier. Because Eddie Munson, the man who’s built his entire life on not giving a single fuck about consequences, is suddenly terrified—not for himself, but for you. For what this might cost you.

It’s the most reckless thing he’s ever done—caring.

Your hands slide under his shirt, tracing the taut lines of his abdomen, fingertips mapping the heat of his skin, the ridges of scars and ink you’ll ask about later. You grin against his mouth, all teeth and no mercy. “Stop telling me what I’m supposed to do.” Then, softer, a whisper against his lips—“And just fuck me like you mean it.”

Eddie’s restraint crumbles.

One of his fists twists in your hair, tilting your head back as his mouth crashes into yours again, harder this time, hungrier, like he’s trying to rewrite every kiss that came before this one. His other hand skims up your thigh, hiking your dress higher, and when you gasp, he swallows the sound like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, like he’s been starving for it.

Then he’s hoisting you up onto the dresser with effortless strength, the cold surface biting into your bare thighs as he drops to his knees like a man preparing for ascension. 

And he tries to be patient—he really does. 

He presses open-mouthed kisses up the inside of your thighs, savouring the way your muscles jump under his lips, the way your breath hitches when his stubble drags against your skin. But Christ, he can already smell you—that heady, intoxicating mix of your desperation and his own name lingering on your tongue. It hits him like a punch to the gut, leaving him dizzy in a way that has nothing to do with the liquor he’s been nursing all night.

Vertigo. 

A full-body shudder. 

The kind of high no drug could ever replicate.

And it’s not like he has a reputation to uphold—so he doesn’t bother hiding how fucking gone he is. He nudges at your clit with his nose, just to hear the way your breath fractures, just to feel your fingers twist in his hair like a silent please. Every flick of his tongue makes your hips jerk, every low, filthy noise you make going straight to his dick, and he’s already praying for a way to freeze time, to get to stay here between your legs forever. ⁠His tongue drags a slow, torturous stripe through your folds, and the sound you make—fuck—it’s enough to send a bolt of heat straight down his spine. Higher pitched, broken at the edges, like you’re already halfway to ruin.

Heaven shouldn’t even bother trying. There’s no way it could top this.

Eddie dives in like a starving man, hands splayed over your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh. And God, he’s insatiable once he starts. Eager. Determined. Like he wants to memorise every twitch, every gasp, every time your legs tighten around his ears like there’s a part of you that’s worried he’ll change his mind. He licks into you like he’s trying to devour you, like he’d happily suffocate right here if it meant getting one more taste. Your fingers tug at his hair, and Eddie groans against you, the vibration wringing another broken sound from your throat.

This isn’t a sprint. It’s not even a damn marathon—it’s a relay race, and Eddie is eagerly playing each part, trading one touch for another, one filthy whisper for a bruising kiss, until you’re gasping, wrung out, and still begging for more.

His hands are everywhere—skimming up your ribs, gripping the back of your thighs—each touch deliberate, each movement calculated to drag another broken sound from your lips. His mouth is relentless, trailing fire in its wake, teeth scraping just hard enough to make your back arch off the wall. He eats you out like he’s got something to prove, like he’s mapping every gasp, every shudder, filing them away for later.

And when you think you can’t take any more, he drags you right back to the edge, his lips finding that spot that makes your breath hitch. Your head falls back against the mirror with a thud, his name spilling from your lips in a moan that’s half plea, half prayer. The glass is cool against your heated skin, a stark contrast to the feverish press of his body against yours.

Eddie’s teeth scrape over your pulse point—claiming, punishing, worshipping—before his tongue soothes the sting, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. His fingers dig into your hips like he’s memorising the shape of them, like he’s trying to brand himself into your bones.

And when you kiss him, when your hands are fisted in his hair as you drag him towards you, as your tongue swipes against his, you can taste yourself on him, sweet and sharp, and it makes you whimper, arching into him⁠. Eddie groans, low and rough, his grip tightening like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. He kisses you back just as hungrily, like he’s been starving for this, for you, and suddenly, there’s a certainty in his chest, bright and terrifying, that he doesn’t know how he ever lived without this. 

His usual moves—the ones that earned him that damn Freak in the Sheets nickname—are nowhere to be found. There’s something ruined in the way he touches you, like he’s not just trying to wreck you but worship you, like every sigh you let out is a prayer he wants to memorise. When he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen, his breathing ragged. His dark eyes search yours, thumb brushing your cheek in a gesture so soft it makes your chest ache.

“You okay?” He murmurs, voice wrecked.

It’s such a stupid question—of course you’re okay; you’re better than okay—but the way he asks it, like he genuinely needs to know, like your answer matters more than his next breath, it lights something inside of you as well. Because you feel it too—the way the air between you crackles even when you’re not touching, the way his hands linger even after he’s pulled away, like he can’t stand to let you go.

You swallow, suddenly too exposed. “Yeah. Just… didn’t expect you to be so…”

“So what?” He grins, but it’s not his usual cocky smirk—it’s lopsided, almost nervous.

“Attentive,” you admit, and his grin softens into something real.

Eddie huffs a laugh, pressing his forehead to yours. “Yeah, well. You’re… special.”

Eddie exhales, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your waist—slow, possessive circles that leave fire in their wake. His voice drops, rough with something that isn’t just want but need.

“Let me take you out.”

His eyes meet yours again, dark and pleading, his thumb brushing your lower lip in a touch so tender it makes your breath stutter. His gaze is unbearably fond, like he’s already memorised every freckle, every hitch in your breathing, like he’s been waiting for you forever and just didn’t know it until now.

“Somewhere that’s not a dressing room,” he murmurs, lips quirking in that half-smile that’s equal parts mischief and vulnerability. “Somewhere with… chairs. And menus and shit.”

You laugh, but it comes out shaky, because, fuck, this isn’t how this was supposed to go. This was supposed to be a distraction, a one-night rebellion against the perfectly curated life you’re supposed to want—the one where you’re Theodore Langley’s golden girl, where your smiles are scripted and your hands are meant to linger on his arm, not tangled in Eddie Munson’s hair.

But Eddie?

Eddie’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

And that’s terrifying.

Because you feel it too—the way your chest tightens when he smiles, the way your skin still hums where he touched you, like his hands left permanent fingerprints.

“Why?” you whisper.

He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. His thumb stills against your lip, his voice raw. “Because I don’t think once is going to be enough.”

And God, the way he says it—like it’s already a lost cause, like he’s doomed, like he’s been ruined for anything else and he doesn’t even care.

You swallow. “What if I say no?”

Eddie’s grin is all teeth, but his eyes? Soft. “Then I’ll wait for you till you do.”

“For how long?”

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “However long it takes.”

And fuck, he's in trouble.

Because maybe there's a third thing that makes Eddie who he is right now—not just the leather-jacketed rebel who flips off convention, not just the raw-nerved artist who bleeds his truth into every chord. 

But Eddie Munson, the man who never begged for anything in his life, who would get on his knees for you.

Eddie Munson, who built his career on not giving a single fuck, would burn down every bridge if it meant keeping you warm.

Eddie Munson, the self-proclaimed freak, has never felt more terrifyingly human than when you look at him like he's something precious instead of dangerous.

[fic-dump-dotcom]

hurry up and wait

steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson

honestly idk what this is, but I was clearly in A Mood.

18+, MDNI┃3.1k

cw: smut, cockwarming, piv sex, kinda sub!reader & sub!steve, kinda mean, dom-ish eddie, implied voyeurism, r referred to with she/her pronouns, hair pulling, one slap.

The air in the room had grown hot and stifling, condensation starting to steam up the windows and diffusing the muted blue light that filtered in through the glass. Steve’s broad hands rested at your hips, and you could feel every tremor of his body underneath yours. His muscles quivering, his grip tensing every couple of seconds so his fingertips dug into your soft, doughy flesh.

He kept his lips pressed together, trying to stifle the whines and whimpers that fell out of him with every torturous passing second. But you were so wet, so tight around him, he thought he might die right there enveloped in your heat.

And he would do so, happily.

“Eddie, p-please,” you mewled, turning your head trying to catch your boyfriend’s eye as he stalked around the bed. “Please let him move, it hurts…”

The pitiful lilt in your voice was laid on a little thicker than intended, but it seemed to have the desired effect. Eddie smirked as he came around to stand over you, his fingers snaking into your hair, to grasp it at the root and squeeze.

It made you clench around Steve and he huffed like a bull trying not to charge.

“What hurts, princess?” Eddie tutted. “Is Stevie’s big cock too much for you?”

Probably, yeah, you thought as your head shook against his firm hold.

It was certainly longer than any other you’d taken. Thicker too, excluding Eddie’s. Seeing it bare the first time, arousal surged in between your legs at the thought of it filling you. And as you straddled his lap and sank down onto him so, so slowly, every inch made you question your sanity.

He’d been nestled deep inside you for almost ten minutes now, both under strict instruction not to move. Not allowed so much as a wiggle to make yourself more comfortable, unless of course Eddie gave you permission to do so.

Even your hands were restricted to remain in one place, his on your hips and yours on his shoulders, palms brushing the edges of the soft down of hair in the middle of his chest, hot and sweat-slicked.

And with every passing minute, you’d only grown more desperate, more pathetic and needy, more pliant and willing to do just about anything if it earned you the sweet release you craved.

But you suspected it would be a while yet before you got it.

Eddie’s grip tightened again to yank your head back, and the sting on your scalp made you wail. Steve’s cock twitched inside you at the abject sound, his eyes trained on your parted lips and the vast expanse of your bared throat, practically begging for his lips and tongue and teeth.

He then had to watch as Eddie acted out the very thought currently running through Steve’s head, flattening his tongue at the base of your neck to lick from from your collarbone to the underside of your chin. Eyes slanted to stay locked on Steve’s, never dropping the other man’s heated gaze.

Steve’s hips squirmed, aching to thrust, his baser instincts begging to let them take control so he could fuck you like the animal he was.

It only made you cry out more, and Steve wished he could kiss an apology up the other side of your neck to your ear. If he could, he’d wrap you up in his arms as tight as he possibly could and babble out praise about how brave you were being, how well you were taking him, how long he had been wanting to do this—

“Someone else is having trouble too, huh?” Eddie chuckled, his dark eyes glinting as he tipped your head up to see the pained look on Steve’s face. “I know that pussy feels good, just look at him trying not to blow.”

Your clit throbbed, seemingly in time with every twitch of Steve’s cock. It felt as if you were trying to balance on the head of a pin, ready to fall off in every direction all at once. You shivered, the heat of Eddie’s breath in your ear as he pushed his face against the side of yours to whisper in it.

“Why don’t you do that thing I like?” he purred, loosening his hold and sliding his hand down the length of your spine. He splayed his palm wide at the small of your back and rubbed it in a circle.

Breathless, you nodded as your eyes met Steve’s, gaze softening as if to apologize for what he had coming. You didn’t lift off of him, just started to swivel your hips over his, panting as you felt his cock prodding your walls. The motion forced your clit to rub against his base, his coarse hair getting sticky with your spend. Eddie’s hand sped up, signaling you to do the same.

Steve’s head thunked against the headboard as it fell backwards, barely padded by his thick hair, the sensation of you on his cock threatening to make his brain liquify. His throat bobbed, veins in his neck bulging as blood rushed to his face, his freckled skin flushing a deep scarlet.

Eddie smirked hearing the plaintive sounds you made as you found your rhythm, a steady and yet determined grind as painful as it was pleasurable.

“Thought this is what you wanted, sweetheart,” Eddie cooed at you, a soft sound in your ear that only sent more chills running down your spine. “That’s how you got yourself in this mess, isn’t it? ‘Cos you couldn’t wait?”

He was right. If you really wanted to kiss someone, all you needed to do was ask. Eddie liked watching sometimes. Guys, girls. People he picked, people you picked. And he especially liked it afterwards, when he got free rein to remind you who you really belonged to. But that night, you’d been too reckless. Too hasty. Too greedy.

It was an accident. It didn’t mean anything. It was one little kiss—a kiss that was more than worth this punishment, if you were being honest.

You’d always kind of had a thing for Steve. It was practically impossible not to with his good looks and his boyish charm and his floppy hair and his kind eyes. But you would never do anything. You would never act on those feelings.

Not when you had Eddie to give you everything you wanted and more.

Had it not been for the party, for that unfortunate drinking game where you and Steve drained your drinks faster than everyone else, it might have never even happened.

You and Steve might never have stumbled into the kitchen looking for snacks. You might never have leaned into him or wound your arms around his waist as breathy giggles fluttered in your chest and butterfly wings flapped in your stomach. You might never have leaned in and let his lips brush yours when Steve’s nose nudged at your heated cheek, trying to get you to turn your face toward his. You might never have kissed him back.

But of all the people you could have kissed, Steve wasn’t the worst pick.

He wasn’t quite an “ex” but you knew that he and Eddie indulged in some...not so platonic activities in the past. Steve, who always had to act so tough and confident and cool and together, had found Eddie’s influence rather illuminating. He’d learned an awful lot about himself during those trysts.

How he liked to be under someone’s thumb.

How he liked to be told what to do.

How he liked to be used. 

And the stories Eddie told you only further piqued your interest in the former king of Hawkins High. Because, much like him, you’d also come to enjoy Eddie’s domineering side. It made you wonder on more than one occasion what it might feel like to be between them. A kind of middle ground…

Being used by one, and you using the other. 

The kiss had been good. Torrid and desperate and consuming. The feeling of it rippled through you like a live current, like lightning in your veins. It zapped your body with instant relief, and in the same instant you were overcome with a morbid excitement at the thought of being found out.

You and Steve were both far too shy, for lack of a better word, to do anything like this without the excuse of liquid courage to fall back on. And by doing it somewhere you could be caught so easily …it was almost like you wanted Eddie to see.

And he did see. When yours and Steve’s swollen lips parted, hot breath mingling as you panted heavily into one another’s mouths, the sound of Eddie clearing his throat was the only thing that stopped you from diving right back in all over again. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning on his shoulder against the frame, smirking into his beer as he took a swig.

He said nothing, though. Just let his eyes scan up and down your bodies still tangled up together, Steve pressing you up against the cabinetry.

It wasn’t until later, after the party petered out and all your other friends had gone home, that Eddie even acknowledged your existence.

He coolly instructed you and Steve to go upstairs and to take off all your clothes.

To sit on the bed and wait.

Now, here the two of you were. Just a couple of life-sized dolls for him to arrange and play with. A pair of puppets for your master.

“That’s enough,” Eddie said with a light tap to your tailbone.

Your nails dug into the meat of Steve’s shoulders when you stilled your hips abruptly, shivering as you came down from the high you had steadily been building up to. Eddie pushed his face in close, not even looking at you this time.

“You ready to move, Stevie?” he asked, practically in a whisper.

“Yes, fuck, please, can I?” Steve let out a quick, shuddering breath and you felt how his muscles spasmed under your hands as his hold on your hips tightened.

“Okay,” your boyfriend conceded with a wicked smile, “but only when I say.”

Eddie straightened and crossed his arms in front of his chest, his biceps bulging and the tendons in his arms standing out gloriously under inked skin. You were positive Steve could feel you getting wetter just at the sight if the breathy little gasp he let out was any indication.

What followed was some perverted version of Red Light, Green Light.

In his low and gravelly tone, Eddie locked his eyes on Steve’s and uttered the solitary word, “Go.”

Steve inhaled sharply and his eyes cut back to your face, his brow raising in a final silent check-in. You nodded instantly. Eagerly.

After having to sit so still for so long, the feeling of finally pushing his hips up is enough to draw a deep groan of satisfaction from his chest. Even if he couldn’t draw them back all that much, it’s enough to feel the slide of his length inside your walls and the way they stretch to welcome him in.

It’s not enough, though.

He tries circling his hips instead and starts to grind them up into your heat, taking a few tries to find the right angle—but they’re all perfect as far as you’re concerned. You let out a long, low moan and your head rolls on your shoulders, unyielding ache between your legs finally subsiding.

But almost as soon as Steve got going, Eddie called out, “Stop.”

The boy inside you obeyed, but not without letting out the tiniest little huff of frustration. He tucked his chin to his chest, drawing in another deep breath as he struggled to bring himself down just as you had.

His head of messy, tousled hair was all you could see, innumerable strands of chestnut brown locks in an artful disarray, all piled on top of and criss-crossing over one another. It made you want to bury your hands in it. Your fingers literally twitched from wanting to so bad.

A few more rounds followed. Stop. Go. Stop. Go. You lose track how many times Eddie calls them out, how many times Eddie lets Steve get you as close to the edge as he possibly can before you’re unceremoniously yanked back from the precipice.

And however bad it is for you, it’s so much worse for Steve.

He’s twice as desperate as you are by a mile. Every time he has to stop, you can feel his core clenching and his legs twitching under you, like he’s trying to kick them and can’t. He’s long past the point of using words, his eyelids drooping shut and straining to stay open he’s so pussydrunk and braindead.

Only when Eddie stands over him, pushing a hand through his hair to rake back sweaty strays, does he seem to wake up a little.

“Okay, Stevie,” Eddie cooed, low and syrupy, “you ready to really fuck her?”

Steve nodded, sending the hairs Eddie just fixed flopping forward into his shining eyes. Eddie’s own glinted with satisfaction and he scanned over you.

Limbs trembling. Thighs shaking. Lips swollen from biting down on them hard enough to draw blood. Head hanging on its hinge like it’s too heavy to lift.

But you do lift it. Just enough to look him in the eye, to flash him your round and pleading gaze he loves so much. To give him the tiniest nod when he lifts his brow at you in a silent check-in.

To see him nod at Steve.

Steve shifted underneath you and planted his feet on the bed. His gaze cut sideways and his eyes locked with Eddie, poised for instruction.

“Go.”

Steve’s hips bucked, nearly lifting you off the bed. He thrust up into you as hard as he could, clearly having lost whatever semblance of restraint he’d been clinging onto the whole night. He used his hold on your hips to slide you forward to meet his every stroke, your bodies undulating together.

The wet plap plap plap of his thighs hitting yours grew faster, both of you sneaking glances over at Eddie to see if he was going to stop you again.

He gave no indication either way.

Your pussy clenched and squeezed around his length, hips struggling to match his pace until you gave up entirely, giving yourself over to his motions, the peak of your pleasure rushing towards you once again.

Close, you were close, you were so, so close, you were gonna—

“Stop.”

“FUCK!” You cried out, not even caring how feral you sounded anymore, “Fucking shit, goddamn it Eddie, just let me cum, please—”

The sharp crack of his palm across your cheek was shocking, but not a surprise. Your eyes welled with tears immediately, having been teetering on the verge of crying for what felt like an eternity. It was actually a relief to let off some of the pressure that built up in your chest, but it was short lived.

“Is that what you call me?” Eddie’s voice boomed, loud enough to rattle the walls, “Or are you so drunk on his dick you forgot who I am?”

“M’sorry, sir,” you blubbered, tears trickling down your cheek that still stung from his slap.

You felt Steve’s hands tremble on your thighs, like all he wanted to do in that moment was reach up and soothe the burn.

“That’s better,” Eddie said, eyes still steely as he reached out for you. “Now say you’re sorry to our guest for that dirty fucking mouth of yours.”

He laid his hand on your cheek, seemingly to turn your head forward, but the way he held it there for a few seconds after felt more like an apology. 

It still tingled when he dropped his hand, but his touch had dulled the pain.

“Sorry, Stevie,” you said, practically in a whisper. Eyes big, round and wet.

“It’s okay, angel,” Steve answered, giving your thighs a reassuring squeeze.

Then, sensing an opportunity in this moment of calm, Steve looked to Eddie.

“Sir?” he said meekly, the picture of an obedient pet, “c-can I kiss her?”

All the air rushed out of the room, the three of you falling deathly quiet in the wake of his question.

Eddie’s eyes were dark, his anger that boiled over briefly reduced to a low simmer as he weighed Steve’s request in his head.

At last, his chin dropped in a deep nod.

Steve lifted one of his hands and cradled your jaw tenderly. The pad of his thumb smoothed over your wobbly bottom lip, stilling it. He drew close to drag his nose along the apple of your cheek, letting his plush lips skim your skin that was still buzzing from Eddie’s strike. He licked his lips and they parted as he blew cool air on it, making shivers skitter down your spine.

Your mouth fell open and your eyes fluttered closed, giving yourself over to the feeling of his blunt fingertips stroking the sensitive skin behind your ear, his whole hand sliding back to hold you by the nape of your neck.

He could feel your excitement as you pulsed around his length, your hot center aching with need, stranded at the edge of your orgasm. His fingers slid into your hair, massaging at the roots until you let out a little hum of contentment. Your head dropped back, your neck stretched before him once again. Still begging for his attention.

This time, he mouthed at its graceful lines that flowed from your chin and jaw down to your collar bones and the slope of your shoulder. His lips left a trail of wet patches as he planted open-mouthed kisses all the way up, up... 

He found the sensitive patch of skin behind your ear and you gasped when he grazed it, shivers making you writhe and squirm on his lap. 

Finally, finally, he let your mouths meet again and your tongues twisted and swirled in a dizzying sort of dance. Head spinning like a carousel.

Eddie watched, silent and appraising, his gaze stern and hard. He kept his arms crossed in front of his chest, forcibly ignoring the insistent throb of his own cock in his pants. But when Steve’s other hand lifted from your other thigh and he cradled your face fully in his grasp to deepen the kiss, his strong brows drawn in concentration, not even Eddie could resist anymore. 

He palmed himself lightly, rubbing over the bulge in his jeans and along his zippered fly, grunting in approval at his toys putting on a good show.

The thought only made him that much harder.

[fic-dump-dotcom]

honey, i laugh when it sinks in ⟢

requests | masterlist

pairing : spencer reid x fem!reader

w/c : 3k

warnings : nsfw! explicit sexual content, light d/s dynamics, oral (f receiving), praise kink, mild spanking, orgasm denial-edging?, overstimulation, aftercare, softdom! spencer cause hell yeahhh, both spencer and reader are little shits

summary : reader gets turned on by spencer playing for the bau’s softball team. a few hits and some shameless eye-fucking later… yeah self control is out of the window!

a/n : this is my second attempt to write smut. had @feralforfrank proofread this!

Spencer had been fussing all week about what Derek had suggested to him.

“You’re gonna like this kid, I promise”

It echoed in his head like the set up to a very bad idea. He wasn’t made for that— playing any sport, let alone joining the BAU’s softball team.

He rambled all week about it— making you shut him up with a few kisses. Just enough to take his mind off it— and the ongoing case in Miami.

Now, standing at the edge of the field with the sun warming his face, Spencer’s nerves settled just a little— mostly because you were there.

You nudged him gently, a smile on your lips. He looked so hot today. Light purple shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows— exposing his hands. Your mouth practically frothed at the sight, but you tried to keep it cool. As if you weren’t in a room filled with the country’s best profilers.

“You got this Spence” you whispered, voice low enough for only him to hear.

“Only because you’re here” He smirked, gaze lingering on your lips just a little more than it should’ve.

Still made your stomach do flips.

You were so close to leaning forward— ready to steal a quick kiss, just a taste—until Derek shouted that it was time to play.

“Come on pretty boy, let’s kick some ass”

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, rolling his eyes but clearly grateful for the distraction. He gave your hand a quick squeeze before jogging off, glove tucked under one arm, curls bouncing with each step.

You watched him go, letting yourself stare at him for a moment too long. The way his shirt clung to his body, his back— and how he tried to tug the hem of it while it was still tucked under his pants. It made your heart throb in the best way.

With a soft sigh, you walked away from the field and onto the benches, sitting near the team.

Emily came closer to you, a devilish smile on her lips. “You gonna cheer him on, or keep undressing him with your eyes?”

Oh.

Oh, of course she noticed.

You gasped, swatting her arm playfully.

“Well, can’t I do both?”

“Fair enough” she chuckled, throwing her hands in defence.

The first inning passed in a blur of light heckling, scattered cheers, and way too many inside jokes flying around the dugout. Spencer stood out—not because he was particularly good, but because of how out-of-place-yet-endearing he looked trying to be good.

He swung the bat like it might break in his hands— and the first time the ball zipped past him, he gave Derek a puzzled look.

“You didn’t say it would be that fast” He muttered under his breath, pushing the fallen curls from his face.

“Come on, Spencer” Cheered the team from behind him, almost adding to his stress. But then he remembered— you were in the crowd as well.

With some miracle, and maybe your loud cheering— Spencer hit the ball on his second? third? try. The team erupted into cheers, while Derek ran to hug him tightly. He wore the biggest smile on his face like a dork— and god, you were falling for him all over again.

By the time the game was over, Spencer was red-faced, sweaty and the top buttons of his shirt were undone.

Dear lord.

You ran to him, a bottle of water in hand with a proud smile plastered on your face.

“You didn’t tell me you were secretly an athlete” you teased, handing the water to him.

He shook his head, breathing hard. “I’m not— my legs are going to fall off tomorrow”

“Still” you protested. “You were good, really good out there”

Fixing his posture, he inched closer to you. Smirking, his eyes flickered down your mouth again— with a little more intent.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were close again. The team was still lingering behind you, voices fading into the background. And maybe you meant to be good—but then his fingers brushed your wrist, warm and seeking, and you knew exactly where this was going the second you got him alone.

The minute you walked inside his apartment— the air shifted. It’s like both of you knew what would happen, even without saying a word.

Spencer was the first to speak, shutting the door behind you with a soft click. He stepped close, his slender fingers brushing a stray hair behind your ear— making you blush like a schoolgirl. Both of you felt the heat radiating between you, a magnetic pull neither of you could resist.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day” He murmured, voice low.

Your breath hitched, “Me too”

“Is that so, sweetheart?” He teased, knowing you’d been needy for him, especially during the game.

You bit your lip, eyes flickering up to meet his. “Maybe”

His smirk deepened as his hand slid down your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He traced soft— almost teasing circles on your skin, making you lose your mind. “You were staring at me the whole time, angel. You think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Well, you were pretty distracting” you admitted, voice dropping down a notch.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with something hungry, but tender. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go anywhere tonight”

He cupped your face, thumb brushing over your cheek, and you melted into the touch. The space between you shrank until there was nowhere left to hide— until you felt his lips against yours.

It was slow— gentle at first. As if he was testing the waters. But as soon as he deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth— it became sloppy, messy.

Breathless as you were, you pulled back— just enough to look at him. Pupils dilated, dark and deep, reflecting the same way you felt bubbling beneath your skin.

The air between you was definitely thick, electric, and utterly changed.

“You have no idea what you do to me, sweetheart” he whispered, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses on your neck— jawline, anywhere he could reach.

Your lips parted, a small whimper coming out from you as he kissed your sensitive skin. Your fingers found his shirt— tugging it.

“Show me” you breathed.

He paused his movements— only to kiss you with full force now, promising you everything and nothing at once.

Your hands were now tangled in his tousled hair— While he was guiding you backwards, slow steps until your knees hit the couch.

Your kisses weren’t gentle anymore. They were urgent, and consuming, his mouth hot against yours as his hands roamed your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

You barely had the time to gasp before he eased you down, one hand on your hip— pushing you down, while the other came to the side of your head, brushing the sweaty hair that clung to your forehead.

“Thought about this exact moment the entire time I tried to hit the ball” He murmured against your neck, earning a small moan from you.

His heat, the weight of his body— It was too much and not nearly enough at the same time.

“And now?” You asked, voice coming out choked up.

“I want you to say my name again, baby” he smiled against your skin, his hand sliding up your shirt.

His fingers grazed along your ribs as if he was memorising the feel of you.

You arched into his touch, a soft gasp escaping you as your hips instinctively shifted beneath him.

“Spencer” you whispered, breath shaky.

“That’s it” he praised, voice coming out barely above a whisper.

The hand on your hip tightened, grounding you as his other slipped beneath your bra—skin to skin now, and god, he was warm. Gentle, but firm. His thumb brushed over your nipple and you gasped again, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you fiercely, hungrily.

“This” He broke the kiss, tapping on your clothed chest— “has to go off”

You nodded, granting him permission to remove your shirt and bra. His touch was everywhere— Fingers brushing over your nipples at a slow, agonising pace while he kissed you fiercely.

He pulled back, breathless— only to focus his attention on your breasts. Lips pressing soft kisses that made you gasp and tugging your sensitive flesh till you writhed beneath him.

“You’re unreal” He spoke, voice strained.

You fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, growing more and more impatient— needing to feel his skin on yours. Once you’d pushed it off, your nails dragged lightly down his chest making him hiss.

''Need you'' you whispered, voice trembling.

“I’m right here, angel,” he said, eyes locked on yours, the sincerity in his voice making you throb in many, many places.

He ducked down to take one of your nipples into his mouth again, sucking gently while his hand teased the other—alternating between soft, open-mouthed kisses and just enough pressure to make you gasp.

And still, he took his time - like he wanted to savour every inch of you.

His lips trailed lower, till he found your clothed— and aching cunt. He let out a soft chuckle, seeing how you squirmed underneath him. You needed some friction, some relief. And he was a little shit teasing you.

“So eager” He tsked, his index finger sliding down the waistband of your pants. “You’ve been worked up since the first inning haven’t you, baby?”

You let out a sound— more like a whine mixed with a whimper. Hips arching in his touch, your voice came out strained— but trying to warn him.

“Spence, please”

You could beg all you want, he thought. Teasing you was his favourite new game.

He kissed the inside of your thighs, through the soft fabric of your pants, then nipped gently— enough to make you jolt. “Patience” he teased, fingers dipping inside the waistband, and finally pulling them down.

Slowly. Excruciatingly slow.

He peeled your pants down— gaze locked to the damp spot on your underwear.

“Oh,” he exhaled, soft breath hitting your aching clit. “Look what I do to you”

You were about to reply, something equally snarky and desperate— but he mouthed over your clothed core, hot breath and the barest pressure making you cry out.

“That’s not nearly enough, right baby?” He cooed mockingly, thumb coming along to tease on the edge of your underwear.

“Please” you moaned, hands flying to his curls.

That was all he needed. He rolled your underwear down, pressing a soft kiss to your knee when he spread you open again.

“It’s okay, I got you” he soothed, soft lips coming up to kiss your hot clit. Then finally— finally his tongue flattened against you, in a slow, devastating circle.

It almost made you see stars.

You let out tiny whimpers— ohs and ahhs filling up the room as he licked you.

“Use your words for me, angel girl. Come on” he murmured against your soaked cunt, his voice coming out sweet— like a promise.

“Need you,” you said, voice soft and breathy.

You were panting, back arching as he continued to kiss and lick you with maddening precision. His voice sent chills down your spine.

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart”

You whimpered, barely able to form any coherent sentences. But he didn’t stop— he just slowed down, tongue gentler now.

“Spencer— Oh—“ you moaned, hips jerking.

His hands found your stomach, holding you firmly down the couch.

“No, baby that’s not enough” He warned you, lips moving from your cunt and pressing featherlight kisses to your inner thigh.

You blinked, lips trembling as you struggled to speak. “I need you inside me” You finally spoke, voice thin and wrecked. “Need to feel you”

That stopped him in his tracks.

His eyes snapped up to meet yours, darker than before— and pupils were blown. You watched as his throat bobbed, swallowing hard as if he was trying to keep it together.

“Yeah? he asked, wanting nothing more but to give you what you needed.

“Is that what you want, angel? Me inside you?” He said in a sultry voice— fingers caressing your skin, till they ran up and down your folds— spreading you open just how you liked.

“F-Fuck” You whispered, breath picking up.

“Language” He snapped, one finger pushing inside you with little to no warning.

You cried out, hips bucking as he inserted another finger inside you, stretching you out.

“Spence—“ You gasped, thighs trembling as his fingers curled just right inside you.

''Thought you wanted my cock, angel'' he drawled, a tinge of mockery in his tone. ''Can't even handle my fingers''

You clenched around him at that, which he noticed. He noticed every twitch of your body - every stuttering breath you took even if he was being a condescending asshole.

He could feel you getting closer, moans becoming a little louder as his thumb came on your clit, rubbing circles.

But then,

Then he pulled back. He removed his fingers, noticing how your head immediately shot up from the couch.

You gasped, muttering his name while your eyes widened with disbelief. ''Why did you-''

He just smirked, slow and dangerous as he removed his pants and boxers as well.

“Need to hear you beg properly” He whispered, “Thought you were being a little bratty, hm? Don’t you think, sweetheart?”

You blinked at him— cheeks flushed, lips parted. But the defiance in your gaze was still there.

“You’re evil” You whined, hands darting out to bring him closer to you. Your legs closed instinctively— nails digging softly into his shoulders.

He stopped you— pulling back just to spread your legs again, wide and open for him.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he whispered, pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance, “But I need you to behave, alright my love?”

Your body practically buzzed under his touch—hot, stretched, aching. And your pride didn’t stand a chance.

“I’ll behave” you whispered, breathless.

He raised an eyebrow like he didn’t quite believe you.

Then he pushed in— slow, deliberate. Like he wanted you to feel every inch. He hiked up your leg higher, so he could push inside you. You gasped— hands flying to his back, digging in.

“Oh my god— baby” You moaned, feeling him everywhere. It stung— but it didn’t hurt.

“Fuck” he groaned, pulling out just to sink deeper inside you now. “You’re so tight, sweetheart”

He gave you just a moment to adjust before he started moving, hips rolling into yours with a rhythm that made your whole body arch. You were gasping already, moaning his name like a prayer—until your hips rolled up just a little too eagerly to meet his next thrust.

He stilled his movements.

You blinked at him— confused until his hand came down hard on your ass with a loud smack.

You yelped, body jolting as the sting bloomed warm across your skin.

“Spence—!“

“I said behave, baby,” He said, his hand now rubbing soothing circles on the skin he’d marked— making your eyes sting with tears of frustration.

He chuckled darkly against your shoulder, pressing a kiss there—soft, maddeningly gentle. “That was for lying,” he said simply. He pushed inside you again, this time a little slower— gentler than before. One hand anchored your thigh, while the other came to cradle your cheek, thumb wiping any excess of tears that had threatened to fall out.

“Atta girl” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours as he fucked you deeper, harder. “You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes again, and you tried to breathe— it was all too much. Not from the pain, but from feeling so full— so,

His.

You moaned his name, back arching— but not enough for him to punish you again. He wouldn’t do it now.

“You close?”

You nodded frantically, feeling the familiar heat pool inside your belly— making your muscles contract.

“Please—“ You cried out, clenching around him.

“Let go for me, baby, shh”

His thumb trailed down your body till he found your clit again— bringing you to the edge. It took you a little longer than you thought— but your body finally surrendered to his gentle but filthy ministrations.

Spencer rode you through your orgasm, chasing his high as well. When you cried out from the overstimulation, he slowed down— trying to soothe you before he pulled out.

Slumping on the couch beside you, he pressed a kiss on your forehead— silently praising you.

He looked down at you, eyes soft but his lips twitching with that familiar nervous energy.

“You know,” he started, voice low but hesitant, “did you know that the average human heart beats about 100,000 times a day?” He glanced up, waiting for your reaction.

You blinked, trying not to laugh as you caught his slight flush.

“Well, after all this,” he said, “mine’s probably done, like, ten thousand extra beats just now.”

He smiled shyly. “Which technically means, um, sex is good cardio? So I guess I just got my workout in.”

You shut him up with another kiss, making him chuckle against your lips.

“Did so good for me, angel” He whispered, caressing your back. “let me take care of you now”

He pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

Eyes fluttering shut, you didn’t notice him moving around the apartment. He wore loose pants, shirtless— cloth in his hand. You swore you were dreaming, until the damp cloth hit your sensitive core, and you flinched from the touch.

“Shh, it’s okay. Just me, just wanna clean you up” He cooed, rubbing your thigh soothingly.

You let out a shaky breath, melting into his careful touch despite the sensitivity. His fingers traced slow circles on your hip as the warm cloth glided over your skin, wiping away the evidence of your shared heat.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice soft like a lullaby.

When he finished, he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, then pulled you even closer—body pressed to body, skin to skin.

“Can I stay like this for a while?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Always,” Spencer promised, fingers threading through your hair as you drifted into a peaceful quiet, wrapped up safe in each other.

[fic-dump-dotcom]

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 & 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫

Pairing: Spencer Reid x femBAU!reader x Chip Taylor. Category: smut 18+ MDNI  Summary: Pining after your coworker is a difficult thing, but you’re a bona fide professional. No hooking up with colleagues. As fate would have it, a case brings you to Louisiana, where you meet a man who looks frighteningly similar to one Dr. Spencer Reid and, well, the locals aren’t off limits, right? Except, Dr. Reid discovers your rendezvous, and you find yourself dealing with more than you bargained for. Content: 7.5k words, porn with some plot, reader is horny and pervy (she’s ovulating guys it’s not her fault), reader wears a skirt, mentions of smoking, semi-public fingering, jealous!post prison!Spencer, PROBABLY OOC!!!, dom!Spencer, sub!reader, Chip is just there for the ride, dirty talk, threesome, edging, blow jobs, reader has a massive fucking praise kink, slight degradation (reader gets called needy and a slut but like, lovingly), spitroast, unprotected p in v, reader cries and Chip thinks it’s pretty, creampie, cum shot, slight overestimulation, POV changes without warning, aftercare because they adore reader so much. A/N: Finally sat tf down and finished this. I’m heading into finals season and won’t be online as much, so I hope this makes up for the forthcoming absence; I figured I’d post it since I’ve been teasing it for so long. Don’t ask me the color of anything, I’m certain I blacked out while writing this. Most likely OOC but it’s hot so… I hope that forgives it. This was a request. I hope it’s to your liking, Eliza.

The universe must be playing you for a fool. Truly. How else do you explain this forced proximity—being paired off to interview potential witnesses, and then later having to share a room with the one man you shouldn’t be trusted alone with? 

Louisiana is humid this time of year, and after having spent the day walking around the sleepy streets of the small town that have called for your help, Spencer has retreated into the shower of your shared motel room to wash the day off.

You’ve left the room; you don’t trust that you wouldn’t do anything stupid while he’s in there. Like trying to sniff his dirty clothes. Or worse, try to join him in the shower. 

The thought makes your face flush, sweat trickling down the back of your neck tauntingly. A reminder of your lecherous thoughts. With a groan, you pace around the parking area, and when that doesn’t alleviate your restlessness, you walk through the perimeter of the motel as well. It’s a tiny town, this had been their only place of accommodation. Not that you mind, of course, you’re not really picky. A place to rest your head is all you need.

Rounding to the back is where you see him, leaning against the wall in a denim jacket. Curls haphazardly arranged over his forehead. Jesus Christ, why is he here? 

“I thought you were showering?”

The man looks up, startled, and that’s when you notice the cigarette hanging from between his lips.

“When the hell did you start smoking?” you ask, cocking your head to the side. How strange. Even his clothes. You had never pegged Spencer to be a denim on denim kind of guy, even on casual days.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, but since I was seventeen.”

It’s here that you detect your mistake. His accent. Not as strong as Will’s, who you’ve met on a few occasions with JJ, but the unmistakable drawl is there, urging you to look closer. This man’s eyes are darker, his cheeks somehow more gaunt than your coworker’s, the stubble on his jaw more prominent. His hair is shorter too, reminding you of Spencer from a few years ago. But other than that, he looks nearly identical.

“Hey, miss, you alright?” He takes a tentative step closer, brows furrowing in the exact same way Spencer’s does when he’s confused.

You squeak and shuffle back, eyes wide.

“Okay, okay,” the man lifts his hands in apology, chuckling lightly, “God, I thought you’d be tougher, carrying around a gun like that.”

Your hand automatically rests on the gun at your holster, something familiar to keep your panic at bay. However, he seems to mistake it as a defensive move, because he steps away from you, both hands still in the air.

“Whoa, hey, hey, easy—”

“Sorry,” your voice returns, breathless from confusion. You hold your hands up as well, showing him you’re harmless, “Sorry, no, I wasn’t gonna—I’m sorry. You just remind me of someone, is all.”

He seems wary, but he lets one arm fall to his side, while the other lifts the cigarette from his mouth, “The one takin’ a shower?”

“Yeah,” you let out a soft chuckle, tucking your hair behind your ears, “Yeah, my colleague.”

“Ah,” he nods, something lighting up in his eyes, “You’re the fancy police that arrived this morning.”

“We are,” you look at him, marveling at how much he looks like Spencer, “My god, you’re nearly identical.”

“Must be a handsome guy, then.” The man smirks, boyish and lovely, and you see he even has dimples too, though they’re a little lower than Spencer’s.

You feel your cheeks warm at that, “He—uh, I guess you can say that.” So handsome you want to jump him at every opportunity. 

The man laughs, venturing another step closer. This time, you relax enough to let him. 

“What’s his name, then, this handsome coworker?”

“I—I don’t know if that’s any of your business.” you say, raising a brow at him.

He shrugs, another chuckle leaving his lips. You find that you like his laugh. It’s carefree, light. “All right, fair point. What’s yours?”

Your teeth catch your lower lip for a moment, before you relent and give him your name. 

“Pretty name for a pretty lady,” he tips his head, “I’m Chip Taylor.”

“Chip. It’s nice to meet you.” you reply, leaning on the plaster wall, “Mind if I keep you company?”

“I’d never say no to a pretty woman,” he says, offering his cigarette. You shake your head, already imagining Spencer’s spiel about the effects of nicotine, and how secondhand smoke is just as bad, if not worse. 

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs, taking a long drag. You can’t help but watch his lips wrap around the end, the way they purse together to blow out the smoke. He looks so much like Spencer. It’s easy to imagine those lips as Spencer’s lips, puckering for a kiss…

“Hey, you still with me?” he’s laughing, a light and teasing sound. 

You feel warmth on your cheeks, looking away, “Yeah.”

Too late. He seems to have caught your staring, the single minded focus your eyes had on his lips, “See something you like, pretty girl?”

You huff, eyes flitting back up to glance at him. Relaxed, with an easy going smile on his face. And he looks like Spencer. 

If you can’t have your coworker, then the next best thing is this handsome stranger, right? This doppelganger, who the universe seems to have dropped upon your lap as an apology. Besides, you’ll be gone after the case wraps. You’ll never see him again. The perfect hook up. 

Your lips curve up, “Matter of fact, I did.”

His smile turns cocky, voice lowering to one laced with seduction, “Is that right?”

“Mhm,” you tilt your head to the side, lashes fluttering as he steps closer, caging you against the wall, “Just wondering what those lips would feel in other places.”

Chip tosses the cigarette to the ground, “Well, baby, you don’t have to wonder.”

His lips are on you in an instant, every glide against yours firm and sure. You’re forced to follow, mouth yielding to his, parting to open and accept the press of his tongue. A whimper is swallowed by his eager mouth, and his hand comes up to cradle your face, tilt your head back. His tongue pushes farther, the acrid, smoky taste of his marlboro reds filling your mouth. Your moans barely make it out of your mouth, muffled immediately by his breathtaking kiss. You’re first to pull away, panting heavily for breath. 

His mouth travels down, leaving moist kisses along your jaw. Rough stubble scratches at your skin, but the sensation only sends shivers tingling across your spine. “Your fancy FBI man won’t take care of you, huh?” he whispers against your jaw, “Don’t worry baby, I got you.”

“I don’t have too long,” you mumble breathlessly, leaning back on the wall as he unbuttons the top of your blouse. 

He chuckles, “Won’t need too long.” cocky words, but spoken with surprising tenderness. Your thighs clench in response. He abandons your blouse, the first three buttons undone, just enough to expose your collarbone and the tops of your chest. His hands find your skirt instead, tugging it up over your thighs. “Can I?”

“Yeah, please.” 

A chuckle, and then a kiss to your throat. “So fucking polite.” 

Chip’s hand finds the soaked fabric of your panties, running two fingers over them. A soft, croaky laugh leaves his lips when he makes contact with your arousal, and he latches on your collarbone. Teeth nips at the skin, before they are replaced by lips that suck rough and demanding, all while his fingers locate your clit through the lace. You moan as he laves your skin with kisses and his fingers rub soft little circles on your needy center.

“So fucking wet, baby,” he cooes, finally pushing your panties to the side. He chuckles when he feels your hot core, folds and entrance completely dripping, “Jesus, what a needy little thing. Don’t worry, I got you.”

And he does. As if he’s taking your time crunch into consideration, he teases at your entrance only briefly, and slides a finger past it. Your  pussy swallows the digit without problem, and it disappears inside you to the knuckle. 

He chuckles, “There you go,” he adds another finger, stretching you perfectly, then dips down to kiss your collarbone again, as though intent on leaving a mark there. You’re relieved he’s giving you a hickey somewhere you can easily conceal by clothes. 

You clench around his fingers as they pump in and out of you, throwing your head back as your moan fills the humid evening air. “Need more.” “Yeah? Not just needy huh, greedy too.” he chuckles, crooking his fingers as they are buried deep inside your pussy. It hits your g-spot perfectly, sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body.

“God, yes!” you gasp, arms tightening around his neck. You lean into him with a whine, moving your hips to match the pace of his fingers, “Yes, just like that, Chip.”

“I gotcha, baby, I gotcha.” he murmurs, his voice sweet as he wraps his free arm around you. Held to his chest as he slides a third finger inside your pussy. It’s a snug fit, what with his long, thick fingers, and you’re stretched so deliciously you can’t help but moan again. You’re thankful for his arm around your waist, as your knees are shaking, ready to give out as he increases the pace of his fingers.

“Fuck, yes!” you moan, biting into his clothed shoulder.  You hear him chuckle, and his thumb presses into your clit, adding another source of pleasure for you. “Chip!”

“Yeah? I can feel you clenching baby, you’re close, aren’t you?”

“Mhm hmm,” you nod, trying to breathe, trying to maintain some semblance of yourself, but everything is him. The smell of Marlboro reds and leather mixed with his sweat. It’s all so very hot, heady, your body pressed into a motel’s dingy walls by a handsome stranger and his familiar face, with three fingers buried deep inside your fluttering cunt. 

“God, baby, can feel how tight you are,” he murmurs, pushing you harder into the wall. It gives him more leverage to increase both the speed and impact of his digits, pumping them into you deliberately, “What I’d give to feel this sweet pussy around my cock.”

That’s it. Words. Words tip you over the edge, not his fingers, not the tongue running over your ear, but those nasty words being uttered under his breath, into your ear. You groan, shuddering in his arms as your orgasm hits you. He continues to finger you, thumb rubbing figure eights on your clit, slowly helping you come down from your high. 

“That’s it baby,” he pulls back slightly to watch your face, grinning as he takes you in. You’d been so lovely when he first laid eyes on you, put together and rigid, but now you’ve come undone in more ways than one. Completely dishevelled, skirt askew, shirt half unbuttoned. “Goddamn, you’re so pretty like this.”

You hum, smiling back at him as he slowly pulls his fingers out. They glisten even in the dim light, completely sticky with your cum. You can’t stop the gasp when he brings those fingers up to your mouth. Taking advantage of that, he pushes his index finger past your parted lips. 

Your eyes flutter closed as you take it in, sucking on the digit as he pushes it deep into your mouth. The salty, bitter taste of yourself explodes in your mouth. His chuckle hits your ears, and you open your eyes to meet his heady gaze again.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers out with a pop. He licks and sucks on the other two fingers, smirking at the dazed look in your eyes. “You know, when that case of yours is done, come find me.”

“How will I know where you are?”

“I’m usually at the bar, babe,” he helps you button your shirt, his movements deft and gentle, “”And if I’m not, just ask old Deb, the bartender. She’ll give me a call.”

You understand what’s happening. Not even bothering to give you his number. It’s just a hookup, nothing more. Honestly, it’s what you need too, so you grin, “Deal. I’ll see you around, then.”

After helping you straighten up, he leans in to give you one last kiss. “I’ll see you around, pretty girl.”

Spencer is pacing along your room when you return, his hair still weighed down by the water and curling at the ends. It makes you pause, seeing him in a plain t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, looking so much like the man from the alley that you felt another burst of heat at your core.

“Where on earth were you?”

“Out.” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can.

“You’ve been gone for nine minutes and eighteen seconds,” he frowns, “But that’s not even counting the time I was in the bathroom.”

Your cheeks flush at the realization that you’d met a dude, hooked up with him, and came around his fingers in such a short amount of time. Under fifteen minutes. God, that’s a little pathetic.

“I just needed some fresh air, Spencer,” you say placatingly, ignoring the frown on his face as you brush past him. You rummage through your go bag quickly, finding the sleepwear you’ve brought with you, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna take my shower.”

You wash away the trances of Chip from your body, letting the water cool your heated skin and drag the scent of cigarette smoke away, down down down the drain. After getting dressed, you pad back into the room, where Spencer is bent over his bed, poring over the case file. At the sound of your shuffling footsteps, he looks up, eyes narrowing but staying silent. The intensity of his gaze makes you want to shrink back. It's an obvious scrutiny, cold, a look that is meant to cast judgement upon you. 

You smile at him and get to your bed. Wet hair and all.

The case resolves within the next few days, a conclusion so comically mundane in comparison to the severity of the crimes. Arrested in his home while he's mowing his lawn. With the search warrant, it had been easy to sweep the house and find evidence of the stalking, and the trophies he had kept of his victims.

Throughout the case, Spencer had been keeping an eye on you. Ever since you returned that one evening smelling of cigarettes and sweat, he’d been suspicious. The small, purple mark that poked through your tank top that same night simply raised his senses even more. Judging by the color, it’s new. He’s suspicious, wondering what the hell you’d gotten into while he was showering.

So when you tell Emily that you won’t be flying back with the rest of the team, he perks up. Once again, he doesn’t say anything to you, but he does make an excuse as well, telling Emily he liked Louisiana enough to spend more time there.

Emily had looked at him with the same suspicion he regards you with, but ultimately allowed him to stay. 

It was easy enough to follow you (okay, so he enlisted the help of Garcia, offering to help her organize her office in exchange for her sworn secrecy), which is how he finds himself inside a seedy bar in the outskirts of the small town.

The heat is  even more oppressive inside, a humidity that seems to press in from all sides. Spencer makes quick work of the scene, locating your figure with such an ease that one would think his eyes are magnetically drawn to you regardless of the circumstances. All of his suspicions are confirmed when he catches sight of the tall man leaning into your space, a hand resting on your hip. 

Your body language, even from afar, tells Spencer that this isn’t the first time you’ve met this other man. That this is okay, encouraged even. He watches with narrowed eyes, hidden in plain sight amidst other bar regulars, as you lean into this stranger’s touch, how his fingers slip and settle upon the skin under your shirt. Such a casual assertion of  familiarity. The heat that unfurls in his chest surprises him. 

It’s ridiculous. You’re not together. He has no ground to stand on, no real reason to ask you to leave. Yet here he stands, fighting against the urge to tear you away from this other man’s grasp. Stupid. What had been his goal, coming here? Following you? Now that he knows you’re staying to hook up, what is he supposed to do? Obviously, he can’t try to change your mind. You’re a grown woman, after all, and completely single at that. It shouldn’t matter what you do during your free time. The case is wrapped up, who is he to judge you for however you want to celebrate that?

His feet refuse to move. 

Unfortunately for him, he’s hovering right around the doors—which serve as both entrance and exit—so when the man leads you away from the counter, the collision is inevitable.

And for a moment, Spencer Reid’s world seemed to stop. Not out of jealousy or betrayal (which he, admittedly, is nurturing somewhere in his chest), but from sheer bewilderment.

Because the man you’re leaving with is identical to him.

“Spence!” your voice is uncharacteristically high when you see him, eyes wide with panic.

The strange man looks between you and Spencer, lips pulling into an easy smile, “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding. We really do look alike.”

Spencer is rooted on the spot. Genius mind, astronomically high IQ, none of them seem to matter when he realizes that you’re leaving, most likely to sleep with, a man who looks exactly like him. 

“This is why you stayed back?” Spencer tries not to sound accusatory, he really does, and when you flinch at his tone, he softens immediately, “You—you don’t even know this man.”

“That’s kind of the point,” you reply, meeting his gaze squarely, “It’s just a one time thing and it’s not like he’s a total stranger. I met him before.” 

Something in Spencer’s chest clenched as he watches you shuffle closer into the other man’s side, bodies flush.

Why him, he wants to scream, why sleep with someone who looks like me instead of just me?

Before he can articulate his thoughts into more acceptable words, you’re already rambling.

“This is Chip. It’s nothing serious, really, just you know, physical. I’ll be completely safe with him, I promise, I know it sounds stupid but—”

“Let me come with.”

Spencer doesn’t even realize that the words came from him, until he catches the look of confusion and surprise on your faces.

The other man, Chip, whistles in amusement, joining the conversation for the first time. His eyes glint in the lowlights of the bar, darting between Spencer and you, “To watch or to join?”

Spencer straightens, ignoring the drumming in his ears. He trains his eyes on you, ignoring the other man, as he answers, “To join. You’re not the only one who needs release after that case.” 

You sputter, indignant and disbelieving, “J—join? Are you serious? Spence—”

He narrows his eyes, “What, afraid you can’t handle it?” There. Posed as a challenge, he knows you well enough to know that you’d never back down.

“Of course I can.”

Hook, line and sinker.

“But,” you turn to Chip, brows furrowed in concern, “Are you okay with this? It’s not exactly what we originally planned.”

Chip only smiles, “The more the merrier. Just as long as you’re sure you can handle it, baby.”

Spencer isn’t sure what he wants you to say. Stuck in some sort of limbo, he’s prepared for either option—to go to the motel alone, or to participate in an impromptu threesome with his beautiful co worker and a stranger who bears his face.

When you agree, he lets out a breath, unsure of whether it’s dread or relief.

The walk to the motel is inevitably awkward, almost businesslike. Talk of birth control and STDs—Chip assure you both that he’s clean, you tell them you’re on birth control. It must be a weird conversation to overhear from an outsider’s perspective. Once inside the room, Spencer finds himself oddly at ease. Level headed and calm, he closes and locks the door while the stranger, now identified as Chip Taylor, sinks into one of the motel chairs with a lightness that reminds Spencer of his own younger self. 

“C’mere, baby,” Chip says to you, patting his lap enticingly. 

Wide eyed and disoriented, you look at Spencer. His brows raise, taking in the shadows that seem to plague your cheeks, the confused expression on your face. “Well?”

You bite your lip, glancing at Chip who’s an open invitation, legs spread and smiling easily, before your eyes inevitably return to Spencer. Almost as if asking for permission. 

Oh. 

“Go ahead then.”

That’s all you needed to cross over the room and stand between Chip's thighs. Words. Spencer’s words, spoken so clearly they cut through the heady tension of the room. His instructions. Spencer is powerless to stop the smirk playing at his lips when he realizes.

Chip doesn’t miss it either. He laughs, good natured and teasing, “I see how it is, pretty girl.” His kisses on your neck are soft, slow, clearly taking his time getting you worked up, “Good thing I’m not the jealous type.”

Spencer finds himself shifting, pants beginning to feel tight as he catches sight of a pale pink tongue darting out, dragging over the hollow of your throat. Chip’s hands tug at your skirt, the fabric descending down your thighs and legs until they pool on the floor. Both men’s eyes admire your legs with openly hungry gazes, pinning you frozen on Chip’s lap. Your underwear follows, a scrap of lace landing on top of the twill, shockingly, scandalously red against black. 

Chip shifts, arms straining as he rearranges you on his lap so that you’re straddled over his thighs, but facing Spencer. You let him, completely pliant in his arms. You can’t decide if your cheeks are burning from embarrassment or desire. Spencer’s eyes are wide, nearly black as he takes you in, your spread legs revealing an already glistening pussy.

“Why don’t we show Dr. Reid right here how you like to be touched, huh?” Chip murmurs, rough pads of his fingers making gentle circles on your clit. Your neck arches back, head slotting perfectly on the crook of Chip’s shoulder. Your mouth parts ever so slightly, a rosebud on the cusp if bloom, emitting soft sighs of pleasure.

The sight makes Spencer stagger onto the bed, chest rapidly rising and falling as he takes in the scene in front of him. Inappropriate. No, it goes beyond that, he’s sure there’s at least twenty rules he’s crossing right now, social boundaries and work rules. Somewhere in the back of his cloudy mind, he thinks this is headed towards sexual deviance, but the years of training and his eidetic memory are no match for how utterly arresting this is.

He can’t tear his eyes away from the smooth line of your neck, the goosebumps on your bare arms and thighs as this other man—Chip—plays with the slick folds between your thighs. Completely enthralled as two long fingers find your entrance and push into it. Knuckle deep, Chip twists his fingers the same way he had done a few days ago, an action that has you letting out the most pornographic sounds.

Unable to help himself, Spencer’s palm presses into his crotch, palming his erection through his trousers. For the first time, one of his sounds join the twisted melody of the room, a soft groan escaping from his lips as a result of the delicious friction  from his hand. The sound seems to excite you, as you squirm in Chip’s arms. Your head lifts from Chip’s shoulder, hazy eyes focusing just enough to meet Spencer’s gaze. 

Chip laughs, “I think the lady wants you,” he tells Spencer.

Spencer stares at you, eyes dark, feeling petty, of all fucking things. “Does she? She seems perfectly content right there,” he raises a brow, “Aren’t you, sweetheart?” The nickname is spoken with such cloying sweetness it makes you flinch.

The cool haughtiness of his tone doesn’t escape you. It’s a struggle to sit up a little straighter, seem a little more respectable (how do you even achieve that when they’re being fingered right in front of their coworker?), but really you’re just trying to get a better glimpse of Spencer. 

The sight that greets you doesn’t disappoint. There he is, Spencer Reid, your normally calm coworker, sitting on the edge of the bed, fondling his obvious erection through his trousers. You moan again, walls clamping hard around Chip’s fingers.

“Is that right?” Chip’s teeth nip at your earlobe, his breath hot and smelling of whiskey, “See, I’m not a jealous man, babe, but I think Dr. Reid’s a little different.” He crooks his fingers, hitting that sweet spot inside, and you squirm in his lap. Ruthlessly, Chip continues the pace, pumping his fingers in and out while he murmurs in your ear so casually one would think he’s simply exchanging pleasantries with someone on the street. “I think he’s a little upset that you went out of your way to find me, and that we’ve shared something real special a few days ago. I think he wants his share of you too, baby, and I know I’m making you feel real good, but  you don’t want him to feel left out, do you?”

“N-no, I don’t.” your voice sounds foreign. Is this really you, breathless and nearly pornographic?

“Of course not,” Chip coos, “Because you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” You clench tightly around his fingers. He laughs, grinding the palm of his hand to your clit while his fingers work your walls relentlessly.

“You’re so close, huh? Can feel you clenching.”

And then the pressure is gone, so quickly you’re left in confusion. Blinking rapidly, you look at Chip with a wounded expression, which only makes him grin.

“No cumming yet, baby, the night’s still young.” he kisses the tip of your nose, a tender move amidst the wanton craziness happening, “Now, go and give poor Dr. Reid some attention.”

Spencer has been silent this entire time, eyes regarding you with an intensity that feels as though it’s sinking into every pore of your skin. Even with Chip’s steadying hands on your waist, you stumble as you climb off his lap and cross the short space over to your coworker. Strangely, your heart’s drumming in your chest, and you’re suddenly unsure of what to do. Chip had been easy—eager to start, lavishing you with so much attention you didn’t really have to do anything but take it. 

Spencer… Well, you don’t even know what Spencer is like one on one, much less right now when the presence of a third person hangs heavy in the room. Much less when he’s like this—jealous, was that what Chip had said? In your fantasies, Spencer is thorough and attentive, honey eyes full of unadulterated adoration.

Right now, he’s staring at you with a mixture of lust and haughty disdain.

And heaven forbid, it’s making you even wetter.

“You like that, huh?” he says finally, so softly you have to strain to hear him, “Like being touched by some stranger?”

“Yeah.”

Hands splay over your thighs, and you can distinctly tell the difference between his touch and Chip’s. Spencer’s is softer, certain calluses formed at specific points from writing with a pen and holding a gun, but otherwise, his fingertips are smooth. They sink into your flesh with ease. You gasp at the strength, not expecting such a display. Chip’s hands may be rougher, but Spencer holds onto you with the intention to possess—unyielding and firm. 

It’s gone just as quickly.

“Get on your knees.” he says.

Oh, shit. Without needing to be told twice, you kneel in front of him. Behind you, you hear Chip’s carefree chuckle, and your cheeks burn. You like this, some sick voice in your head whispers, and you flush even more, the warmth spreading down your chest. 

“God,” Spencer hisses. You watch as he undoes his pants, and his cock springs free. It’s already bright red, viscous liquid leaking from the tip, evidence that your little performance with Chip had gotten to whom you had assumed is an impassive coworker. Almost automatically, your hand wraps around the base, stroking up.

A low, throaty laugh escapes Spencer’s mouth, “Oh, sweetheart, you’re just so eager, huh?” his hips buck into your hand, head thrown back, curls hanging off his head haphazardly. “Use your mouth, come on you know you want to.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You lean in, alarmingly hasty, dragging your tongue along the underside of his shaft. He lets out a groan, so you continue, licking his length teasingly, before moving to the tip. Your tongue swirls around the swollen head, collecting the salty precum and gliding back and forth over the tip. It twitches against your tongue, an affirmation that what you’re doing feels good.

Peeking up from beneath your lashes, you make sure Spencer’s eyes are focused on you. For a second, you simply look at him, your own eyes blazing with desire and confidence, every single notion of embarrassment seems to have been expelled from your person. And then you wrap your lips around the tip. 

Spencer’s eyes slip shut, head thrown back as you suck at the head of his cock while your hand pumps up and down the rest of his length. His hands come to your hair, tucking the strands back with his long fingers. In response, you work his cock deeper into your mouth, cheeks hollowing out as you continue to suck. Another moan joins the wet sounds of your union, but Spencer is in a breathless, silent daze.

Chip has taken things upon himself, stroking his cock as he watches you give head to his lookalike. “Goddamn, this is surreal.” he chuckles, craning his neck for a better view, “Like a mirror, but not quite.”

Spencer manages to reply, looking down at you, “Mhm. A mirror—ah—that’s right, she’s just eager for some cock. Weren’t you?”

“Wanted yours specifically.” Chip points out through a breathy moan.

“Yeah?” Spencer tugs your hair, forcing your head back so he can look more clearly into your eyes. His cock twitches at the sight of you—cheeks hollowed, eyes watering from how deep he’s making you take him— and he smirks, “Wanted me so bad you would fuck a random stranger just because he looked like me, huh? That’s how low you would go, sweetheart?” 

You moan around his length, unable to answer. It sends vibrations up his spine, and you feel his cock pulsing as it rests heavily against your tongue. Bringing up a hand, you cup his balls in your palm, adding another layer of stimulation for your coworker.

“That’s enough.” Roughly, he tugs you away from his crotch, “Get on the bed.”

You stay kneeling for another moment, trying to catch your breath, but then Spencer hauls you by your hips and tosses you unceremoniously on the bed. You squeak as you bounce on it, clutching the sheets to steady yourself.

“H-how do you want me?” you ask, voice hoarse and meek. How embarrassing. 

“Hands and knees.”

Chip lets out a whistle as he approaches, “Am I allowed in on the fun, bossman?” he grins at Spencer, completely undeterred by the resemblance. In his mind, there’s a stunning woman who wants to be pleasured, and he’s more than willing to help out, weirdness be damned. 

“Sure,” Spencer says, undoing the buttons on his shirt and tossing it somewhere on the floor, “She said it herself, didn’t she? She can take us both.”

Your gaze travels between them alternatively, watching as they both strip off their clothes and reveal more and more skin. Chip’s blue collar lifestyle once again bears witness in the lines of his body, lean muscles obviously honed from working with his hands. Spencer’s arms are wiry, but his stomach is softer, skin paler from always being in long sleeved button downs.  

You scramble to your hands and knees, your head near the edge from where Chip stands. Meanwhile, Spencer settles beside you, sitting down and cupping the swell of your ass with one hand. Two fingers slide into your pussy. With a quick curl, Spencer finds that sensitive part within your walls, fingertips dragging against it as he thrusts his fingers in and out. 

“God, he wasn’t kidding,” Spencer murmurs, brows knit as he marvels at how soaked you are, “You really are needy. One man wasn’t enough for you, huh? Got yourself worked up over the thought of taking two cocks?”

He’s right, you realize. You’re eating up the attention, arms and thighs shaking not from the strain of holding yourself up, but from anticipation. 

“Y-yes,” you manage to reply, squirming from his assault. You’re pulled taunt, desperate to come, having been denied by Chip earlier.

“You’re just a dirty little slut, aren’t you?” Spencer’s harsh words are tempered by the soft coo of his voice. He doesn't wait for a response, adding a third finger. It stretches you out deliciously, and pulls a breathless cry from your lips. His fingers fill your walls, finding a rhythm that has you mewling as he assails your g-spot with quick movements. Spencer chuckles, marveling at how prettily your pussy flutters around his digits, “Such a needy, needy girl. Don't worry, we'll take care of you.”

Never, in your entire career, have you heard Spencer speak this way. There’s something exhilarating about it, allowing yourself to be at mercy. Complete submission turns you on, apparently, and so does degradation. Being confronted with this fact makes you moan, tightening around his fingers in response. 

“Needy and obedient.” Chip agrees. He’s been surveying the scene with that easy smirk, as though debating the best way to join. You help him make a decision by opening your mouth. He chuckles, cupping your jaw, thumb running over your bottom lip. “And so pretty.” he murmurs before pressing his thumb flat on your tongue. Immediately, you close your mouth around it and begin to suck.

“That's it,” Chip chuckles, eyes dark as he takes you in, “You just like having your holes filled, don't you baby?”

At that, you feel a sudden emptiness at your core, Spencer having pulled out his fingers, “Course she does.”

At your muffled whine of protest, your coworker laughs, “See, your pussy already misses being stuffed.”

Immediately, you feel movement behind you. Slick, warm thighs position against the backs of your own. The bed dips from his weight, and Spencer's unmistakable erection presses into your ass. You feel it pass through your folds, the blunt tip collecting your slick, sending shivers of pleasure in the process. 

Eyes flutter close. Something thick and burning unfurls deep inside you, simultaneously in your chest and the pit of your stomach. 

“Ah, ah,”Chip pats your cheek gently, “Open your eyes, pretty girl.”

With a muffled whimper, you obey. A grunt of assent comes from behind you. Spencer's hand lands on the small of your back, applying just enough pressure to make you arch your back just a little more. “There you go.” he murmurs, his tip teasing at your sodden entrance. Slowly, you feel him push forward, the engorged head of his cock spreading your hole farther than it has ever been tonight, and you find yourself tensing. 

“Shhh, you’re doing so well.” Chip coos, dragging his thumb out of your lips when he notices the crease at your brow. He bends down, kissing you lightly, tenderly, coaxing his tongue into your mouth. Doing your best to keep up with his sure movements, you focus on the way his lips move, the lingering taste of whiskey mixing with the acrid cigarette smoke that clings to him. He kisses you deeply, distracting you enough that you lose your rigidity. This allows you to relax, and Spencer takes advantage of that, plunging the rest of his cock inside your walls.

Chip’s mouth muffles your cry of surprise. There’s a slight sting as you flutter around Spencer’s length, your pussy adjusting to accommodate all of him. 

Despite every inch of his body yelling at him to move, to take you and give in to the overwhelming bliss that spreads to every muscle, Spencer steadies himself. He lets you get used to the intrusion, knowing that this snug fit could potentially cause pain. No amount of his pleasure would ever surpass his concern for your comfort. Large palms skim over your hips in slow circles, while he keeps himself alert, feeling you relax and loosen the heavy grip you had on his cock. 

He gives a tentative roll of his hips, shallow thrusts to test your readiness, eyes trained on your figure while you engage in a heated, messy kiss with Chip. You seem receptive, slick and at ease, so he builds up a steady pace, holding your hips still as he fucks into your warm cunt. 

The motion completely makes you lose focus, your mouth falling slack against Chip’s, who only laughs and  pulls back. The man straightens up, watching as Spencer finally fucks you from behind, before lining up his own cock at your parted lips.

“Come on, pretty girl, let’s see you make good on your promise.” he murmurs, letting the heavy tip rest on your bottom lip. Spencer doesn’t stop thrusting into you, and the impact has you rocking forward slightly, smearing Chip’s precum all over your lips and chin. With a groan, you wrap a hand around the base of Chip’s cock, helping guide it into your mouth. 

You listen triumphantly at Chip’s low moan, the sound telling you that you’re doing a good job. Humming in the back of your throat, you bob your head down, taking in more of his cock. A hand wraps around your hair tightly, making you halt your movements. You wait, bleary eyed but eager, sucking on the tip as Chip considers the scene. 

He is watching Spencer’s rhythm, studying the way every plunge of the other man’s length sends you careening forward. Pushing down Chip’s cock deeper into your throat. Once he has it figured out, Chip moves, his own hips tilting into yours every time Spencer thrusts in, ensuring that you’re stuffed deep and full at the exact same time. 

You can do nothing but take it, eyes blinking with a lethargic slowness as you remind yourself to hollow your cheeks around the cock in your mouth. You’re rewarded by a groan from Chip, his hands gripping your hair tighter as he pushes into your throat. Tears fill your eyes and your entire body tenses, squeezing around Spencer’s cock just as he’s pulling out of you.

“God,” your coworker hisses, “You’re so tight.”

He thrusts in, roughly, and the impact tips your body forward again, sending Chip’s length deep inside your throat. The helplessness of this moment should make you feel scared, worried. You can barely move, too busy balancing yourself on this wobbly motel bed, too cock drunk to really make any sound decisions, physical or otherwise. Instead, being caught between two men as they insert themselves into your holes just makes your entire body sing with pleasure. Goosebumps erupting over exposed skin, toes curled and tucked tight into themselves, hands digging white knuckled at the sheets.

You come apart under Spencer’s expert thrusts, his cock hitting that delicious spot deep inside you with a nearly terrifying precision. The orgasm hits you hard, elbows nearly giving out, if it weren’t for Chip’s hands—one aty your jaw, the other at your head—holding onto you firmly enough that he’s able to help you hold your upper body. 

But Spencer’s not done. He speeds up, the sound of his sweat slick thighs hitting your ass filling the room. His cockhead brushes against your cervix, and you’re sure you lose your vision for a moment. 

It’s an assault to all your senses, what little air you can breathe reeks of sweat and musk and leather, your skin feels white hot and ready to burst into flames at any given moment, and the tangy, bitter taste of Chip’s length is so distinct you’re sure you’ll be tasting him on your tongue for weeks. 

You love every single moment of it. 

You don’t even squirm when Spencer’s fingers find your oversensitive bud, circling it over and over again as he coaxes you into another orgasm.

“Come on, sweetheart, I know you have another one in you.” he murmurs, one hand gripping your hip tight. 

Chip’s thumbs come up to your cheeks, brushing them away as he pulls his cock almost all the way out, allowing you to suck on the tip. “That’s it, baby, be a good girl and come again for us.” he cooes, “You’re so pretty like this, tears running down your face. You’re taking us so well, baby.”

Your face scrunches up in pleasure, their words pushing you to the edge as another climax hits you. This time, you’ve no more strength to hold yourself up, arms trembling and giving away. Chip’s cock slips from your lips but he doesn’t seem to mind, his soft chuckle fills your ears as you succumb face first into the sheets. Body shaking as Spencer fucks you through your orgasm, rough pads of his fingers gently pinching your clit. 

“Mind flipping her over?” Chip’s voice fills the air, “Wanna mark up her pretty face.”

Your pussy clenches deliciously around Spencer’s cock in response. Your coworker makes a sound that’s half groa, half laugh, quickly easing himself out of your hole. His hands guide you to lay on your back, a welcome reprieve that has you moaning in relief. This way, you see both of them too—Chip standing over your head, pumping his fist up and down his cock, Spencer parting your thighs and reentering your heat to chase his high.

“God, you’re so good.” Spencer murmurs, fucking into you with quick, decisive strokes, “Gripping my cock so tight—”

At that moment, Chip groans, his orgasm hitting him like a truck. His cum spurts out in long, thick ropes aimed right at your face. You open your mouth, tongue sticking out in hope of catching some of them inside. The warm liquid paints your face, and the very act of being marked in this way makes you squirm, the familiar heat building up again low in your belly.

“You look so good like this, baby.” Chip murmurs, still stroking his still erect cock and collapsing beside you on the bed, “Bet you’ll look even prettier with some dripping out of you.”

You moan, loud and clear for the first time, back arching off the bed as they whisper praise to you, sweet, filthy words that join the wet sounds of sex. 

“God—fuck, sweetheart, I’m coming.” Spencer groans, collapsing on top of you, his body twitching as he buries his cock inside you. Warmth shoots up inside your walls, filling you up as his cock pulses out his load. You bite into his shoulder, tears streaking down your face and mixing with Chip’s release. 

Stillness invades the room for several long moments, stark contrast to the previous, sex riddled chaos. And then Spencer pulls out slowly, kissing your sweaty neck in the process. 

“You okay? Did we hurt you?”

“I’m good.” you’re exhausted, mind empty except for the memory of pleasure that still lingers, the perfect cocktail of hormones that leaves you limp and soft.

You hear a laugh from Chip, feel the bed shift as he moves. “Here,” his footsteps fade, and reappear, an arm extending to your coworker. He’d dampened a washcloth from the bathroom for you.

Spencer looks up, smiling in acknowledgement before taking the warm washcloth from Chip. Gently, he wipes your face, chasing away the traces of Chip’s drying cum from your skin. As he moves down to clean between your legs, Chip guides your head onto his lap, fingertips gliding tenderly across your cheeks.

“You sure you’re good, baby?” Chip asks, thumbs making mindless circles on your skin. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, eyes closing.

“Don’t fall asleep on us yet,” Spencer speaks up, slowly cleaning away between your thighs, making sure not to put too much pressure on your oversensitive, swollen folds. “You need to pee.”

“D’I hafta?” you slur your words, nuzzling into Chip’s touch.

“Yes, sweetheart, unless you want a UTI.” Spencer says, tossing the washcloth aside. 

“Can’t feel my legs.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Chip laughs, propping you up, “Don’t worry, pretty girl, we’ll help you.”

And just as they’d done previously, they guide your pliant body between them, this time not to chase and provide pleasure, but to make sure you properly come down from it. Once you’ve peed and slipped into Spencer’s button down, they tuck you to bed where you fall asleep almost immediately, curled up in between their warm bodies.

it's two am where i am btw. i feel feverish. thank you for reading

[fic-dump-dotcom]

Hi Jade! Can I request Spencer and Nurse!reader? Maybe they meet when he’s wounded/she’s patching him up?

(Yes I’m a nursing student I promise we aren’t all mean girls 😔)

ty for requesting!! ik ur not all mean of course!!<3 —you meet the cutest FBI agent ever and tend his wounds. fem, 1.5k

One of the small pleasures of your job is when the patients are cute. Not many people come through as handsome as this one. You’re professional nonetheless. 

“What am I seeing you for today?” you ask, holding your hands behind your back. 

Your patient, charted as a Dr. Spencer Walter Reid, twenty nine years old, gives you a tentative smile. “Someone hit me really hard.�� 

You can see the bruise forming against his temple. “Yes, I’d say so. Did you know the assailant?” 

“No, but it’s handled.” His smile turns to a grimace. “Uh, I get these, like, debilitating migraines, and I feel like I have one coming on.”

“A head injury could trigger that,” you agree, holding your hands out in front of you, little torch in hand. “Can I have a look?” you ask softly. 

When you’ve been a nurse for some time, you start to categorise people into boxes. All kinds of boxes for different things, but Spencer Reid gets a tick for a few things straight away: shy, pretty, and sensitive to touch. He must not get touched much, or he’s had a bad experience with strangers. He did just get hit in the head, you allow, brushing a sweet, mousy curl away from his head and holding it out of the way as you shine a light into each of his eyes. He flinches hard, but his pupils react as expected. 

Whoever hit him managed to break the skin, upon closer infection of the injury. The skin has turned purple at the edges of his cut. It’ll be a big bruise in just a few hours. 

“Spencer, please tell me if I hurt you, honey,” you say, voice still soft. If he’s got a migraine coming, he won’t want your usual overloud distinction. 

“It’s okay. It hurts, but not more or less when you poke it.” 

“You have a laceration, yeah? It’s about three centimetres long, but deep. I can close it with a butterfly stitch, if you’re okay with that.” 

“Yeah, please. Um, about the migraine–”

“Do you want a tramadol, honey? I think you deserve one.” 

“I can’t have narcotics.” 

You pull back and straighten the hair you’d displaced. “That’s okay, it just means you can’t have the strongest stuff. Most people try to avoid them anyhow. How about tylenol, would that be alright? Or do you avoid painkillers in general?” 

“Tylenol is fine as long as it doesn’t have the codeine with it.” 

You give him a gentle nod. “I’ll make sure it’s the right one. You can even see the bottle, if you like. Would you want them before or after the stitch?” He probably knows, but you add, “It’s not a real stitch. But it might feel tender when I’m poking around.” 

“Anything. Whatever you want to do first.” 

His eyes squeeze closed. You give him a frown he can’t see, and rest your hand on his arm. “Is there someone here with you?” you ask him.

“My friend is coming, I think. There was a lot going on.” 

“That’s okay. I’m not sending you home until I’ve fixed you, Dr. Reid.” 

He smiles, even with his eyes closed, but doesn’t say anything more. You wash your hands and find your bandages. A butterfly bandage, a sterile wipe, and a square piece of gauze to cover it cleanly. His eyes are opening again when you return, ushering him gently down the bed so you can sit on his right side near the injury. 

“What do you do for work?” you ask him. 

“I work for the FBI.” 

“You do?” You tear open the sterile wipe and again pull the curls from his forehead. “This might sting. Please tell me if it hurts too much.” 

“It’s not the cut that hurts.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say sympathetically. Migraines are a tricky business. If he’s already having one, you probably can’t do much to get rid of it, but that doesn’t mean pain relief won’t help. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can.” 

He’s quiet. You wipe around the laceration with careful, concise movements. The cut looks clean enough when you’re done, and it’s so small you won’t irrigate it. 

“Are you an agent?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Special supervisory with the BAU. The, uh, behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Oh, I know,” you say, putting the wrapping and the dirtied wipe into your cardboard bowl. “I think I’ve seen it on TV sometimes, you guys can track the serial killers and stuff?” 

“Mostly that, yeah. Uh, sometimes we find trafficking rings or missing kids. Sometimes we manage hostage situations. It depends on the level of the crisis.” 

“So you’re the big gun.” 

“I guess so. I’m not actually good with a gun.” 

“No one has to be good with a gun to change the world.” You pull the butterfly stitch from the packaging and pick at a finicky end. “I hate guns.” 

He sighs. “I do, too.” 

“They make my job hard. It’s not nice, seeing what they can do to people. It’s awful, really. Spencer, I’m so sorry, honey, I’m just gonna put this on here, it might feel uncomfortable as I pull the sides together.” 

“It’s okay.” 

You pull the plastic of the butterfly stitch on both sides, cinching his cut together promptly. It looks better now you can’t see the inside. 

“I’m gonna cover this with the dressing now. You don’t have to keep it on if you don’t want to, it’s a pretty small cut, it was just deep. I’d recommend you try to keep it dry for two days, really, you should keep it covered, but it’s up to you. And if anything happens, if it gets infected, you can always come see me again.” 

You’re mildly flirting, then. Just because he’s nice and shy. It might be a little cruel of you to proposition a man when he’s roughed up, though. 

Spencer, luckily, understands that you’re not trying to harass him. “Thank you.” 

You stand, peeling the plastic from the bandaid and exposing the sticky backing. Slowly, you stroke his hair back from the wound and line the bandaid up. He shivers under your nails. 

“So sorry,” you say, laughing under your breath, “it’s my nails, huh?” 

“It’s okay.” 

“You’re a great patient, Spencer. I’d give you a sticker if I could, I’m not kidding.” 

“You’re a great nurse.” 

“Thank you.” You smooth the edges of the bandaid down for good measure and step away from him to assess him. “How’s that migraine?” 

“Getting worse.” 

“You have them often, you said? Treated or untreated?” 

“Psychosomatic, apparently.” 

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Has your doctor talked to you about CBT?” 

“Some. I don’t really… want it,” he says awkwardly. 

“That’s okay. If it’s psychosomatic as they believe, it might get better with time. How’s the stress in your life?”

“Stressful.” 

“It must be hard, the FBI, everything. Life is hard enough. Stopping serial killers must weigh on your heart.” You smile carefully. “Was there anything else you wanted to bring to my attention? Any other injury, anything that needs urgent care?” 

“I was mostly worried I had a concussion.” 

“It doesn’t seem like it. You’re not nauseous, are you?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

He gets this awful, sad look on his face, it really isn’t nice to see. People come in by themselves all the time but it never gets easier to handle. 

“Are you alright?” you ask, taking his arm into your hand. 

“I’m fine.” 

He had the look of someone who’s always fine. Luckily for him, it’s your job to take care of people, to make sure they’re more than fine. “Okay. I’m gonna get you something warm to drink. Do you like donuts?” 

“Uh–”

“I’m getting a feeling about you. Chocolate frosting, I bet.” 

He smiles, startled and pleased at once. “Yeah.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna get those for you. A drink, a donut, and some much needed Tylenol. You can lay down if you like.” 

He nods but doesn’t move. 

As you’re leaving the room, you cross paths with a handsome man with dark skin and a bright smile. Must be something in the air today, you think. 

“Reid, you okay?” you hear him say. 

“Fine.” 

“You’re pink.” 

“What?” 

“You’re blushing. Oh, you had the pretty nurse, didn’t you?” 

“Shut up,” Spencer whispers sharply. 

“You can ask for her number.” 

“No I can’t, she’s working.” 

“But you want to,” his friend surmises. 

You bite down a smile, giving your head a shake as you go. You need to get a move on. Spencer needs a hot drink, a donut, Tylenol, and a pen. It should be okay if you’re both feeling up to it, right?

[fic-dump-dotcom]

dbf!hotch where you have to be quick n quiet bc your parents are next door, and he's only staying for one night. heavy w the smut and tension 🤭

So It Goes...

It was summer break from University and you were home to spend time with your parents. And maybe Aaron was just as clingy as you because you woke up one morning with him in your room, admiring you in your sleep. And the night you spent together didn’t disappoint either.

Pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner x bfd!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Contents: age gap, secret relationship, sweet dom!aaron, sneaky, unprotected sex, cowgirl, creampie, gagging, oral (f) receiving.

The soft, feather-like touch on your cheek pulled you from the depths of sleep. The caress was gentle, almost ghostly, yet enough to rouse you even if you were unconscious.

“There she is…” you heard someone say; a familiar deep voice, soft and whispery. “Good morning, baby.”

Your eyes fluttered open, groaning lightly to yourself, while the hazy remnants of sleep gave way to early morning light filtering through your bedroom drapes. Someone’s warm hand still rested lightly on your face, occasionally rubbing your cheek with the back of their fingers. And your heart skipped a beat as you became fully aware of the presence, with the uncanny feeling of being watched.

“Aaron?” you grumbled, confusion threading through your voice. 

Blinking away the blur of sleep, you slowly whipped your head to the side. Only to be greeted by a sight that almost instantly knocked a breath out of your chest.

You rubbed your eyes quickly, half expecting him to vanish, a figment of your frail imagination. But he was still there, smiling softly at you, his eyes crinkling at the very corner. His affectionate gaze narrowed down on your face alone, full of tenderness that melted away any lingering drowsiness in your brain.

“Aaron? W-what— what?”

“Hey…” he murmured, chuckling a little as he saw your baffled reaction, his voice deep and soothing as always. “I’m sorry, I just... I couldn’t wait to see you."

Your heart warmed with a mix of joy and confusion, but also a pang of worry. How did he even manage to sneak into your room, you don’t know. But here he was, tucking the stray strand of hair behind your ear, staring back at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. It feels surreal, like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice still groggy and croaky from sleep.

You know for sure that you look like a mess. Maybe with a drool at the corner of your mouth, or a trace of sleep in your eyes. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when Aaron was looking at you like this, not when all you see is love and longing, not with the fact that your parents must be somewhere downstairs waiting for you both to come down and join them for breakfast.

Aaron chuckled softly, the sound of a sweet melody to your ears. “I missed you,” was all he said, as if that explains everything. 

And knowing your boyfriend, maybe it does.

You reached up, your hand covering his on your cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. “I missed you too,” you admitted, “But how? Where’s Dad? Mom? How did you get here?”

You kept glancing towards the door after your question, imagining it to burst open at any moment; your father with a rifle in his hands, your mother crying behind him. You shuddered at the image; it was surely exaggerated, and not exactly how you planned for them to know your relationship with Aaron.

“They went out to the local market,” he explained shortly, frowning as he noticed the worry lines on your face. “They’re buying meat and groceries for their anniversary party later. Your Mom told me to get some rest instead of helping them; saw my chance and sneaked in.”

Just with what you heard, relief and excitement coursed through your veins. So you’re here all alone with Aaron, and the house is silent and empty. You can’t help but feel a thrill at the audacity of it all. “We still have to be careful,” you said, although your voice carried a hint of anticipation.

Aaron’s smile turned a bit more mischievous, his fingers tracing a gentle line along your jaw. “I know, princess,” he replied, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “But right now, it’s just you and me.”

“Oh?” your eyebrows perked as you picked up the insinuation. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

The smirk on his face grew at the challenge. And his touch lingered, the warmth of his hand spreading through you. His eyes darkened with desire, and you feel a similar heat rising within you.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is not to touch you while you sleep?”

You snorted. “Oh, shut up. Bet I look like a troll.”

“Hey, don’t speak to my girlfriend like that,” he scolded lightheartedly, pinching the side of your stomach. “You always look like an angel.”

You tried hiding your blush with an eye roll.

There he is again with his confessions; sweet, little words dripping like honey in this early morning. With Aaron, those words never felt forced, never felt like an empty expression. Maybe it has to do with the way he says it, or the way he never tore his imploring gaze away from you, or maybe you trust him so much that you willingly listen to everything he says. With no complaints. No doubts.

Aaron leaned in slowly, “I’ve missed you so much, baby. My bed feels empty without you.”

“It’s only been two weeks, Aaron.”

He frowned as if that insulted him, his thick eyebrows tugging together. “Your point being?”

“You’re clingy,” you laughed in amusement, tipping your face away from him, avoiding his lips that kept chasing yours.

A firm grip on your hip stopped you from moving.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, a confused frown still plastered on his face. “I’m trying to kiss you.”

“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

“And do I look like I care?”

“Ew,” you scrunched your nose to feign disgust. “Really, love?”

“Sweetheart, I eat my own cum as it drip down your ass. Do you think—”

You slapped both of your palms on your face, groaning at his words. What the hell. You expected a different response. Not these dirty, crude words. Why would he even say that?

“Aaron!”

“What?” he only laughed– he always does, he always enjoyed seeing you blush like a tomato. “It’s true, sweetheart. What do you think will stop me from tasting you?”

Just as he said, it’s true. Nothing has ever stopped him from showing you love and pleasuring you. He’s always got to have his hand on your body, on your waist, on your thighs; his lips on yours, or your skin; his head buried at the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, and most of the time, in between your legs, eating your cunt.

“Whatever, old man. Come here,” you giggled, pulling his neck, his lips brushing against yours in a tantalizingly soft kiss. The softness of the contact sent a shiver all over your body, awakening a hunger that has been building up ever since the summer break began.

Aaron’s hand slipped from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, and deepening the kiss.

The house was wrapped in silence, yet the idea of doing something so illicit and dangerous under your parent’s roof made you tremble in anxiety– or was it pleasure? You don’t know. You can’t seem to know. Not with Aaron’s hand kneading your breasts, not with his lips trailing down to your pulsing cunt.

Your discarded underwear lay forgotten on the floor. And Aaron’s head finally nestled between your thighs, his breath hot against your wet and throbbing pussy. His calloused hands rested firmly on your hips, and the first flick of his tongue against your clit sent shivers rising from the soft surface of your skin.

“Fuck, baby. You taste so good,” Aaron murmured, his voice deep and raspy as he glanced up.

His words crumbled your resolution, with Aaron’s expert lips and tongue moving with a tenderness that bordered on reverence, exploring every inch of your cunt as if he had it all memorized– which he does. Every flick and twirl of his tongue, the vibration of his pleasured groans against your wetness, the desperate pleas that escaped your lips— he knows it all.

“Aaron…” you breathed, your voice trembling in a brimful of desire and need. “Don’t stop.”

Your hands found their way to his hair, tangling through the soft strands as you guided him closer, deeper. You bucked your hips abstractedly, creating an even more delicious friction. It was all overwhelming, full of ecstasy after two weeks of spending time away from each other. Aaron’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, watching you fall into pieces, a drunk look present in his eyes.

“I won’t, angel...” he promised. “I want you to feel everything.”

The secrecy almost felt sacred. The early morning light painted everything in a soft, dreamy glow, blurring the lines between your reality and both of your desires.

You watched him lick two of his fingers before slowly prodding them inside of your wet, dripping cunt. Aaron took your heavy moan and the satisfaction in your face as a signal to assault your pussy just the way he knows you like it, reaching spots that made you see stars behind your eyelids.

“God, I missed this… missed you...” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you felt your orgasm rising, building fast and deliberately. “A-Aaron… faster… please…”

The firmness of his touch, his caresses, his very presence; as the sensations built within you, you knew nothing could ever make you give up this moment.

All the while, his eyes held yours, tender and full of desire. “Whatever you want, baby,” his voice even softer as he said, “I’ll give you everything.”

The heavy smell of grilled meat and the sound of laughter filled the air as you stepped into the garden, wearing only a short, breezy dress that fluttered around your thighs with each step. The barbecue party is in full swing, with your family and some other neighbors gathered around, chatting and enjoying the warm afternoon. Your parents are busy at the grill, flipping burgers and ribs, chatting with each other, and laughing.

You quickly scanned the garden and spotted Aaron. He’s engaged in conversation with a small crowd of men, but as if sensing your gaze on him, his eyes quickly found yours. A warm, secretive smile spreads across his face, sending a flutter through your chest.

As you move through the crowd, greeting some of your neighbors and grabbing a plate of food, you can’t help but feel Aaron’s eyes on you. Oh, you knew that his eyes were on you. The dress you chose wasn’t just for comfort in the summer heat; it was an attempt to catch his attention, to feel his gaze, to make sure he was on the tip of his toes.

You found a seat at one of the picnic tables under the shade of an old tree. Aaron casually made his way over, each of his steps languid, his movements seemingly unhurried. And when he took the seat across from you, his leg brushed against yours under the table, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

“Everything looks delicious,” you tried keeping your voice steady, your eyes flicking to his with a knowing look. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Hmm…” he nodded, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. His foot nudges yours playfully, hidden from the view of the others.

“Stop,” you chuckled, shaking your head at his childishness.

“You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks. I know.”

He raised an eyebrow, smiling. “How cocky.”

Throughout the small gathering, the two of you stole clandestine glances. There isn’t a moment where you felt Aaron wasn’t paying attention to you. Occasionally, Aaron’s hand would graze yours when reaching for the salad bowl or the pitcher of lemonade, each touch brief and only for a lingering moment.

At one point, you excused yourself to grab yourself a drink. As you walked past by Aaron, you felt his hand subtly brush the small of your back, a fleeting touch that sent a thrill through your pulsing cunt. You can feel your underwear slowly getting soaked in anticipation for tonight, as you already know he’s staying.

You glanced over your shoulder and met his eyes, and saw the same spark of desire mirroring in there.

The afternoon crawled excruciatingly slow, and as the sun began to set, the sky a pale hue of salmon and lilac, the guests started to gather around the fire pit. You took a seat on a wooden bench, with Aaron joining you shortly after. 

He sat beside you.

A bold move.

You became hyperaware of everything: the closeness of his body next to yours, the occasional brush of his hairy arm, the deep rumble of his laughter as he chimed in the conversations of others. Nobody seemed to mind why Aaron chose to sit beside you of all places. Nobody even batted an eye. But for some reason, it made your toes tingle in anxiety.

Your parents are nearby, laughing and sharing stories with their other friends, blissfully unaware of the castle of dirty thoughts you built in honor of your father’s dear best friend. God, it feels so wrong. But you’d let the whole world crumble to dust than let go of this feeling.

As the sky darkened, you found a moment when the two of you were left alone. Aaron leaned in, his voice a low murmur meant only for your ears.

“You okay, baby? You’re quiet,” he observed, his eyes scanning your face with worry.

“I’m fine...” a shy smile played on your lips. “Enough with the beer now, please. You look red.”

A smile rose on his lips as he nodded, setting down the half-finished bottle on the ground to follow your order. When his attention landed on you again, you mirrored the smile tugging on his lips.

His hand found yours under the bench, fingers intertwining in a gesture that’s both innocent and intimate. “I wish we could be together openly,” he whispered, his thumb gently rubbing soft circles on your knuckles.

“Someday, yeah?” you whispered back, squeezing his hand. “Are you tired of this?”

“No, Jesus Christ,” he whispered, almost to himself, voice quiet and absentminded. “But it reminds me you’re graduating in a few months.”

“Right, can’t wait to escape that hell.”

Aaron snorted, throwing you a glance. “You wanted to enter law school, remember?”

“Because I wanted to impress my now boyfriend, remember?”

His eyes softened, and you could see amusement and affection filtering through them. “You didn’t have to impress me, baby, you’ve got me at the palm of your hand,” was what he said, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

The party went on until the evening. The faint sounds of the gathering still lingered in your mind— all the laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the stolen glances between you and Aaron. Your heart fluttered as you recalled his eyes meeting yours across the crowded yard, his piercing eyes observing you from afar.

You laid in bed, feeling your pulse quicken as you waited, the anticipation almost too much to bear. Then, you heard it— a gentle knock on your door. 

You rose quietly, wincing at the sound of your bedsheet rustling upon your movements. In quick strides, you crossed the room and swung the door carefully, so softly, until there he was again. In front of you.

“Hi,” you whispered, a smile spreading across your face. “Come in.”

Aaron locked the door behind him, and the room felt suddenly warmer, his presence filling the space with a palpable energy. You stepped closer, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“What a torture...” Aaron murmured lazily, his lips brushing against your ear. “Wanted to be near you every second.”

“Huh,” you said teasingly, poking the side of his ribs. “And you dare say I’m the clingy one in this relationship?”

He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both gentle and intense. The heat made you pull him even closer, deepening the kiss, letting yourself lose your mind in his warmth and touch.

Aaron’s hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?”

“Oh, please, baby. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

He led you to the bed with guided steps. Aaron’s touch was tender, the fingers trailing over your skin made your heart ache, and your cunt pulse in hot desire.

You looked into his eyes, finding a reflection of your own need. His gaze was affectionate yet filled with an intensity that made blood rush to your cheeks.

“Need you...” your voice was barely audible in the stillness. “Fuck me good, baby.”

He smiled, a slow, intimate curve of his lips that made you catch your breath. “With your parents next door? Sound dangerous…” he replied softly, leaning in to brush his lips against yours in a sweet kiss.

You could feel the tension of the day melting away. Aaron’s hands moved slowly as if he was savoring every moment, every touch. He kissed a trail from your lips to your jaw, and down to your neck, his breath warm against your skin, leaving a wet path in its wake.

As his kisses grew more insistent, you felt a wildfire ignite within you, the desire that had simmered all day finally threatening to spill. You pulled him closer, even more closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, deepening the kiss with a pace that matched his own.

While Aaron’s hands roamed around your body with such possessiveness, the only sounds in your room were the soft rustle of sheets and your quiet whining. He explored every inch of your skin with a silent plan to conquer. To take. To remind you how you and your body are his and his alone.

“Be quiet, little girl, or I’ll gag you,” his eyes darkened with warning. “Can’t have your parents know their good girl is a dirty slut, can we?” he mumbled hotly in your ears.

“Y-yes, sir...”

You lifted your hips as you felt his hands playing with the waistband of your underwear. And you couldn’t do anything when he said “Open up wide,” and slipped the crumpled fabric of your soaked underwear inside your mouth.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet for me, hm?” he whispered again, his voice soft yet taunting.

And you could only nod because your words were caught right in your throat. Literally.

Aaron moved swiftly and with urgency this time, as he was aware of the risk of what you were doing. It was exhilarating; sharing this secret, him forcing you to keep quiet— you’ve never been quiet, not when his big, girthy cock stretched you wide, ramming in and out of your tight pussy.

“Fuck, baby, so warm…” Aaron grumbled lowly, biting on his hand as you sank deeper into his cock.

You kneaded on your tits, rubbed your nipples as you stared back at Aaron, lowering yourself to ride his hard cock. A low whimper rumbled in your chest as you felt the burn of the stretch, your moans muffled by the fabric serving as your gag for tonight.

“That’s it, angel, move your hips like that. Fuck,” Aaron closed his eyes as he felt your cunt tighten with your slow movements. “Fucking hell, baby. You’ll kill me one day.”

You started bouncing on his cock in no time, fast and hard, feeling his hands on your thighs tighten in restraint. Your air flow was restricted by the gag on your mouth, making you breathe heavily, noisily, accompanied by the quiet flapping of sweaty skin and Aaron’s pleasured grunts.

“Fuck. Fucking hell, angel…” he groaned as he spread his knees and started fucking into you.

Your eyes rolled at the back of your head as he prodded the spots only he could reach. With bleary eyes, you watched how Aaron bit his lower lip and how his hips fucked into you with vigor, with the same need, struggling so hard to contain his noises.

Your eyes lingered on the solid plains of his hairy chest and rested your palm on the soft surface of his stomach, moving your hips to meet his desperate thrusts. Warm tears streamed down your cheeks with pleasure, with the nagging voice at the back of your head warning you not to make a mistake. To be quiet. To not ruin the moment.

Yet it’s all too much.

“You’re doing good for me, baby. You’re so gorgeous…” Aaron cooed as he noticed your tears. “You’re so tight. Fuck, you’re close already?”

You nodded dumbly, too fucked to even understand everything he just said.

“Go on then. Cum for me, baby,” Aaron smiled, slapping your thighs lightly. “That’s it, good girl. Ride my cock like that. Fucking hell, what a slut.”

You tried warning him. You wanted to tell him you’re close. To go faster. Harder. To let you come. To give you everything. To beg. But your quiet pleas were muffled, leaving a deep rumble of amused laughter on Aaron’s chest.

“What’s that, slut? Can’t hear you,” he taunted softly. “What do you think your parents would think if they saw you like this, hmm?”

You whined and whimpered as your thighs burned from the effort, finally letting Aaron take the control.

“I’m so close, baby... fuck, feels so good...” he too was breathing heavily. “Come for me, come on. Good girl. Tighten the cunt even more– like that, fuck!”

White hot pleasure blurred your vision as you felt your orgasm coursed through you. You felt Aaron tremble beneath your body, his hot load flooding your insides, his warm hand exploring your sweaty skin with a devotion that left you breathless.

“My jaw hurts…” you pouted as he gently took out the fabric on your mouth and tucked your face in the crook of his neck. “I love it, though.”

Aaron chuckled at your whiny voice. “I know it’s wrong but that’s so hot, darling.”

“I know…” you giggled weakly, feeling the palm of his hands roam at the surface of your back. “Can we do it again? I wanna... ride your stomach. Please, sir, can I? Didn’t you say I’m your good girl?”

Sorry for the long wait but thank you to Anon who requested this! As always, your replies, reblogs, and reactions are very much appreciated. See you on the next ones!

[fic-dump-dotcom]

he just happened to let that information slip his mind?? 😭 ig i can forgive him but DAMN MAN

really fucking good chapter. was ECSTATIC when i saw that it was updated. omfg i love this man and this author and this story and christ this was great

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Absence makes the heart grow fonder. (4.3k words)

♫ CW: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v, soft dom!Eddie, slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, insecurity

♫ A/N: This chapter would not have been written without help and encouragement from @word-wytch and @corroded-hellfire. I almost gave up so many times, but they pulled me back together and made this chapter exactly what I hoped it would be. Thank you both for sharing your talent with me.

chapter seventeen: breathless

Eddie’s mouth collided with yours as soon as you said that magic word:

Stay. 

His unbandaged hand slid to your face, thumb on your cheek and the other four fingers at the nape of your neck. His nose nudged yours and he kissed you again, his tongue seeking entrance that you granted readily. 

The room spun the moment you tasted the nicotine on his breath. Your fingers reached for an anchor, finding it in the ridges of his biceps. 

How many times had you stood behind the desk, mesmerized by the way his muscles moved beneath his shirtsleeve while he hung wallpaper? How many times had you wished you could feel the texture of his skin? Wished you could find his freckles and kiss each one?

He climbed on top of you, one leg wedged between your own. 

“Thank God,” he murmured against your lips before moving to your neck. Your t-shirt collar gave out an audible rip as he tore it, the seams unable to withstand the force of his pull. 

The moment he sucked that first bruise near your collarbone, you missed him on your lips. Yet you knew if he returned, you’d be aching for another mark on your skin. You needed him kissing you everywhere. 

Eddie’s tongue laved over the love bite, soothing the slight sting before starting on the next one. 

“Mine.” The word left his throat in a growl. “Fuckin’ missed you so much. Fuckin’ need you so bad.”

You could only nod, your fingernails leaving crescent-shaped imprints on his shoulder blades. 

A thumb under your chin shifted your head so you were gazing up at Eddie. The beginnings of daylight that streamed through the window cast him in a heavenly glow of vibrant pink and yellow, but his eyes held a fierceness that was anything but angelic. 

He was still for a moment, the only movement coming from his heaving chest. 

“Don’t take your eyes off of me. I want you with me the whole time.” He cocked his head at your breathless mhm. “I need you to say you’ll be with me the whole time.”

“I’ll be—I’ll be with you. The whole time.”

Eddie’s hands trailed beneath the hem of your shirt, pushing it up until your breasts were completely visible. “Goddamn.” His eager lips wrapped around your right nipple, your left nipple gently pinched between his fingers. 

You started to peel your shirt over your head, but the sweat-saturated fabric was yanked from your grasp before you could finish. Insecurity roiled in your stomach. Did he not want to see you naked? Was there something wrong with your chest, your stomach, with you?

Eddie clocked the way you stilled, your breath trapped in your lungs. The flicker in his eyes cooled as he leaned in so his nose touched yours. “Let me do it.”

He wanted this. He wanted you, unclothed and vulnerable, displayed on a makeshift pedestal and only for him to admire.

With your back arched into his caress, your breasts now pressed against his face. He was going to be the death of you and you weren’t even naked yet. He wasn’t even naked yet, though the growing tent in his boxers was proving to be too tempting to resist. 

You palmed at his erection only once before he jerked away, leaving your nipple peaked and saliva-soaked. 

“If you touch me, I’m gonna lose my mind,” Eddie warned, but there was no anger behind it. It was more of a plea than a threat. “Give me a chance to worship you before you make me come.”

With every thought occupied by him, it took you a few seconds to find your voice. 

“Eddie, I wanna make you feel good.”

He let out a laugh. That smile—that sly, cocky smile—would have had your thighs clenched together if he wasn’t perched between them. You wanted to make him laugh every chance you got. 

Eddie kissed the apple of your cheek, delicately balancing between greed and selflessness. “You will. I just need to enjoy all of…this.” He punctuated the last word with a pointed look at your exposed body, fingers tugging down your shorts and panties in one go. You tried not to cringe at the plain cotton underwear, not a speck of lace in sight. Decidedly unsexy, though it didn’t deter Eddie in the slightest. 

“Edge of the bed, Heiress.” His hand disappeared into his boxers and languidly stroked his cock. “Oh, holy hell. Even better than my fantasies.”

You blinked in surprise. “You fantasized about this?”

“How do you think I kept myself from going insane these last few weeks?”

You went still against the mattress. There was no avoiding the unwelcome images of him burying himself in groupie after groupie; or worse, in Fiona.

White-hot jealousy flashed through you at the mere thought of your self-pitying theories, even with him in your bed. Just because he was here now didn’t mean that he couldn’t be with any of them during the tour. 

Eddie hoisted your legs on top of his shoulders as he settled on his knees, breaking the spell that kept you transfixed on your racing thoughts. His middle finger traced up your core, and when he looked up at you again, he wore a smirk. 

Now was not the time to talk about what—or who—he did without you. 

“Can’t believe you’re already this wet from a little kissing.”

It was more than that; he had your nipple in his mouth, for Christ’s sake, but you were in no position to argue. Quite frankly, the position you were in was perfect for only one activity in particular. 

Eddie kissed up your leg, gripping your calf as he made his way to the plush of your thigh. The stubble from his five o’clock shadow tickled your skin, and you instinctively flexed your leg and bit your lip to stifle a giggle. 

He caught it out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t do that.” He stood up, bringing his thumb to your lower lip and dragging from between your teeth. “I needa hear every noise you make, Heiress.”

“But I’m gonna laugh—”

“Every. Goddamn. Noise.” And then he was on his knees once again, his smile pressed to your thighs as you giggled. “That’s my good girl.”

You squeezed your eyes shut before you remembered his earlier command and opened them again. “Maybe I don’t wanna be a good girl.” The words escaped before you could take them back, but you meant them. 

Everything you did was to be good, even if it didn’t turn out that way. There was nothing you needed more than to shed that perfection-seeking skin and just be. 

Eddie’s lips turned upwards in a surprised smile, but he didn’t have any objections, either. He looked up from between your legs. “Then don’t be.” 

And then he was once again at the apex of your thighs, kissing where you needed him most. His tongue parted your center, licking with a wicked slowness that might have had you falling apart completely if it wasn’t for his iron grasp. 

“‘Course you’re fuckin’ sweet here, too.” He lavished the taste of you, a full-course meal that he intended to savor. “Goddamn it, Heiress. God fuckin’ damn.”

Your breath caught in your chest and you had to remind yourself to exhale. Not even automatic reflexes like breathing were immune to the feeling of Eddie Munson eating you out. 

It didn’t matter that you were covered in sweat or that the room was already stifling. It didn’t matter that you’d washed yourself as quickly as you could yesterday, leaving shaving for when the water wasn’t stone-cold. It was the imperfections of the perspiration and stray body hairs and the mugginess that made tonight exactly what you needed. 

A choked moan worked its way up your throat. Whatever you wanted to say had vanished, evaporated in a cloud of desire. 

Eddie’s tongue was pure magic on its own, but coupled with the two fingers he slid inside of you…

Perfection wasn’t strong enough to adequately capture the feeling. It was euphoric. 

He kissed your clit before wrapping his lips around it and gently sucking. Those calloused hands were magnets to your thighs, holding you in place while he lapped at your core. 

Unnecessary, really, considering you had no intention of being anywhere else but right here with him. 

Eddie groaned into you, an electric thrum that reverberated through your veins and lit up your body. Logically, you knew that you should tell him to be quieter. That the motel walls were thin. That the mattress springs creaked. 

But logic had no place when Eddie Munson was nestled between your legs. 

“Eddie.” You barely heard your own whisper over your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “Eddie, please, I—fucking hell.”

Brown eyes, hazy with lust, peered up at you. “I’m only going to say this once,” he rasped. “I’m not stopping until you come. So if it feels good, you’re gonna tell me. If it doesn’t feel good, you’re gonna tell me. No more secrets or pretending. None of that walking on eggshells bullshit. Tonight, you’re gonna let me take care of you. Understood?”

Let me take care of you. 

How long had it been since someone offered to take care of you—and you accepted? How long since you allowed someone else to guide you towards an unknown without uttering a single objection?

If you tried hard enough, thought deep enough, you could manufacture a reason not to let this happen tonight. You could sit up and ask him what all of this meant; was it the beginning of something real or a way to burn off the excess testosterone he’d acquired from the fight? You could demand an answer right here and now, wrapping it all in a neat bow before the night progressed further. 

But tonight wasn’t about meaningful talks and gentle reassurance. It was about succumbing to the urge to let go. 

“Understood.”

The overwashed bed sheets scratched your palms, the fabric balled into your fists tight enough to risk tearing them clean off of the mattress. Eddie’s lips broke away from your core to press open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your thigh. His free hand reached to tangle his fingers with yours. They intertwined languidly, neither of you patient enough to find a solid grip. 

“Mine.” It was the last word he uttered before bringing his attention back to your clit. 

His. 

Your hips rose in agreement. You met his every stroke, finding his rhythm and seamlessly harmonizing. 

“Yours.” The proclamation was sticky-sweet, a candy bar left outside on a summer day. Your question, “are you mine?” remained trapped in an ooze of melting caramel. 

The rush barrelled over you, leaving you babbling his name and desperate pleas. You barely recognized your own voice as he carried you over the threshold you’d never dared to cross before.

“You’re shaking.” Sure enough, your legs were trembling even as he moved them off of his shoulders and back onto the bed. “Are you…is that good shaking or bad?”

“Good. Really, really good.” You wanted to look at him when you said it, but your mind and body refused to communicate.

Eddie brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking off the mess you’d made with a satisfied sigh. “Good.” 

The demonic skull tattooed on his chest rose and fell with each haggard breath. Utterly incapable of thought, you placed your palm over it. It wasn’t a new discovery; you’d seen it on his first night at the motel. But now, knowing him and his small-town experiences, you couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“I’m sure this didn’t help those devil-worshiper rumors.”

“Rumors?” Eddie slid back on top of you, his arousal pressing against your thigh. “I dunno, Heiress. I managed to convince a sweet goody-two-shoes to be a bad girl. To moan my name so loud the whole city could hear it. Doesn’t seem like much of a rumor to me.”

You melted into the warmth of his lips. Every cell in your body was aflame as he brought your hand to the fly of his boxers.

“This is what you do to me.” He hissed as you touched him. “This is how you make me feel.”

You kept your grasp firm but gentle, taking in every detail that you could: where his pre-cum seeped through his underwear, the way his erection curved to the left, how it reflexively twitched at the feel of your hand, the sharp inhale Eddie took when you tugged at the elastic waistband and revealed all of him.  

His cock begged to be touched, pink and twitching against his faint happy trail. Your mouth watered at the sight of the vein running along the underside of his shaft, desperate to lick and suck for as long as he could stand it—and then some. 

“Heiress.” Sparks ignited where he brushed his thumb over your cheek. “If we do this right now…I’m not gonna last very long.”

You nipped at his lower lip. “S’okay.”

“I told you that I wanted to take my time.” The words unearthed a memory from that first date at The Brink: “When we do that…I’m not gonna be rushed. I’m gonna need hours, Heiress. Because once I have you like that, I’ll never be able to stop.”

“S’okay,” you repeated.”I would’ve done it outside the bar if you hadn’t stopped me.” God, you really would have. You would have tucked yourself into an alleyway and let him take you behind a Dumpster if it meant being with him just a little longer. 

His shoulders visibly relaxed, a worry leaving his body he hadn’t known he was carrying. “Next time, I’m taking it slow. Gonna mark every goddamn inch of you.”

Next time. He said it with such fierce determination, nothing short of a promise. Next time, cloaked in air thick only with desire and not stagnant humidity. Next time, when you could keep the lights on and gaze up at his stubble-coated cheeks, his kiss-bitten lips, his cocoa-brown eyes. Next time, and the time after that, and the time after that…

“Next time,” you agreed, “but not tonight.”

The fullness consumed you the moment he slid inside. Your breath came out in a croak as you adjusted to him. You wrapped yourself around him, skin on skin, refusing to leave any part of him untouched.

His curls tickled the crook of your neck. “There you go,” he murmured. “Fuck, you feel amazing, Heiress.”

The same hands that you watched scrape away old wallpaper residue, tendons flexing with each push against the stubborn glue, now held an unyielding grip on your ass. The same arms that catapulted him up and over the subway turnstile unhurriedly pulled you upwards into him. Eddie drew closer, slowly and deliciously deeper, eliciting each atom of pleasure from you. Beneath him, you unraveled, entangling yourself with him rather than your own thoughts.

“Keep your eyes on me.” 

You tried your best to comply, but the connection between your mind and body had been severed from that first searing kiss. 

There was no time for you to come down, to let the physical and spiritual intertwine once again, before Eddie hooked his thumb under your chin and drew your gaze to his. The intensity in his stare burned through you, heat nipping at your skin and setting you alight. 

“Eyes. On. Me.”  

A bead of sweat dripped down the slope of his nose and landed on your cheek. Neither of you made a move to wipe it away. 

His lips closed in on yours once more. Had they always been so pillowy? You thought back to that first night, the embers of his joint glowing red and orange as he took a pull, the pungent scent of marijuana wafting through the spring air. 

If someone had told you three months ago that you’d be naked beneath the man you’d boldly chastised for smoking, you would have been breathless from laughter. 

That ornery man now held you to his lean frame. You’d let him do just about anything he wanted when he had you like this. He could display a neon sign from his window that read “I HAVE DRUGS HERE” and as long as he promised to keep you like this, you wouldn’t care. 

“Hey.”

Eddie’s gruff, needing voice tugged you out of your wandering thoughts and into reality. For the first time in a long time, that was a good thing. 

His thrusts never slowed as he pulled back. 

“W-Why did you—”

The question was left unfinished. Nimble fingers enclosed one of your wrists, then the other, and lifted them up and over your head. The pillowcase scratched at your skin, but you’d let it rub you raw before you dared complain. 

Eddie held firm as he pushed you further into the mattress, the creaking springs barely audible over your wanting gasps. 

“I want you to shut that pretty little brain up,” he growled, “and forget everything except for my name and how good I feel inside you.”

You nodded dumbly, closing your eyes for a moment and breathing in deeply as you let your worry wash away. 

“Now, tell me, Heiress: How good do I feel inside you?”

How could you even begin to describe it? He fit like a key in a lock, opening you in a single turn. His body molded to yours; or yours to his—you couldn’t be sure. His inhale was your exhale, opposing actions that would be obsolete without one another—

Your knuckles grazed the wall as Eddie tightened his grip. “Answer me.” Not a suggestion nor a plea; it was a command. “How fucking good do I feel inside you?”

“So good.” An automatic response, like your body was thinking for you. “It’s so good, Eddie. I need more.”

His smirk drew you in. A moth to a flame, you fluttered towards him, knowing with near certainty you’d be burned alive. 

Your hungry tongue sought the divet of his bare shoulder, drowning your taste buds in the salt of his sweat. You wrapped your legs around his calves, so tight that you swore you felt every downy curl that trailed down his legs. 

It was then that you realized that there was no ‘more.’ No amount of him would ever be enough. You could spend every waking and sleeping moment with him achingly hard within you and it wouldn’t suffice. 

You wanted him in every way possible. You wanted to position yourself on top of him and take charge, determining when he would meet his release. You wanted him behind you, your forehead against the mattress, as he bruisingly took everything he needed. You wanted him towering over you while you perched on your knees and took him in your mouth, savoring the taste until his chocolate brown eyes rolled back in his head. 

But you wanted him in other ways beyond those carnal desires. You wanted to fall asleep on his chest with the rhythmic, dependable beating of his heart lulling you to sleep. You wanted to come home from work to him strumming a guitar, beaming as he played you a song he’d been working on. You wanted him on his bad days, when his childhood memories were unrelenting and became too heavy to bear alone. You wanted to whisper quiet reassurances in his ear, anchoring him to the present. 

Threading your fingers through his mussed curls, you spoke like the words might grant you passage into his soul. 

“I missed you.”

Your voice was thick with desperation. You braced yourself for another chastising comment about getting out of your head. 

But there was none of that. There was only Eddie’s resolve crumbling, his hardened lines softening as every last barrier between you disintegrated. 

An inferno blazed where his lips met your neck. You hardly registered the bandage scratching at the small of your back as Eddie grappled for purchase. 

“I missed you, too.” His words were muffled but you heard them all the same. “Missed you. Missed you. Fucking missed you.”

Your second orgasm was even more intense than your first. It roared through you, unable to be contained, as Eddie slammed into you over and over. 

His name was a song that you’d sung before. It was often accompanied by laughter or tears or a well-deserved eyeroll. As familiar as it was, there was a newness to the way it crescendoed now. The sound didn’t even compare to the private moments when your fingers dipped beneath your underwear and you’d allow yourself to moan his name in a careful whisper.   

Eddie’s exhale skittered along your jawline. It took a few seconds for him to look up from where he’d planted himself, but your eyes immediately met his. 

The fire in his eyes had been extinguished, no longer burning wildly but diminished to smoldering embers. 

He looked at you like you were something precious. Fragile. Like he hadn’t nearly cleaved you in two. 

“You okay?”

Okay? The notion that you were just okay after having the most intense sex of your life was laughable. 

You nodded; at least, you thought you did. You were still floating above your body with no intention of coming back down. 

“‘M great. Really, really great.”

“Yeah?” Eddie kissed the corner of your mouth. His lips smiled against yours. “I’m really, really great, too.”

You tucked a rogue curl behind his ear, feeling him shiver as your finger traced over its shell. The sunrise streamed through the shades and cast a pink hue over his already rosy cheeks. Beads of sweat clung to his chest hair. 

To you, he’d never looked more beautiful. 

He settled in next to you, the tip of his nose against your cheek. “God, that smile,” he said with a laugh. His breath was cool on your skin. “You could get me to do just about anything with that smile of yours.”

You were smiling. You hadn’t realized, your muscles still working on their own accord. But there you were, naked and beaming, sharing your bed with Eddie Munson. 

The last time you smiled this genuinely was during the train ride home from NYU before everything came crashing down. Since then, you’d merely mustered up generic “customer service” smiles, and even those were a chore. 

Sleepiness tugged at your eyelids. “You already threatened to stab a guy for me today. It’d be a little selfish to ask for more.”

“Try me.”

“Okay.” You fought back a yawn. “I need you to fix the bed so it doesn’t smack into the wall every time we, uh, move.”

Eddie’s nostrils flared out as he stifled a laugh. “That’s your favor?” He stretched, offering a glimpse of the tuft of brown hair under his arms. “All right. I’ll do it when we wake up.”

You nestled into his chest, relaxing into his touch as he wrapped an arm around you. Between the stifling heat and the sheens of sweat coating your bodies, it was unlikely that the two of you would stay intertwined for long. 

Doesn’t matter, you thought. A few minutes of muggy cuddles is better than nothing. 

Laid across his tummy, your hand rose and fell with each breath he took. The temptation to forgo sleep and spend the next few hours letting your mouth rove over each dip and angle of his body was only slightly bested by post-sex fatigue. 

Eddie must have been afflicted with the same exhaustion, his arm growing heavier on your back. It lightened for a second as he pulled himself out of sleep. 

“Almost forgot to tell you. I ran…” His sentence was fractured by a yawn. “…I ran into a friend from high school at that Boston gig. And I think we figured out how to save the motel.”

Save the motel? Would shaking him fully awake until he told you the rest of the story teeter on the brink of being too selfish? Considering everything he had done for you in the last eight hours, you decided against it. 

The humidity became too much to bear, worsened only by the fully-risen sun. You and Eddie untangled your limbs and relegated yourselves to each side of the bed. Your pinky finger hooked around his, your heart fluttering when he gave a little squeeze before he promptly fell asleep. 

As exhausted as you were, you couldn’t join him. It was the unnerving silence that kept you awake. Cars and buses zooming down the road, storefront gates rattling as business owners opened for the day, trains clacking along the tracks as they shuffled hordes of commuters from Long Island to Manhattan—all of it was gone because of the blackout. 

Dragging yourself out of bed, you padded over to the window as quietly as you could to avoid waking Eddie. His cheek was smushed against the pillow, pulling his lips into an open-mouthed pout. He looked so unassuming, so innocent; no one would believe he’d also spent tonight holding a man at knifepoint and giving you the best orgasms of your life. 

The window pane was practically suctioned to the sill, making an audible pop as you dislodged it. A rush of warm air billowed in, ushering with it the sound of chirping birds, blissfully unaware of the city’s chaos. 

“Heiress?” Eddie’s voice was gravelly, like he’d been asleep for hours instead of minutes. 

“Sorry. Just needed some fresh air.” ‘Fresh’ might have been too kind of a descriptor, but you were too tired to correct yourself. 

Eddie squinted towards the sunlight. “But you’re coming back to bed, right?”

The trepidation in his voice gutted you. “Of course.” 

His shoulders untensed and his chest caves inwards with relief. How many women had he shared a bed with, only to have them leave while he slept?

He let out a contented sigh as you laid down beside him again. “Mine.” The word was spoken softly, though it held the same possessive air as when he was inside you. 

“Yours.”

--

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@fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

[fic-dump-dotcom]

Viagra, really? - S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader

All you'd wanted was to satisfy a dumb curiosity—whether or not Viagra had an effect on women. It wasn’t like you were going to pop a whole pill and throw yourself at the next human being in sight. It was just a fun, stupid experiment for a boring Wednesday afternoon. You’d split the dose in half, dropped one into each of two steaming cups of black coffee—one for you, one for JJ—and left them on your desk while you stepped away to make Dr. Spencer Fucking Reid his usual. Like you did everyday.

The man had a freakish internal clock—he always took his second coffee at exactly 3:17 PM. You were the one who usually made it for him, and this time, that was your downfall. You had left your desk to go make his usual cup, completely forgetting you’d left the two tainted ones sitting there.

When you walked back in, everything went to hell. JJ looked chipper, a little pink in the cheeks, sipping from one of the cups. Spencer was holding the other spiked one. You stared at the third cup in your hand, the safe, non-Viagra-laced cup you’d made specifically for him, and your stomach dropped.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

He noticed you staring, eyes narrowing behind those glasses.“What?”

“Nothing!” you blurted, voice too high, too guilty. “Just—coffee. You know. Love it. Can’t live without it.” JJ gave you a sidelong glance over her cup, one eyebrow rising looking over at Reid, who of course, had already half-finished the drink.

Fifteen minutes later, he shifted in his seat. Twenty minutes in, he tugged at his tie. Cleared his throat. His cheeks were flushed. You didn’t want to believe it was happening, but it was.

The Viagra was definitely working.

At twenty-five minutes, Spencer Reid stopped typing mid-sentence. His hands froze over the keyboard. His brows knitted in concentration, he glanced at you. His expression unreadable. Then he stood abruptly. His chair rolled back. His hand pressed low to his stomach—almost reflexively—and he muttered, “I need to step out.”

You blinked. “What?” But he didn’t answer. He was already halfway to the hallway bathroom. You turned slowly to JJ. She looked back at you. Eyes wide. “Did he just—?”

“He drank yours,” you hissed. JJ nearly choked. “Then who—?”

“I have his.” You looked at the untouched cup beside you. “You took mine. He took yours.” JJ snorted so hard she had to cover her mouth. “Oh my God.”

“This isn’t funny!” you whisper-yelled.

“I can’t believe you accidentally drugged Reid!”

“I didn’t drug him! I—okay, technically, yes, I—” You groaned. “JJ. I gave Spence a goddamn boner pill.” You dropped your face into your hands.

It took him thirty-six minutes to come back. And when he did? You knew immediately. Because he knew. His eyes landed on you with laser precision. He didn’t speak, not at first. He just walked—calmly, slowly—over to your desk. You looked up, throat dry.

“You wanna tell me,” he said angrily hushed, “why I just spent half an hour in the men’s room trying to hide a completely inexplicable erection?”

You stared at him before looking around for JJ to be your saving grace, of course that bitch was nowhere to be found. “Spencer, I can explain—”

“Can you?” His voice was low, sharp. “Because the only logical explanation is that someone laced my coffee with sildenafil citrate.”

You winced. “We were just—curious. JJ and I.”

His jaw ticked. “We?”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to—” You fumbled. “It was for JJ and me! I made two cups, left them on my desk, and then went to get your usual—”

“And you didn’t think to label them?” His voice cracked at the end, furious and scandalized. “You didn’t think to mention the presence of a powerful vasodilator in the office kitchen?”

“Okay, you’re being dramatic.”

“I am hard in trousers I can’t stand up in.”

You bit your bottom lip. “Oh my God, Spencer—”

“Don’t use that tone—like I’m the one in the wrong here.”

You were fighting a laugh. He looked so mad, and so flushed, and so painfully, obviously turned on.

His slacks betrayed him completely. The sharp cut of his jacket couldn’t hide the tension in his body, couldn’t cover the way he shifted, subtle and controlled, like every move was an effort not to feel too much.

“Are you seriously mad at me?” you asked, voice low, eyes darting around.

He leaned in, his mouth near your ear. “I’m hard,” he whispered, “and I’ve been hard for forty-five minutes. You drugged me. You think this is funny?”

You swallowed. “No.” But your voice said otherwise.

“It’s not funny,” you said, grinning. “It’s just—”

“What?” His voice dropped. “It’s what?” He just sat there, visibly hard, visibly panicking, eyes darting toward his lap like his own body was betraying him in real time.

“Reid,” you whispered, “do you want me to take you somewhere private?”

“I—uh—what? No. I mean, yes, I just—” He exhaled sharply and pressed the heels of his palms into his thighs, like that would help the situation. “This is not... I don’t normally feel like this. Not around you. I mean, not because of you. Not—not that I don’t find you attractive, because you’re very attractive, obviously. It’s just—I wasn’t prepared for this. You dosed me.”

You tried not to laugh. “I didn’t dose you, I made a coffee laced with a questionable pharmaceutical as a joke for JJ, and you drank it.”

His eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t make it better.”

“No,” you agreed, biting your lip. “But it does make it kind of hot.”

He gawked. “Hot?”

You leaned in, your voice hushed. “You. Like this. All flustered and mad and trying really hard to pretend you're not turned on in front of me.”

He made a wounded, embarrassed sound and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh my god. You’re enjoying this.”

You tilted your head. “A little.”

“I could report you to HR,” he muttered, though it had no real bite. His cheeks were flushed, jaw tight with discomfort and... something else. He refused to meet your eyes.

“And what would you say?” you teased gently. “‘She accidentally gave me a hard-on in the middle of the bullpen and then looked too hot about it?’”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re the worst.” you noticed he didn’t move away when you inched a little closer, nor did he stop you when you rested your hand lightly on his knee.

He looked down at it. Then up at you. And his voice cracked a little when he asked, “What... are you doing?”

You smiled. “Making it up to you.”

“You can’t just—just seduce your way out of this,” he stammered. “This is medical. Physiological. I—I’m experiencing venous occlusion and—and increased nitric oxide—”

“God, even flustered, you’re the most ridiculously hot person I’ve ever met,” you muttered, half to yourself.

He stared at you, lips parted. “Are you serious right now?”

You nodded, still smiling. “Dead serious.”

“You don’t have to do anything, Spence,” you said softly. “Just come with me. Somewhere private. I’ll take care of it.”

He hesitated. Eyes searching yours like he was weighing every possible outcome. Then he stood suddenly, stiffly, clearly trying to adjust himself without making it worse.

He stared at you. Then he looked toward Hotch’s office. Empty. Toward the hallway. Quiet. Back at you.

He grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to register it. He pulled you down the hallway, fast and quiet, past the copier, past the tech room, past the old conference wing. His grip was hot and firm around your wrist

You knew where he was going before you saw the door: Storage 4C – Surplus Tech.

Dead zone. No cameras. Half the time even Garcia forgot it existed. He pulled you in. Shut the door. Locked it. Watching him pace in a tight circle, he looked like he might combust.

“This is insane,” he said. “I’ve got dopamine overload, I can’t think straight, my pants—” He gestured wildly toward his zipper. “I can’t even sit down like this.”

You took a slow step toward him. “Then don’t sit down.” He opened his mouth—probably to ask what the hell you meant—but before he could speak, you dropped to your knees.

“Wh—what are you—” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, sharp and panicked.

You looked up through your lashes, palms dragging slowly up the backs of his thighs. “You said you didn’t know what to do, right? So let me.” You reached up to undo his belt, watching the muscles in his stomach tighten beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“You don’t have to—” he choked out.

“I want to,” you said simply.

He made a soft, moan when you freed him from the confines of his slacks—thick and flushed, already straining with pressure. The tip was leaking, glistening, and you could tell just how sensitive he was by the way his thighs trembled the second your breath ghosted over his skin.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Oh my god.” You wrapped your fingers around the base and leaned in, licking a slow, teasing stripe up the underside of his cock. His whole body jolted.

One hand shot out instinctively and tangled in your hair, the other hovered helplessly in the air like he didn’t know what to do with himself. His head tipped back against the wall, breath ragged.

“Y-you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered.

You smiled around him as you took him into your mouth, slowly, letting him feel the heat, the suction, the way your tongue curled just right. He gasped—a sharp, disbelieving sound—and his hips jerked forward before he forced himself back, muttering a frantic, “Sorry—sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You moaned around him in response, letting him know you liked it, and the sound dragged another whimper out of him.

He looked down at you, his face flushed, his lips parted, his expression somewhere between awe and desperation. His fingers tightened in your hair again when you took him deeper, your throat relaxing around him.

“God, you’re—” He cut off with a moan, teeth digging into his lower lip. “You feel... fuck, you feel so good.”

You bobbed your head slowly, deliberately, watching him unravel. He was panting now, trying and failing to keep it together. His knees buckled slightly and his grip in your hair more needy.

“I’m—I can’t—” he stammered, trying to pull you back gently. “You—you have to stop or I’m gonna—”

You hummed low in your throat, and that was it. His cock twitched in your mouth as he came. you sucked harder, mouth still wrapped around him, swallowing everything, hands steady on his hips while he sagged against the wall,

You let him go with one last slow drag of your tongue, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand like it was just another Tuesday.

His eyes were still closed when you stood. Like he couldn’t quite process as you leaned in close, your voice a whisper at his ear, “I said I’d fix it,” you murmured, “consider us even.” And then you turned and walked out—leaving him dazed, pants half-open, jaw slack, completely wrecked in the supply closet of the BAU.

No shame. Just the soft sound of your boots against the tile, echoing back to him

Spencer Reid didn’t move for a full five minutes. And when he finally did, all he could say was: “…Holy shit.”

a/n: omfg it’s confirmed Matthew is coming back for season 18 of criminal minds im losing my shit

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[fic-dump-dotcom]

Try It On, Take It Off

Maddy Perez x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Notes: Smut, cunnulingus, fingering, thigh riding, dom!reader, sub!Maddy, slight degregation, slight praise, plot if you squint

Summary: You're a fashion major who is inspired by her roommate Maddy, to make a beautiful dress. Though it wasn't your intention Maddy ends up trying the dress on, and subsequently taking it off

Masterlist

Your dorm room was quiet. The only thing that could be heard was the low hum of your sewing machine. Glasses were perched at the edge of your nose and a pin was held in your mouth. Your eyes consistently glancing over at your design plan, not wanting to make a mistake.

When you were younger you had an aversion to clothing. You couldn’t have cared any less about what you wore. There was plenty of times that you came home with grass stains on your pants or with mysterious holes in you shirts. Your parents were always scolding you for your appearance.

When you got older it turned out that, you just weren’t a fan of the clothes they bought you. Once you got to pick the items in your wardrobe you began to cultivate your own style. Eventually you became bored with what the stores had to offer. So, you learned how to make pieces that you wanted to wear.

That eventually led to you finding out that designing clothes was your passion. You applied to a few fashion schools in your local area and got accepted to all of them. However when your dream school in California offered you a full ride you couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

It had only been a couple of months since your move. You were a bit of a recluse even with such an outgoing major. The outgoing party aspects of college were lost on you. The same couldn't be said for your roommate, Maddy.

While you were always in your dorm working, she was the exact opposite. If you hadn’t seen her in the bed sleeping on the way to your morning classes, you would doubt that she even stayed in the dorm at all.

You weren’t surprised that the girl always had plans. She looked important. It was one the first things you noticed about her. Her style almost screamed that she was better than you. Whether she was wearing street clothes, party attire or formal wear, she always looked good. It helped that the woman herself was drop dead gorgeous.

Sometimes you’d look at the girl and get inspired to make something. You typically refrained from creating those pieces, but this one was different. It was an elegant blue gown. It was something like an upscale prom dress. Something that one would wear to a gala maybe, but not a wedding.

As soon as the idea popped in your head, you knew that you had to make it. It had taken you a few weeks to get it together. All of the work was paying off beautifully. You were nearly done with it, the last thing being sewing the piece together.

The quiet left the room as Maddy and her friend entered. They were giggling the moment they came through the door.

“Y/n, this is my friend Cassie. Cassie this is my roommate Y/n,” she introduced as the pair plopped down on her bed.

“Hi,” you said keeping your focus on the dress.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” the blonde spoke.

That piqued your interest. You lift your head up to meet her, gaze a smile stretching across your face, “Thanks. I’ve been working on it for a few weeks.”

“Are you going to model it?”

You shake your head quickly, “It’s not my proportions.”

“Are you making it for a friend?” Maddy questions.

You feel the tip of your ears heat, “Um, well n-not really. I don’t think. I just got inspired to make it, so it’s not for anything particular.”

“What inspires something as elegant as this?”

You scratch the back of your neck, “ Someone.”

Maddy interjects again, “So you did make it for someone.”

You sigh, “Look, it’s inspired by this girl I know, but I don’t know if she’d even want this.”

“Anyone who would turn something like this down has to be a fucking idiot,” Cassie says.

Maddy agrees with the blonde, “Truly a dumbass.”

You chuckle at their comments. They turn their attention back to each other and you go back to working on the dress.

Eventually the two girls go back out. A few hours pass and you finally finish the dress. You hang it up on the wood connected to your bed. The full view of it sends pride through your chest.

“It’s beautiful.”

You’re slightly startled by the Latina’s presence. You didn’t hear her come back in. She laughs at your fright, but continues getting closer to the dress. Seeing her next to it only made you want to see her in it more.

“Is it okay if I touch it?”

You don’t answer her immediately. She takes her eyes off the dress to look at you. This takes you out of your trance.

“D-do you want to try it on?”

Maddy arches an eyebrow, “Are you sure?”

You nod , “Positive.”

“What if I don’t fit?”

You shake your head, “It’ll fit trust me.”

Carefully she takes the dress and heads towards the bathroom.

“Wait,” you call to her and she stops.

You quickly go to the closet and search through your roommate’s things. You pull out some sparkly blue heels that work with the dress.

“With these,” you hand them to her.

She gives you a look you can’t decipher, but wordlessly goes into the restroom.

You wait on the edge of your bed with baited breath. Having the woman that inspired the piece actually wear it. You were doubtful that it would happen, but now it was a reality.

When the bathroom door opened, Maddy slowly made her exit. It was almost like a bunch of still images as she came into the room frame by frame.

She was stunning. You couldn’t find the words as much as you searched for them. The heels went perfect with the dress. Everything about it was perfect. It fit her like a glove.

“Speechless?”

You nod before standing up. Your eyes rake over her one more time, trying to come up with anything, “This is… it’s better than I imagined.”

“Better than you imagined,” Maddy repeats smugly.

You feel the embarrassment start to rise, “I mean- I…”

“I think, you made it for me. It feels like it’s tailored specifically for me,” she says, getting closer to you.

“I- you inspired me to make it, yes,” you look down avoiding her gaze.

“So you see me in the same way you see this dress?”

You shake your head, “The dress goes with you. It compliments and accentuates what you already bring to the table.”

“And what do I bring to the table, Y/n?”

You gulp, “Your confidence, the way you carry yourself, it just gives off importance. Your style is perfect and you’re very… pretty."

“Sounds like you pay a lot of attention to me,” Maddy now stands face to face with you.

“We’re roommates,” you try to defend.

“I pay a lot of attention to you, Y/n,” she admits.

You feel your mouth go dry, “What?”

Maddy’s eyes stay on yours, “I can't help it, you’re just so cute. You look so tense when you’re curled up on your bed working on something. Those glasses are always one wrong move away from falling off. I especially like the way you look at me, it’s like you’re taking every detail of me in every single time.”

“You think I’m cute,” you repeat, blushing madly.

“I think you’re adorable, innocent even.”

The way her eyes examine you, makes you squirm. There’s a tension in the air, something that is unfamiliar to you.

“I’m not innocent,” your tongue swipes over your bottom lip.

“Prove it,” the Latina challenges you.

You stand a little taller. The height difference between the two of you a little more evident. You carefully remove your glasses, tossing them on a nearby desk. Then you close the gap between Maddy and yourself.

“I’m not some shy virgin loser, if that’s what you were thinking.”

Maddy leans further into you, “All that stuttering is for show then?”

“The thing about my nerves is that I always overcome them.”

Your hand moves to rest on her waist, but she playfully smacks your hand away.

“No touching, this dress is priceless.”

A deep laugh escapes you, “Then I think you might have to take it off.”

Maddy reaches for the back of the dress. Her finger ghosts the zipper, “You sure you can handle it?”

Instead of reaching for her waist your hand travels to the zipper on the back of the dress. You keep eye contact with her as you pull it down. When it gets to the end your fingers graze the soft skin of her back. Your focus is only enhanced by the goosebumps you can feel forming under your touch.

“I know that I can,” your lips are gentle against her earlobe.

The dress begins to pool at the bottom as it slips off of her. Maddy finds herself stepping out of the dress giving you the perfect view of her body. She turns around to bend down and pick it up. Her ass pressing against your front as she does so.

You can’t help yourself as your hand places itself on her neck. There’s no pressure applied, but that doesn’t stop her head from tilting back.

“Kiss me already,” she breathes out.

You smirk, “I don’t think you’re in any place to be making demands.”

She opens her mouth to reply, but your hand lightly squeezes her throat. She whimpers softly only widening the grin on your face.

“Put the dress down first,” you tease her in the same way as she did with you.

Quickly she slips from your hold and sits the dress down and out of the way. When she faces you again, there are no smart remarks. Her matching black lace set left little for your mind to imagine. It wouldn’t be on long.

It was hot when you finally kissed. It wasn’t slow or tentative like most first kisses were. It was hungry, messy even. Each of you wanted to dominate the other. Neither was quite willing to relent.

Her arms were tightly secured around your neck, pulling you down closer to her. You finally had her waist firmly in your hands.

She slips her tongue into your mouth causing you to moan. You playfully suck on it, which elicits a pretty cry from Maddy. You take the opportunity to briefly separate; only enough to remove your shirt.

Her palms resettle on your body, feeling you up. A fistful of her ass fits nicely in your hand.

“Fuck,” Maddy sighs against your lips.

You can’t help smacking the flesh leaving a stinging sensation with the woman.

“Always going out in those slutty outfits. Probably hoping some stupid guy thinks he’s got a shot, just so you can get off on turning him down. Coming back here all late, but unsatisfied. Playing with yourself as soon as you get in bed. Pathetic.”

You show your strength by ripping her bra with your bare hands. She arches into you as your mouth attacks her breasts. You harshly suck at the swells of breasts hoping to leave a trail of marks in your path.

When you suck on her tits she begins to whine, “I need more.”

You look up at her, “Beg."

You expected more push back from her, but she was quick to comply, “Please Y/n, I need more. Touch me, taste me, I need you, please.”

“Good girl,” you move the girl to lay on the bed.

You hover over her and her hand goes for the waistband of your pants. You take them off quickly before kissing her again.

You create your own path, kissing and suckling down her body before getting to her pussy. The scent alone is driving you insane. You’ve teased her enough.

Delicately you pull her panties to the side and begin to devour her. Your hands find purchase on her thighs keeping them a part. You feel your own arousal intensify as the woman begins to move desperately against your tongue.

Your hot breath against her cunt was turning her into a puddle. Two of your fingers bury themselves inside of her.

“You’re such a hungry slut, say it,” you feel her sucking your fingers deeper into her hole.

“I’m a hungry slut,” she’s nearly breathless from your intense pace.

“Cum on my fingers.”

You begin fucking her faster, causing her to rise up in the bed. The image of sweat dripping down her body, as her eyes were close, looks like a Picasso painting.

With your free hand your fingers begin circling her clit. Her body shakes violently as that final action sent her over the edge. You fuck her through the orgasm your pace finally slowing before you pull your fingers out of her.

You don’t waste anytime shoving those same fingers into her mouth. She sucks them lazily, her tongue swirling around your digits.

“There you go, you like tasting yourself don’t you?”

Your voice is condescending, but she nods nonetheless, with your fingers still in her mouth. Once her mouth is off of your fingers she pulls you into a kiss. You’re obsessed with the taste of her.

Her fingers toy with the top of your pants. She looks up at you innocently, “I want to make you come.”

The confidence she usually carries is gone. Part of you thinks that she's afraid you'll turn her away.

You soften for a second, “I’m not going to deny you, baby.”

You let her pull your pants and underwear down. You’re just as wet as she was. She drags a finger through your folds gathering your juices before putting the finger in her mouth.

Her eyes close at the taste, “Fuck Y/n.”

Your hand rests on her chin, gently tilting her head up, “Can I use you, Maddy?”

She nods dumbly which makes you smile.

“Good girl. Get up and sit on that chair.”

She quickly follows your command. Once she's in the chair you sit on her lap. Your bare pussy in contact with her smooth thigh.

“Flex your thigh,” you instruct.

She listens and the change makes you gasp lightly. Your rest your head in the crook of her neck then slowly begin to grind on her thigh. Small whimpers and cries escape your lips as you use her thigh to get off.

Maddy’s hands rest on your hips helping guide your movements.

“That’s it baby, help me,” you whisper against her skin.

Her grip on you becomes more firm as she speeds up your movements. Her hands now in full control of your pace.

You lift your head up to kiss her sensually. Your hands tangle in the back of her hair, keeping her in place.

She begins to push your hips down rougher.

You whine at the change, “I’m going to cum."

When you do, Maddy is quick to switch your position. She sits you on the chair before getting on her knees. She keeps one hand on your chest as her mouth begins to latch on to your pussy.

She tentatively licks through your folds and her tongue prods at your soddened entrance. You’re trying to catch your breath. Maddy is holding back only trying to clean you, but you can tell she wants to keep tasting you.

When you decide that she’s had enough you yank her hair, just enough to get her attention. She looks up at you with swollen lips.

“I had to taste you,” she apologizes.

“Come here.”

She rises slowly and now it’s who pulls her into your lap. Your lips meet again this time matching together perfectly. The tiredness present, but neither of you want to stop.

“So good for letting me use you,” you mumble against her lips.

“Y/nn,” she mewls against you.

You chuckle, “I’m just teasing.”

She jokingly pushes your shoulder, “So, can I have that dress?”

You pretend to think about it, “As long as we keep doing that, you can have whatever you want.”

“And if I wanted a date?”

You stutter, “I- we could do that then.”

She laughs, “You’re cute.”

“Don’t forget how good I just fucked you.”

She shook her head and kissed your forehead, “I won’t, but that doesn’t mean I can’t call you cute.”

You grumble, but nonetheless wrap your arms around the girl. Your head falls onto her shoulder.

“We have to clean up before bed baby,” her hand massages your scalp.”

“Can we just sit for a minute?”

So you sit there, holding her in your arms. Her naked body against yours. The only thought on your mind is her and what you'll make her next time.

[fic-dump-dotcom]

this actually happened. it's true, i was the phone!

smut blurb where reader goes down on Cassie while she’s on the phone?? Pls

"your, uh— your birthday party?" cassie stutters, nearly dropping the phone as her body suddenly tenses, hips jolting. Her grip on your hair tightens to the point that it's getting painful, her fingers clenching and unclenching as she fights to keep herself together. despite the slight discomfort, you can't bring yourself to let her know and potentially ruin the moment. this is way too entertaining — so you just keep going.

your index and middle fingers maintain her lips spread open, your tongue lavishing her in a tortuously slow pace.

"no. I mean yeah! yeah, of course I remember! i'll be here. I just— uh, just..." her eyes roll to the back of her head, teeth chewing on her bottom lip. she clears her throat and pulls up her knees, fighting back the urge to moan out her pleasure. "I don't have an outfit yet." she trails off.

your lids fall shut in concentration, your tongue lazily dragging up and down her pussy while cassie tries to focus on the conversation, your lips occasionally pursing to leave wet, open mouthed kisses everywhere you can.

cassie's breath starts coming out in heavy huffs through her nose but you never relent, pulling on her labia ever so gently and rolling the swollen tissue gently against your tongue, feeling the texture of it before tending to her neglected clit, only pulling away to admire the mess you've made of her and then repeat the process, spitting to make sure she stays nice and wet for you.

you can hear maddy mention something about going shopping, your gaze shifting to meet cassie's.

"uh.. i'm kind of busy today." she ends her sentence with a soft spoken "fuck", her back arching. her hips are constantly lifting up for more, soft little sounds unintentionally ripping from her throat. she knows damn well she's not being discreet at all, and you're really not helping her case. you hum deliberately as you eat her out tortuously slow, dragging the sound out as long as possible - making it vibrate against her clit and causing her to jolt once more, her voice wavering with it.

"what..? i'm not acting weird." cassie laughs, but that quickly turns into a nervous gulp as you seal your lips around her clit and suck, the bud warm and swelling as you flick it back and forth lazily. it gets too much, and cassie fails to hold back a moan.

"hey, what's— what the fuck, cassie? are you fucking serious right now?" maddy deadpans from the other side of the line, her tone clearly annoyed.

"i'll just- ah, i'll call you back, alright? i'm— bye."

[fic-dump-dotcom]

best friends, cassie howard and maddy perez.

summary: in which things heat up when cassie and maddy approach you at a party.

warnings: switch!reader, threesome, face riding, oral!

notes: enjoy this draft while i work on new things! promise to post something good in a bit! p.s, this is not proof read, sorry babes!

Cassie Howard and Maddy Perez have been close for a long time now. They are used to sharing things, like lots of friends do. From clothes to beds when Maddy sleeps over at Cassie’s place to escape the yelling in her house, and now, you.

When the two girls heard from BB that you were throwing a party, they immediately told you that they’d be attending, and then went home to pick what to wear, even if the party wasn’t for another week.

Now, it’s the night of the party and they enter your house, getting stared at by guys from school as they move through the crowd of drunk teenagers. It’s impossible not to notice the blonde and brunette duo, their matching outfits showing off their bodies. Cassie is, of course, wearing the pink set, while Maddy has on the same set in black.

“Do you see her?” Cassie attempts to ask her friend, her voice going unheard considering the loud music. She stops walking in the middle of the living room, Maddy following her lead.

“Hey, have you seen the host?” Maddy asks a random boy beside her.

“(Y/N)?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Cassie nods. The boy points towards the kitchen and Cassie quickly grabs her friend’s hand, leading her towards the kitchen. “There.” The blonde grins.

“Damn.” Maddy mumbles, watching as you’re lying down on the kitchen island as Jules does body shots on your stomach, a group of people cheering her on. “I’d kill to be Jules right now.” Maddy jokes, earning a laugh from her friend.

“Jules, come on, you’ve had enough.” You prop yourself up and off the counter, taking the bottle of liquor out of her hand before she pours another drink. Jules has been doing this for a while now, to the point that her best friend, Rue, gave up and walked away. “Jules, go find Rue and get a glass of water.” You sigh as the girl tries to take the bottle back.

“God, the two of you are so boring.” She huffs, however, still following your advice and walking out of the kitchen, the crowd slowly exiting as well.

Getting off the counter and tugging at your dress, you pull the tight fabric down your legs a little. You then place the bottle on the counter after taking a quick swig.

“Hey.” Maddy and Cassie smile in unison when they approach you.

You try to hold yourself back from gasping at the girls, looking them up and down. “I see the two of you went for the matching look.” You laugh.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Maddy rolls her eyes, clicking her tongue.

“Oh, it definitely was. You both look hot.” You grab two red solo cups from the counter, then taking the same bottle from earlier and pouring the two girls drinks.

“Thank you.” They take the cups and are quick to down them.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here?” Cassie suggests, turning to look at Maddy, then back at you.

You bite your lip as the two girls stare at you in anticipation, copying your move from earlier and checking you out, admiring how your dress fits on you. “Let’s go, this party could use some fun.” You cave.

“For sure.” Maddy and Cassie are quick to lead you upstairs and towards your bedroom.

“Cute room.” Cassie sits down on the bed next to you and Maddy, looking around the room.

You start feeling increasingly anxious, unsure of what to do and say. However, you push through it and try to remain calm. “Thanks.” You smile.

“(Y/N), don’t be shy. Take off my shirt.” Cassie says, her soft voice encouraging you to comply. Your lips part as you carefully remove the thin pink fabric off of her body, revealing her breasts.

“You’re so beautiful.” You hum, leaning towards her and pressing gentle kisses on her neck, before stopping when Maddy interrupts.

“Awh, what about me?” The girl on the other side of your bed whines, her lips forming into a fake pout. Unlike Cassie, Maddy proves to be more dominant with her actions, grabbing your hands and guiding you to pull off her black top. She tosses her shirt on the floor, Cassie then doing the same. “Here.” Maddy quietly says, once again taking your hands and placing them on her breasts. Her nipples are hard, Maddy’s entire body begging for you to touch her. You carefully massage them, eager but quiet moans escaping from the girl.

Cassie then moves closer to you from behind, stopping you from continuing on with Maddy as the two girls work on taking your dress off, leaving you in nothing but your small thong.

Maddy gently moves you hair out of your face, “Lie down, baby.” She instructs you.

You do as she says, lying back on the bed, unsure of what the girls have planned. Cassie climbs towards you, leaning down and kissing you, before positioning yourself so her cunt is hovering about your mouth. Now, you understand what she wants. “Say please.” You change your tone, feeling more confident in yourself.

The blonde whines, “Please.”

“Good girl.” Maddy chimes in. She’s now starting to work on pleasuring you, kissing up your thighs, until she reaches your cunt. You can feel her breath, it’s as if she’s waiting for you to make the first move, so you do.

Cassie fully places her cunt on your mouth as you slowly lick one stripe up her folds. “Fuckkkk…” She moans, desperate for more and starting to grind against your tongue.

“Keep going.” Maddy tells you as she starts to do the same to you, instead thrusting her tongue into you, earning muffled moans from you as you move your tongue around Cassie’s folds, coaxing out juices as you make your way to her clit. More moans abrupt from you and Cassie. Maddy is teasing you, her tongue flicking slowly on your own clit, your legs slightly shaky. Your hands make their way up Cassie’s waist, sitting there for a moment and guiding her hips with the movement of your tongue on the swollen nub. Cassie has different plans, however, her mouth dropping in pleasure as she drags her hands to her tits, getting you to massage at her nipples, adding to the wave of pleasure going through her.

“Shit, (Y/N).” Cassie gasps, her eyes rolling back.

“Doing so good for Cass, hm?” Maddy muffles as she eats your pussy.

Like the two of you are in sync, you and Maddy thrust your tongues deeper, Cassie going silent, unable to even make a sound as she desperately cums on your face. Moments later, you do the same as Cassie, Maddy sending you over the edge. Your juices flow out of your cunt, Maddy pulling away and licking her lips. “You taste so good.” She smirks.

Cassie gets off of you, her chest rapidly moving up and down as she relaxes after her orgasm. “You’re so fucking good at that.” She praises you.

Meanwhile, Maddy slides your panties back onto you, then moving towards your face. “Mm, Let me clean you up.” She gently grabs your face with her hands and kisses you, the two of you exchanging Cassie’s juices. Next to the two of you on the bed, Cassie grins.

“We should seriously do this again.” Cassie catches your attention and you and Maddy stop kissing.

“Obviously.” Maddy laughs.

[fic-dump-dotcom]

can you do a smut with cassie & reader sexting?

cassie is tucked under the covers, the soft glow of her phone screen casting a faint light over her flushed face. she bites her lip in frustration, her heart pounding in her chest as she tries to keep her breathing steady. lexi is lying just a few feet away in her own bed, and cassie can't help but glance her way one last time, making sure she's still fast asleep before turning her attention back to the screen. her fingers fly over the keys, the soft clicking of her nails the only sound in the quiet room.

"you still up?" 💬

the small text bubble appears after a moment, indicating that you're typing. cassie feels a thrill, a mixture of excitement and nerves coursing through her.

💬 "why're you awake baby? you've got cheer practice tomorrow"

"I know but I can't sleep :(" 💬

cassie sighs softly, the tension in her chest tightening. she peeks outside the cover, her gaze briefly flicking to lexi again— and she pulls the blankets a little higher.

💬 "are you nervous?"

"no. I just can't get off :(" 💬

cassie’s heart races as she watches the screen, the seconds feeling like hours as she waits for your reply. she catches herself nibbling on her lip again, her frustration growing. She rolls onto her back, her hand delicately dragging up her body to pinch her nipple as she types another series of texts.

"can you talk me through it? i'm so fucking horny but nothing works" 💬

"can't even use my toy because lexi would hear" 💬

" need to cum so bad" 💬

"help me?" 💬

"please baby :(" 💬

your response comes quickly.

💬 "fuck cassie, you can't just say shit like that"

💬 "fuck"

💬 "okay"

💬 "god"

💬 "what are you wearing?"

cassie’s breath hitches. slowly, she settles further beneath the covers and positions the camera carefully, capturing a hint of the delicate lace and the smooth curve of her thigh before snapping the picture.

"just this ❤️" 💬

💬 "new set??"

"yeah. it came in the mail this morning ❤️ i tried it on before bed" 💬

💬 "you look so fucking hot baby, show me more"

cassie glances over at the other side of the room, the soft sound of lexi's breathing filling the space. she bites her lip, holding back a smile, and carefully slips out of bed. the floor creaks slightly under her weight and she winces, freezing in place for a moment before tiptoeing across the room.

her heart pounds in her chest as she quietly slips into the bathroom, easing the door closed behind her until it clicks softly. the bright lights overhead flicker on and she takes a deep breath, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

she adjusts the straps of her bralette before slowly pulling down the cup, tucking it beneath her breast to reveal her nipple. with a teasing smile, she presses her breasts together, then snaps another picture.

her message sits there unread for a few minutes and she starts pacing, anticipation building. she knows exactly why it’s taking you so long to respond. you’ve probably already opened the picture, admired it for a while, and then saved it into your hidden folder. the thought makes cassie grin, imagining the way you pause to take it all in, zooming in to savor every detail before tucking it away for later.

💬 "are you alone?"

"yeah, in the bathroom" 💬

💬 "good"

💬 "think you can touch yourself and be quiet for me?"

cassie's breath catches in her throat at your response, feeling herself throb. she glances around the room, eyes landing on the bathtub. without thinking twice she steps inside and settles down, the cool surface making her gasp softly. she picks up her phone, her fingers itching to continue the conversation with you.

"yeah, I'm in the bathtub now…" 💬

her free hand trails down her stomach, her skin tingling at the thought of you guiding her through every touch.

💬 "are you touching yourself?"

cassie doesn't waste a single second. her fingers slip beneath her panties and she gasps softly at the sensation, her knees parting and pressing on each side of the tub as her body responds to the touch.

"yes" 💬

"couldn't stop thinking about you. been waiting for this all day." 💬

💬 "did you wear that little skirt for me today, baby? you looked so damn good. it took everything in my power not to drop to my knees and eat you out right in the hallways"

"I wanted you to. I wanted you so bad. couldn’t stop thinking about you touching me, your tongue on my pussy, everyone watching." 💬

💬 "you’d love that, wouldn’t you? I’d have you dripping all over my tongue, fingers deep in your tight cunt, right there in front of everyone. you wouldn’t even care who sees you. am I right?"

💬 "tell me what you're doing."

"rubbing my clit" 💬

"feels so good" 💬

💬 "yeah? keep going baby, rub that pretty clit faster for me."

she does as you say, letting her fingers explore just a bit faster, teasing herself just like she knows you would. her hips shift slightly and a soft moan escapes her lips despite her best effort to stay silent.

another buzz. she looks down at the screen.

💬 "add a finger, fuck that pussy nice and slow for me"

she lets her hand glide along her slick folds, the tip of her middle finger soon teasing her entrance— slowly sliding it into her pussy. the slick sounds echo in the quiet space, her eyes fluttering shut. she adjusts the phone near her thighs and starts an audio, her soft pants just loud enough for you to hear.

"fuck, I miss your fingers baby. wish you were here...fuck—" she whispers, her hips grinding back and forth with her finger inside her, making a sticky mess over her hand.

💬 "fuck"

💬 "i miss you too, so much"

💬 "keep going baby, make a mess"

💬 "i promise i'll eat your pussy tomorrow"

💬 "meet me at our usual spot before lunch"

cassie's thumb hovers over the keyboard for a moment, but she’s too far gone to type anything coherent. she can’t help but let out a quiet whimper as her hand moves more confidently between her thighs, her fingers pressing harder against herself

she doesn't reply. she can't. instead she carefully shifts her position, trying to maintain some semblance of comfort while she adjusts her phone and opens the camera: she holds it up between her legs, giving a perfect shot of her pussy as she toys with it.

she presses the recording button, the bright light of the flash making her arousal even more evident as she smears it all around and spreads herself for you, the sight of it nearly making her moan out loud. she gently rocks her hips in back and forth against her hand, her teeth nearly drawing blood as she fights to hold back the moans that threaten to spill.

"gonna come so hard, baby... fuck. I need your tongue— need it so badly," she pants softly, hoping it's loud enough for you to hear in the recording.

cassie tries to hold the phone steady but her body is trembling, and it’s becoming harder to focus. her breaths come in soft, shallow gasps as she toys with herself, the sensation overwhelming. she wants to send another message but she can’t type anymore—her fingers are too shaky, her body too tense.

her eyes blur as she glances at the screen, barely able to focus, but she doesn’t care. all she can think about is how much she needs this, how much she needs your praise and for you to watch her come undone.

her body tenses, her toes curling as she feels the knot tighten dangerously, her eyes starting to roll back. she knows she’s about to come, every nerve ending on fire, her thighs trembling uncontrollably against the tub.

and then it hits her.

her body shudders, her back arching as she comes, the sensation overwhelming. her hand keeps moving, faster now, her slick fingers drawing out every last moment of her orgasm.

a soft whimper escapes her and she’s barely holding the phone upright, the flash still capturing the entire thing—the way her body tenses and convulses, the slick skin of her thighs and the way she struggles to stay silent.

once the high begins to fade, cassie repositions the phone, framing herself in the shot.

she glances at the camera, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction, before slowly bringing her fingers into view, still slick from her release. she gently licks them clean, slowly, deliberately, making sure the camera captures everything—the way her lips close around them and the soft sounds of her cleaning herself off.

she stops the recoding and switches back to the messages app, her mind still foggy and her breathing uneven.

her thumb hovers over the send button, and with one last, deep breath, she presses it.

[fic-dump-dotcom]

Could you please do a Cassie smut where she comes to your work on reader’s break and they fuck in the bathroom before the break is up

the employee bathroom is small and utilitarian, with just enough room for the essentials — a toilet, a sink, and a mirror. neon lights buzz overhead, casting a harsh, unflattering glow over the space.

cassie's body jerks and spasms as your fingers pump in and out of her pussy, the obscene squelching sounds filling the small space. your work jacket is draped over the counter beneath her, a makeshift barrier between her thighs and the questionable cleanliness of the countertop.

you cast a glance up at the grainy security monitor above, scanning the empty aisles for any flicker of movement or emergency that would need your intervention. thankfully, the gas station is mostly deserted at this hour — save for fezco at the register.

you can't help but chuckle as you watch him raise his gaze to the camera, his expression unreadable but his eyes holding a clear message — your break's nearly over, hurry it up.

he was sharp enough to figure out exactly what the two of you were up to in the back without needing to be told.

"fuck, right there," cassie moans, snapping you out of your thoughts. you move quickly, your hand covering her mouth, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as you watch her eyes roll back.

"shhh," you whisper, leaning close, feeling the warmth of her muffled breath against your palm. her half-lidded eyes meet yours, a mix of excitement and nerves as you hold her steady, your fingers stretching and scissoring inside her pussy.

you start pumping your fingers faster and harder, finding just the right pace that will send her over the edge. cassie’s walls flutter and clench around your fingers in response, desperate and eager, trying to pull you in deeper. her breath quickens, punctuated by soft whimpers even as you try to keep her quiet.

"come on, baby. I know you're close. come for me," you command, your voice rough with lust. "come all over my fingers like the needy slut you are. "without warning you drop to your knees, your tongue delving deep into cassie's drenched folds, alternating between targeted flicks and suction, your fingers continuing to piston in and out of her as you lave at her clit.

your lips detach from her pussy just long enough to spit, coating it in saliva before diving back in with renewed enthusiasm. her juices coat your hand obscenely, glistening and dripping down to soak the jacket beneath her, leaving a dark stain on the front.

"oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," cassie chants, her body trembling with the force of her impending orgasm. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum so fucking hard!" she gasps, her thighs spasming hard as she comes, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over her.

her entire body jerks and convulses as she holds you in place with her thighs around your ears, hand tugging at your roots as she rocks her hips against your face to ride it out. it's so fucking messy, like a scene straight out of a porno, your lips licking and sucking and spitting over and over again, making an absolute mess of her as you bring her to overstimulation.

cassie can’t even say anything anymore, every bit of coherent thought is gone from her head and replaced by needy whimpers and moans that come out with every flick of your tongue. eventually, she forces your head away, her thighs closing as she collapses onto the countertop, heaving.

"fuck..." you murmur, kissing your way up her chest to meet her lips, letting her taste herself on your lips. "I gotta get back." you murmur against her lips, reluctant to let go. you can't resist one last taste though, parting her tense, quivering thighs and burying your face in her pussy again, kissing and licking at her sensitive folds.

but cassie is overstimulated, pleasure bordering on pain, and she doesn’t let you linger. instead, she pulls you back to her, kissing you deeply as she calms her racing heart, her soft whimpers filling the space between you as your lips trail to her neck.

"fez is gonna kill me if I don’t get back to my shift..." you whisper, pulling away just slightly to catch your breath. "can you stand?"

cassie nods, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter as you gently help her down. she wobbles for a moment, but you’re right there, steadying her. "I’m good,"

you reach out to pick up your crumpled jacket from the countertop, letting out a soft chuckle as you realise there's no way you can wear it. the fabric is wet, stained in a way that makes it impossible to wear without people asking questions. cassie blushes at the sight and starts apologizing, to which you respond with a smirk.

you toss it over the back of a chair as the two of you head out, deciding to stick with your shirt for the rest of the day.

[fic-dump-dotcom]

MISSED OPPORTUNITIES - maddy perez

summary: you can paired up with maddy for a project, little do you know there’s some lingering feelings in the air.

words: 3.8k

warnings: 18+, riding, g!p reader, reader being oblivious, rue, elliot & reader talk abt pegging and b*ssy 😭

notes: might be ooc maddy or bad dialogue, haven’t wrote for my baby in a while! sorry!

navigation. request.

"Maddy and Y/N."

Maddy didn't exactly know you, but yes, she's seen you. She had noticed you from a distance, watching as you'd come to school on your skateboard nearly every day, and on the days you didn't, you'd gotten a ride from Elliot.

Then you'd proceed to come into fifth period with baggy pants, a beanie on your head, and a nonchalant attitude.

Maddy wondered what it would be like to strike up a conversation with you. But, Maddy couldn't gather the courage to approach you, fearing rejection or awkwardness.

Maddy often found herself stealing glances at you during class, watching you bop your head to the music playing through your earphones.

Maddy couldn't help but wonder what kind of music you were listening to and if you'd ever consider sharing your playlist with her.

You take your wired airpod out of your ear, making sure you heard your teacher correctly. You glance around the classroom, catching Maddy's eye. She quickly looks away, blushing slightly.

"So! Now to go over your assignment." You lean back in your chair, listening to the instructions your teacher is giving. "As we all know, spring break is coming up, and I'm sure many of you have exciting plans. Although, the school wants to do something fun to celebrate the break. We thought it would be a great idea for you guys to come up with an event-type fundraiser for the school. It could be anything from a bake sale to a talent show, as long as it's creative and engaging."

Your teacher pauses, scanning the room for reactions. "Then, once you finish your assignment, the school will vote for the best event idea, and we will make it happen during spring break. This way, you will not only have a chance to showcase your creativity but also contribute to the school community in a meaningful way. So, let's brainstorm and come up with some amazing event ideas that will make this spring break even more memorable!"

Your teacher claps, encouraging the class to get up and start sharing their event ideas with their partner. The class gets up, except for you. You hesitate for a moment, feeling a bit unsure about Maddy being your partner.

Now, you didn't know Maddy personally, but you had heard some rumors about her, and you knew her boyfriend, Nate, a dickhead who'd often cause trouble. One time, Nate chased you with her truck, nearly running you over as you frantically tried to escape on your skateboard.

You never talked to Nate nor even looked his way, but he had always given you menacing looks whenever you crossed paths, along with the rest of the football team. It was tiring, annoying, and made you feel constantly on edge whenever you were near them.

You're knocked out of your thoughts when Maddy appears in front of your sight, a slight smile on her lips. "Y/N, right?" You nod, sitting up in your seat. "Yeah..." Maddy chuckles and nods, her smile widening.

"Were you gonna keep thinking about the great depression or come over to my desk so we can discuss this project?" You crack a smile at Maddy's playful comment and quickly gather your belongings, making your way over to her desk.

-

You're at Maddy's house. It's been a week since you've been working on the project together. Maddy had a completely different personality from her boyfriend. She was inviting but at the same time closed off, she'd open up about her interests and passions but rarely talked about her personal life or emotions.

You move to the edge of the bed, taking your notebook with you. "So...uh, so far we have a spring dance, a photography exhibit, and a...twerk party? Did you add that one?"

Maddy giggles, hiding her face behind her hands. "No, that one was all you," she says, her laughter contagious. "I swear I didn't write that." You can't help but smile at Maddy's infectious laughter. It's refreshing to see her so carefree and playful, even if she still keeps certain aspects of herself guarded.

Maddy crawls to the edge of the bed, leaning in to read the notebook. You hold in your breath, her being so close to you, sending a rush of warmth through your body. "You can add karaoke, that sounds fun," Maddy suggests, you nod, taking the pencil from behind your ear and jotting down her suggestion in the notebook.

Maddy bites down on her lip, watching you with a smile. "What...?" You whisper, confused and intrigued by her sudden change in demeanor. She leans in closer, her eyes dancing across your face.

"Do you always ride your skateboard to school? I've been meaning to ask." You feel a flutter of excitement at Maddy's interest in your daily routine. "Yeah, I've been skateboarding to school for a while now. I have a car, but it's more fun, to be honest," you reply, fiddling with the pencil in your hands.

Maddy's eyes fall to your skateboard propped on her wall before falling back on you. "You look hot when you ride it too." Her compliment catches you off guard, and a blush creeps up on your cheeks. "Thanks, Maddy," you say with a shy smile.

"We can take a break," Maddy suggests, taking the notebook out of your lap and setting it aside. You lay back against Maddy's bed, and she does the same, turning her head towards you.

"Any more ideas?" You ask, turning your head towards her. Maddy smiles, "Girl, what part of a break don't you understand?" You chuckle at Maddy's response, your face heating up. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Maddy reassures you, her eyes twinkling with amusement. You turn on your side, propping your head up with your hand. Maddy does the same, jokingly mocking you. "You know, I was thinking we should totally have a secret handshake. Something so ridiculous, only we'd get it."

You laugh at Maddy's suggestion, imagining the two of you coming up with a silly secret handshake. "Like what?"

Maddy sits up, sitting on her feet. You sit up as well, sitting criss-cross apple sauce. Maddy softly takes your hand, "We could dap up..." She moves your hand to the side and starts doing a series of intricate hand movements, "then do a link our pinkies...and seal it with a kiss."

You watch in awe as Maddy effortlessly demonstrates the complex sequence of hand movements. The idea of sealing the secret handshake with a kiss makes you blush, feeling as if you were floating on cloud nine.

"Ready?" Maddy asks, her eyes filled with excitement. You nod eagerly, beginning the intricate hand movements. As you mirror Maddy's movements, your fingers fumble at first, but with each repetition, you start to gain confidence and precision, sealing it with a kiss every time.

"Maddy!" Someone shouts from behind, interrupting your secret handshake. Startled, you quickly break away, turning around to see Maddy's mom at the door. "Dinners ready."

You exchange a sheepish glance with Maddy. "I should probably get going." You say to Maddy, glancing at her door, her mom now gone. Maddy nods understandingly, a hint of disappointment in her eyes. "Yeah, I guess we can finish practicing our handshake later," she says with a small smile.

You reluctantly leave, and you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation for the next time you see Maddy.

-

You lean against Rue's locker, watching the students pass by in the bustling hallway. Thoughts of Maddy replay in your mind making you smile to yourself. Maybe there's something more between you two than just friendship.

But your smile fades, remembering Nate Jacobs. We're they still together? How bad would it be if you did try to pursue Maddy?

Regardless of the bad thoughts running through your head, you can't deny the growing connection you feel towards her, leaving you torn between taking a chance or playing it safe.

You take out your airpod, glancing between Elliot and Rue. "Guys...am I attractive?" Elliot and Rue stop their conversation, exchanging puzzled looks. "Yes," Elliot simply says.

"I'd say so, yes," Rue adds, nodding her head.

Their affirmations boost your confidence, but a part of you still questions if their opinions are biased. Nevertheless, their words provide a small glimmer of hope that pursuing something with Maddy might not be as complicated as you initially thought.

"Let's say...there's this girl, right?" They both nod, and you continue. "And...she's like...giving... I want you, but I don't know if you want me vibes, you know?" Elliot raises an eyebrow while Rue stares at you, waiting for you to elaborate.

"Like! I know she likes likes me, but I don't know how to let her know I like like her." You pause for a moment, trying to find the right words to convey your dilemma. "It's like we're both playing this game and we're afraid to make the first move because we don't want to get rejected or ruin our friendship."

Rue shrugs. "Sounds like you both need a little push," she suggests. "Maybe stop being a little bitch and make a move?" You chuckle nervously at Rue's straightforward advice, appreciating her bluntness. "I guess you're right," you reply.

Elliot puts his hands on his hips. "But are you not curious as to who she's talking about?" Elliot asks Rue, raising an eyebrow.

"It's probably BB." You grimace, "That's not funny, Rue." Elliot tilts his head, confused. "BB? Like, the vape addict, BB?" Rue nods at Elliot, confirming his suspicions.

"You're gross..." He mutters, frowning at you. You make a blank face, "It's not BB, bro."

Elliot puts a hand over his heart. "Oh, thank god." "Who is it then?" Elliot asks, his curiosity piqued. You pause for a moment, debating whether or not to reveal the truth. "Uh..."

Just then, Maddy walks up to you, smiling slightly. "Hey, Y/N." You smile, giving the girl a small wave. "Hey, Rue and Elliot," Maddy adds, earning tight-lipped smiles and nods from the two.

Maddy then holds out her hand, and you're surprised she'd wanna do the handshake in front of Elliot and Rue. You quickly glance at them before reluctantly taking Maddy's hand and reciprocating the handshake, indeed ending it with a kiss.

While you release your grip, you notice a flicker of confusion in Elliot's eyes, but he remains silent. Rue, on the other hand, seems unfazed and continues to observe the interaction with a calm expression.

"Walk me to class?" Maddy asks. You hesitate for a moment, aware of the potential consequences of being seen together, but ultimately decide to go along with it. "Sure," you respond, offering her a small smile as the two of you start walking towards her class.

As expected, Nate Jacobs passed the two of you without acknowledging your presence. He keeps his gaze straight ahead, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. You turn around to see if he's still watching, but he's already disappeared into the crowd of students. You feel a sense of relief, grateful that he didn't make a scene or confront you about being with Maddy.

-

Elliot takes a hit of his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. Rue lets out a sigh. "I can't believe a community service event won against your and Maddy's spring dance."

You shrug. "I don't really care. I still got the A." Elliot nods. "So, do you and Maddy still talk? Or have you been talking during the break?"

You hum, "Yeah, we'll Facetime a bit and hang out every now and then." Elliot raises an eyebrow. "Interesting. Are you two just friends, or is there something more going on?"

"Just friends." You confirm. Rue cuts in, "Because you're a little bitchhhh..." You roll your eyes at Rue's comment. "Aren't you the one who nearly skipped town with Jules?"

"Yeah, well, that's different. Jules and I have a deeper connection," Rue retorts defensively. You shake your head, not wanting to get into an argument with Rue. "Whatever."

You glance at Elliot, hoping to change the subject. "So, Elliot, what about you? Are you seeing anyone special?" Elliot chuckles and shakes his head. "Nope, just enjoying the single life for now."

"I think he secretly wants to have a threesome with Jules and me." You and Elliot burst into laughter at Rue's comment, finding it amusing but also slightly uncomfortable. "I think you and Jules want me to want to have a threesome with you guys so you can feel good about yourselves."

Rue raises an eyebrow playfully. "Oh, is that what you think? You're totally wrong."

"What if we had a threesome?" Elliot suggests, jokingly. Rue laughs. "Yeah, and we just pegged Elliot the entire time." Elliot joins in on the laughter but quickly interjects, "Woah, woah! Why me?"

Rue smirks mischievously. "Well, you did bring up the idea, didn't you? It's only fair that you take the spotlight." Elliot's face turns slightly red as he stammers, "I-I was just kidding! I didn't actually mean it!"

You grimace, "Enough about pegging! I just got reminded of Silento."

"Silento? What does he have to do with this conversation?" Rue asks, raising an eyebrow.

Elliot mouths, "Bussy," and Rue frowns, fake gagging.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, distracting you from the strange conversation. You quickly pull it out to see a message from Maddy, smiling at the message.

maddy - wyd

"Maddy just texted me, what am I doing?" Rue lets out a dramatic gasp. "She's a wyd warrior? Brace yourself, Y/N." You chuckle at Rue's dramatic reaction.

you - nm, u?

maddy - home alone and extremely bored

maddy - you wanna come over?

"Holy shit." Elliot is nearly breaking his neck to look at your phone screen. "Maddy wants you to come over? She def wants to fuck." You raise an eyebrow at Elliot's assumption and shake your head.

"No she doesn't." You look at Elliot who stares at you with a raised eyebrow. "She doesn't!"

Rue joins in, "Then she would've asked for Cassie. Not you." Elliot nods in agreement. "And she's home alone."

You consider their points for a moment, realizing that they may have a valid argument. Anyway, you still believe that Maddy's intention is simply to alleviate her boredom. "Well, maybe she just feels more comfortable hanging out with me," you suggest.

"Why are you plotting your own downfall?" Rue raises an eyebrow, questioning your reasoning. Elliot chimes in, "If Maddy wanted company, she could have invited anyone else. It seems weird that she specifically asked for you."

you - omw

You get up from the bed and say, "See you guys later."

Rue yells after you, "Don't be a little bitch!"

-

"Why are your parents out?" You ask Maddy, plopping down on her bed. Maddy shrugs and replies, "They went out for dinner. My dad finally found a job."

You raise an eyebrow at Maddy's response and ask, "So why did you specifically want me to come over tonight?" Maddy hesitates for a moment before saying, "I just thought it would be nice to have some company."

You sense there's something more to Maddy's invitation, but you decide not to push further. Instead, you lean back on her bed and let out a contented sigh. Maddy sits on her feet before lying down beside you.

"You smell like cigarettes." You glance at Maddy, slightly surprised by her comment. "Oh, sorry about that," you say, realizing that the faint smell of cigarettes must have clung to your clothes from earlier. "I was hanging out with some friends earlier, and they were smoking."

Maddy stares at your face, and you feel yourself becoming self-conscious under her gaze. "I am so jealous of your eyebrows," her thumb begins, tracing the shape of your brow.

"They're so perfectly arched," she continues, a small smile playing on her lips. You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks as you thank her for the compliment, appreciating her attention to detail.

Maddy's eyes leave your eyebrows and fall to your lips. You notice a flicker of curiosity in her gaze as she leans in slightly. You clench your jaw, frozen in place, you were nervous as fuck. Your heart pounds in your chest, unsure of what might happen next.

Maddy pauses for a moment, her eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. Sensing your unease, she leans back slightly, giving you space.

Shit...did you just blow it? You watch Maddy's reaction, you try to gather your thoughts and find the right words to salvage the moment. The silence hangs heavy in the air, and you swallow hard, feeling the weight of the missed opportunity.

-

"No fucking way," Elliot mumbles as you finish your sentence. He shakes his head in disbelief. "You fumbled badly."

You run a hand down your face, "I know." Elliot pats you on the back, "Have fun dealing with that one. I gotta get to class."

You narrow your eyes, "Since when did you start going to class?"

Elliot chuckles, "Since I realized that I might not be getting my diploma." You give him a playful shove, "Well, good luck with that. Maybe I'll see you at graduation."

Elliot raises an eyebrow, "Don't hold your breath." He turns and walks away, leaving you alone to ponder the consequences of your missed kiss with Maddy.

You lean against your locker, scrolling through your playlists before landing on the one you made for Maddy. Well, she didn't know you did because you hadn't shown her yet.

You press play, and the familiar melodies fill your ears, but suddenly your headphones get snatched from your ear. You lift your head to see one of the footballers, Tyler, smirking down at you. "Who the hell still wears wires?"

You roll your eyes, annoyed by Tyler's interruption, reaching out to grab them back. Tyler chuckles and shrugs, moving them before you can reach them. "You should upgrade to wireless, man. It's the future," he says with a teasing tone.

"You're so fucking annoying." You mumble, exasperated by Tyler's teasing. "What the fuck did you just say to me?" Tyler's smirk fades as he hears your response, his playful demeanor turning more serious.

He leans in closer, his voice lowering as he confronts you. "You better watch your mouth, or you'll regret it."

"This isn't some Disney show, dude. Can I just have my headphones back?" You ask, trying to diffuse the tension. Tyler's eyes narrow as he considers your request, his grip on your headphones tightening. "Maybe I'll give them back if you apologize," he proposes, a hint of superiority in his voice.

"Nah, man. I can always buy another pair." You say, attempting to walk away from the escalating situation. But before you can take a step, Tyler slams you back against the locker, throwing your headphones on the ground before stomping on them.

"Why? They're right there." He smirks, pointing at the broken headphones. He pats your shoulder before walking away, leaving you stunned and seething with anger. You stand there, anger boiling inside you.

He was a dickhead who obviously craved attention because he lacks it at home.

"What the hell happened to you?" You turn around to see Maddy approaching with a concerned look on her face. You take a deep breath, "Nothing, but I'm about to leave school."

Maddy's concern deepens as she notices the anger in your voice. "Are you sure you're okay? You hesitate for a moment, contemplating whether or not to confide in her about Tyler's actions. You nod, picking up your broken headphones.

"You wanna come with?" Maddy hesitates for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She finally nods and says, "Yeah, I'll come with you." You smile gratefully at her.

-

The sun has now set, and you're in your car in a secluded area. Maddy smiles, the last song on the playlist you made from her finishing. "Send me that now!"

You laugh, "I will, swear."

You feel a sense of relief knowing that Maddy enjoyed the playlist you made for her. You meet Maddy's gaze, and your heart swells with gratitude for her presence and the connection you share.

Rue's words echo in your mind, "Don't be a little bitch."

You take a deep breath, letting Rue's words motivate you to push through any fear or hesitation. You softly place a hand on Maddy's cheek, pulling her into a gentle kiss. Maddy sinks in the kiss, leaning forward to deepen the kiss.

The kiss deepens, and you can feel Maddy's nails lightly graze the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Without hesitating, you pull the Latina into your lap with slightly shaking hands.

You pull away in a desperate need for air, but Maddy takes this as a chance to attack your neck, nipping and sucking on your sensitive skin, while grinding in your lap.

You let out a low groan, grasping her hips tightly as you surrender to the energy between you. Maddy's lips trail to your neck, to your jaw, and then back in an intense kiss, her hands roaming over your body.

The kiss becomes messy, her tongue sliding against yours, making your head swim with lust.  Your hands lift her skirt up, feeling the heat and smoothness of her thighs beneath your fingertips.

Maddy's breath hitches, pulling away from the kiss. You think you've done something wrong, but then you see the hunger in her eyes and the way her chest rises and falls rapidly. She leans in close, whispering in your ear, "I wanna ride you so bad."

Heat pools in your lower abdomen as you imagine Maddy straddling you, her body pressed against yours, moving in sync with your every touch. You bring Maddy into another kiss, she begins to grind on your hard-on, her movements becoming more urgent and desperate.

You lift Maddy up slightly, pulling down your pants with one hand while supporting her with the other. You reach back into her skirt, moving her underwear aside, before sliding into her wetness. 

Maddy moans softly, her nails digging into your shoulder as she begins to move her hips in rhythm with your thrusts.

The eye contact is strong, fueling the intensity between you both. Maddy's gasps become louder, her body arching against yours in, "Mm..fuck! You feel so good, baby."

You let out a small groan, throwing your head back against your seat as the pleasure builds. Maddy's moans fill the confined space of the car, encouraging you to increase the pace, lost in the passionate moment.

Your hands grip her waist tighter, guiding her movements as the desire between you escalates.  The car rocks with each thrust, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the enclosed space. The intensity reaches its peak, and with one final gasp, Maddy explodes into a state of euphoria, holding onto you tightly.

"Y/N!!" You hold onto her, her body trembling in your arms as she catches her breath. You gently stroke her hair, whispering words of comfort and affection as you both bask in the afterglow.

[fic-dump-dotcom]

listen, i just started watching euphoria and the way i want to kiss her and hod her and protect her like bitch, she's so soft she should not be crying I this show as much as she does. she deserves so much love and TRUST she will NEVER go a single moment unfulfilled cuz bitch I will ful(fill) her.

this was so good. 10/10 writing, 10/10 character, perfect for my pre-nap routine

Could you please write a Cassie smut where she hasn’t had sex in ages and desperately needs it so when the reader touches her for the first time she’s immediately soaked

it had been too long. painfully, desperately long.

cassie couldn't remember the last time she'd felt the touch of someone else's skin, the weight of another body pressing against hers. her vibrator and fantasies could only do so much to satisfy her needs, and she felt like she was going insane with how badly she craved sex.

that's why she finally gave in one night and downloaded a dating app.

she wasn’t looking for love or anything complicated— after her history with nate jacobs, a relationship was the last thing on her mind. all she wanted was a way to take the edge off and treat herself with an orgasm that wasn't brought to her by the buzzing touch of a toy. no strings, no messy emotions...just a single night with someone new to quiet the ache in her bones. boy or girl, she didn't mind.

that’s how she found you.

from the start, everything was clear between you. you both wanted a good hookup, nothing more nothing less.

a meeting place was set the next day, boundaries were discussed, and by the time she arrived at the hotel her pulse was already racing.

now, after merely an hour of talking (just enough conversation to dissolve the worst of the awkwardness) here she is, laying half naked under this gorgeous stranger, warm lips trailing down her collarbone that make her skin erupt in goosebumps.

cassie's chest heaves, her fingers threading through your hair as your lips continue their torturously slow descent. every touch, every press of your mouth against her skin sends heat spiraling through her, making her clit pulse with need already.

"mph— fuck..." cassie gasps, her tits pushing up as you take one nipple into your mouth. she can only lay there and watch as your tongue swirls around the sensitive peak, sending bolts of electricity straight to her core. she can feel herself getting wetter, her panties soaked through as you lavish attention on her breasts, your hand squeezing and groping the one that isn't being worshipped by your mouth.

but cassie needs more.

she needs you between her thighs, tasting her, devouring her like there's no tomorrow.

as if reading her mind, you begin kissing a trail down her stomach, your tongue dipping into her navel before continuing lower. you hook your fingers in the waistband of her panties and tug them down her thighs, over her knees then off her feet in a swift movement. she shudders beneath you, her fingers curling into the hotel sheets in anticipation.

it's been so long, too damn long — and fuck, it shows.

she’s already much wetter than you expected, thighs trembling with anticipation, her body reacting to every touch like she’s starving for it. you settle between her legs, eyes locked on the mess she’s made of herself—slick glistening on her lips, her pussy swollen and dripping, practically throbbing with need.

“god,” you murmur, “I haven't even touched you yet.”

cassie whimpers, her hips twitching up toward your face like she can’t help it.

you don’t make her wait.

you lean in and drag your tongue through her folds, slow and indulgent, tasting the slick that’s been building for way too long. cassie's whole body shudders when you moan against her folds, a choked cry tearing from her throat as her fingers seize in the sheets.

“fuck...oh my god, yes,"

you lap at her again, firmer this time, tongue flicking over her clit, feeling her thighs trembling on either side of your head. you can't help but notice how pretty she looks from here— her face flushed, lip captured between her teeth, her breasts heaving with every inhale.

and god, she’s soaked. practically dripping onto the sheets.

you eat her like you’ve been dreaming about it—tongue working her pussy in slow, wet strokes before spreading her open with your thumbs to aim a glob of spit onto her clit, watching it dribble to her entrance before swallowing it back up, savoring every twitch, every gasp, every desperate buck of her hips.

because cassie can’t stop moving. she’s writhing beneath you, her hands fisting in your hair, pulling you in closer like she wants you to drown in her. she’s moaning, loud and breathless, each sound spilling shamelessly, her mind too lost in the moment to care about anything outside of this. the walls could be paper-thin, someone could be knocking at the door, ready to call room service with a noise complaint—and it wouldn’t matter. she's too far gone to care, and you certainly aren't going to call her out for it.

“oh my god—your mouth—” she cries out, voice pitched high and shaking. she's not going to last at all. “fuck, it's so good. don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop—”

"mphh. fuck, you taste so good." you murmur, your thumb temporarily picking up the pace, and you seize the opportunity to tease her just a little, pressing soft kisses all over her trimmed mound, her inner thighs. "pussy's so fucking pretty. fuck— look at you. look at this." you drag two fingers up and down her parted folds, watching them in awe as they spread effortlessly beneath your touch before your head dips back down, your lips latching onto her puffy clit. you moan into her, the vibrations making her legs jerk, and cassie sobs out something unintelligible, hips grinding down against your face like she can't get close enough.

"yeah, fuck my face, baby," you murmur against her. "ride it—ride my tongue like you fucking need it." you lock your hands around her thighs and hold her there, your mouth relentless, determined to make her come on your tongue, to fall apart just like she said she wanted.

“I’m gonna... ah!...I’m—fuck, I’m gonna come! Im gonna come— i'm coming!” cassie sobs. her fingers twist tighter into your hair, her whole body stiffening as her orgasm crashes over her — sudden, overwhelming. she grinds down shamelessly, riding your mouth through it, her juices dripping down your chin as you moan against her, drinking her in like you’ll never get enough.

you groan into her, your own pussy throbbing with need at this point, your thighs clenching and unclenching as you lick her through every twitch and aftershock, her thighs shaking where they trap your head.

But don't stop, not right away—instead continuing to lick slow, lazy strokes up her overstimulated clit, savoring the little gasps and whines you pull from her until she’s pushing weakly at your head, too sensitive to take anymore.