★ 𝙀𝙣𝙝𝙖 𝙃𝙮𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙭 (𝙁) 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ★
౨ৎ why fight when we can just fuck?
warnings ⇀ MINORS DNI!!!, lowercase intended, crying, arguments, eating out (jay), shower sex (jake), cursing, dom! heeseung x sub! reader, hair gripping (sunghoon), overstimulation (jay), mean dom! sunghoon x sub brat! reader, blowjobs (sunghoon), rough sex, jealousy (sunghoon)
genre ⇀ pure smut, little angst
w.c ⇀ 980
a/n ⇀ sorry for not posting for awhile but i made a drabble of the hyung line! i’m planning on making a heeseung fic soon so stay tuned for that :) i hope you enjoy so please reblog, comment, like, etc! not proofread!
౨ৎ you and heeseung had a disagreement over something trivial, but it escalated quickly. the tension was palpable, and you both ended up saying things you didn't mean.
later that evening, heeseung knocked on your door, his face filled with regret. "i'm really sorry," he said softly. "i didn't mean to hurt you.” he noticed your silence and held your hand, “i think i know what to do to make you forgive me.” was all he said before shutting the door behind him.
“h-hee!” you cried out when you felt his girth dick hitting the right spots that made your eyes roll back. heeseung groaned feeling you clench around him. he pinned both of your arms down on the bed and nibbled at your neck causing you to jerk at the sensation.
“fuck you feel so tight. wanna fuck this pussy all day. would you let me baby?” he whispered in your ear. you nodded your head feeling your climax finally coming.
“fuck hee i’m cumming!” you moaned. he slapped your ass watching it jiggle. a smirk never falling off his face.
“fuck go head and cream on this dick.” he spoke. that was all you needed before your orgasm came over you. heeseung slowed down and soon he came too.
“i’m sorry baby for having that stupid argument. i love you.” heeseung mumbled, rubbing his face in your neck. you giggled and kissed his cheek.
“it’s okay hee, i forgive you.”
౨ৎ you and jay had a heated argument about his busy schedule. you felt neglected, and he felt misunderstood. after cooling off, jay came to you with a sincere expression.
"i'm sorry for not considering your feelings," he admitted. "i promise to make more time for us."
he cupped your face when he saw a few tears streaming down, “it really hurts jay.”
he kissed your cheek, “how about i make it up to you now?”
“oh god seongie!” you cried out, feeling his tongue lick your bud. he groaned when you gripped his hair. he continued nibbling and licking your bud, the sweet taste of you making him feel crazy.
your back arched and jerked when he suddenly licked your folds, “seongie too much!” you whined.
“mhm.” was all jay said. he dipped his tongue in your hole and swirled it around causing your eyes to roll back. you felt your orgasm coming and locked your legs around jays head.
“s-seongie im cumming! please!” you whimpered. seongie looked up at you, his intense hazed lustful gaze staring at you caused you to finally cum. you groaned when he still continued to lick up all your sweet taste.
“n-no. no more.” you rasped out. jay finally let go of your pussy and licked his lips. you saw him starting to unbuckled his belt.
“i don’t think i’m gonna stop anytime soon darling. i’m gonna make it up to you.”
౨ৎ you and jake had a disagreement about a decision he made without consulting you. feeling hurt, you distanced yourself. jake noticed and came to you, looking genuinely sorry.
"i didn't mean to make you feel left out," he said. "i should have talked to you first. i'm really sorry.”
you nodded your head, still feeling a bit upset. jake noticed your same expression and rubbed your hip, “how about we wash these negativities away?”
“fuck jake!” you squealed out. the sound of loud skin slapping and moans filling up the steamy bathroom.
jake threw his head back feeling your clench around him. the steamy water making him feel even more hot.
“yeah? you like that? wanna fuck you so good.” he moaned. you frantically nodded your head. you would’ve been on the ground if it weren’t for jake holding your hips in place.
“pussy feels so good. does my princess feel good?” he slurred out. you felt your orgasm coming after hearing his dirty words. the only thing you could do was nod your head.
“g-gonna cum. cumming!” you gasped. that’s when you felt your legs shaking with you pussy throbbing around jake’s dick. jake came right then and there.
“m’sorry princess. i love you.” he said.
you hummed, still tired, “i love you too jake.”
౨ৎ you and sunghoon had an argument about a misunderstanding that spiraled out of control. both of you were stubborn, but sunghoon eventually approached you with a apology.
"i'm sorry for being so stubborn," he confessed. "i value our relationship too much to let this come between us."
you rolled your eyes, “should have though bout that before flirting with that waitress.” you mumbled.
sunghoon sighed, knowing you weren’t gonna let it down. instead of saying anything, sunghoon grabbed your wrist and took you guys to your bedroom.
“fuck just like that kitten.” he groaned. you moaned around his dick, feeling it throb in your mouth. the noise of your slobber and his precum around his dick turning you on more. your pussy wet with slick. sunghoon gripped your hair when he felt you hollow your cheeks.
“ah~ fuck! that’s right kitten, such a good kitten.” he purred out. you felt tears gathering around your eyes when he started pushing his dick deeper into your mouth.
sunghoon felt your hand tapping against his thigh, but that didn’t stop him. if you were gonna have attitude after his apology, he’ll find a way to make you shut up.
he felt his orgasm coming and lolled his head back, “shit gonna cum.” he said. that’s when he let go of your hair making you lick around his tip, wanting to taste his cum in your mouth.
feeling your wet tongue licking his tip made him jerk forward and that’s when he finally came in your mouth. you swallowed every bit of it and hummed in content.
sunghoon rubbed your jaw, “don’t complain about being jealous when your the only one that can make me cum like this.”
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we've already done it in my head | spencer reid x reader
You have fantasies about Spencer, and you feel bad about it when you have to see him at work. Thing is, he has fantasies about you too.
wc: 4.8k, rating: explicit
tags/warnings: professor!spencer, post prison!spencer, bau!reader, fem!reader, sexual fantasies, masturbation, daddy kink, getting together, hookups, friends with benefits (?), mentions of public sex/exhibitionism (they don't actually do it), fucking with feelings but neither of them really realise it yet lol...
a/n: i am insane and that's all i'll say about this fic. jk i started this at the top of the month and i'm glad i've finally finished it. this was such a crazy one to work on, aside from being swamped with school work. thank you to my lovely friend from twitter vic who kept encouraging me to work on this hehe. inspired heavily by taylor swift's guilty as sin? (obviously) and chappell roan's picture you just for those horny yearning vibes yknow? please enjoy this insanity!!! (crossposted to ao3)
Spencer rushes in from the university when Emily calls. It’s a serious case, one that Emily decides Spencer needs to be pulled away from his teaching for. She doesn’t feel good doing it – the whole team knows how important teaching is to Spencer, but he understands all the same when he comes into the round table room. Spencer sits down at the last empty seat next to you, his hair a mess as he sets down his things and flips open the case file. He turns to smile at you, before Penelope starts the case brief.
It’s a long, tiring day of work after landing in California, the BAU having been called in to investigate the murders of young moms in the area, and you need a glass of wine and a nice hot bath to even fathom everything you’ve seen today.
You should just turn in for the night, the Bureau being particularly kind with their budget as you all get individual rooms. Your drowsiness should put you fast to sleep, but your mind is racing with thoughts of Spencer.
Spencer’s been in his nice suit all day, filling out his shirt nicely. You’ve noticed his stubble growing in, and his hair is messy and gorgeous. You can’t help yourself for feeling this way, as guilty as you feel about it. You’ve been harbouring your crush on Spencer for way too long, in the couple of years since you joined the BAU. Spencer is a sight for sore eyes for sure, but his kind gentleness despite the horrors of what you all do for work is a welcome reprieve.
While his sweet nature was what had you falling for him in the first place, Spencer could be extremely sexy, even if he didn’t know it.
Today was especially tough for you. You and Spencer were sent in to interrogate a particularly uncooperative suspect, playing into the good cop-bad cop dynamic. Your coaxing wasn’t doing anything, and Spencer had ended up raising his voice in an attempt to intimidate them. He’d slammed his hand on the table, a loud clang against the metal, and his large figure only served to crowd the suspect in to scare them further.
You only got to know Spencer after the mess that was him getting wrongly sent to prison, but Spencer supposedly wasn’t like this before prison. Still, you found Spencer’s quiet intimidation incredibly attractive, and you had to keep your composure in the interrogation room earlier.
And your mind drifts to Spencer from earlier, his rough callousness with the suspect, his glare wild and intimidatingly sexy, you end up thinking about him.
About Spencer, who is so kind and sweet with you and the rest of the team, seeming like he couldn’t hurt a fly.
About Spencer who could also be domineering and intimidating. He seems like he’d only pull it out if you asked, but the duality has you hot under the collar.
Your eyes slip shut, mind swirling with thoughts of Spencer, about having him all to yourself, about him wanting you.
About his large hands on you, making you feel so small under his firm grasp.
About him pinning you down on the hard, cool metal of the table in the interrogation room.
About him caging you in with his arms, the look in his eyes almost crazed and full of lust for you.
“Spencer,” you gasp, before Spencer kisses you fervently. His stubble is rough against your skin, but you don’t care. Spencer kisses you like he’s a starved man and you’re his next meal, with such desperation that you feel weak in the knees.
“You’re gorgeous,” Spencer says. He kisses your jaw, down your neck, and his large hands are all over your body. You feel so secure in his grasp, he feels you up and drinks his fill of you. He gropes your tits, your thighs, your ass, manhandling you into spreading your legs, so he can press the hardness of his cock to your cunt. “Look what you do to me.”
You whimper, fully indulging in this wet dream as you slide a hand into your underwear. “Spencer,” you gasp.
“You’re so hot, you make me feel crazy,” Spencer hums, rolling his hips against you. You’re separated between layers of fabric, but Spencer humping you like this turns you on to no end.
You rub at your clit in tight little circles, your wetness aiding the slide as you get yourself off to the thought of Spencer.
“Spence,” you moan, frustrated. While Spencer’s hardness grinding against you is literally a dream, you want to imagine his cock buried inside of you. You’re perfectly capable of moving this along, so you do.
Magically, Spencer’s clothes are off and so are yours, the perks of a fantasy being that you don’t have to awkwardly stumble through taking your clothes off. You have a hazy picture of what he’d look like naked in front of you. You imagine toned muscle, a slight pudge to his tummy from his time in prison, his pecs filled out nicely. You imagine his cock would be pretty, as pretty as he is, veiny and thick and all sorts of perfect.
“You’re too fucking good to me, baby,” Spencer groans, the blunt head of his cock pressed up against you now. He rubs off against you, sliding over your clit, your folds, over the wetness leaking from your whole. “Gonna fuck you so good, just like you deserve.”
Without hesitation, Spencer’s cock slips into you, the perfect thickness to make you feel full as he slides in inch by inch.
You slip your fingers into yourself, aided by how impossibly wet you are just at the thought of Spencer, and your groan weakly. Two fingers aren’t enough, not when you bet Spencer could fill you up, like he’d split you in half on his cock.
He pushes into you until he’s pressed flush against you, buried inside of you to the hilt. He starts to pound into you, like he’s uncaring of what you need, but the way he treats you turns you on impossibly.
Your fingers aren’t enough to satiate you, but you thrust them in and out of you in an effort to mimic how Spencer fucking you might feel. You moan, a little louder than you’d like.
“Spence–” you gasp, in your fantasy. It should be scandalous, Spencer taking you over the table in the interrogation room. You don’t know if the thought of people being behind the one-way mirror turns you on or not – being watched, letting Spencer take you in front of everybody. You like the thought of Spencer being so obsessed with you, so desperate, needing to fuck you right where you work.
The metal table is cool and harsh against your hips, but you don’t care if it hurts as Spencer fucks you relentlessly, quickly taking on a brutal pace. It’s exactly what you need, what you want Spencer to do with you, being rough and frantic enough to make you scream his name.
You whimper his name under your breath, bashful even while in your fantasy.
Spencer has you pinned down, but it’s not like you intend to get away. You want to savour this even if it’s only in your mind, shameful as you’re getting off to the thought of your coworker. You just need this out of your system, need Spencer out of your system, and then tomorrow you can face him like a normal, well-adjusted person.
“Fuck,” you gasp, palm grinding against your clit, fingers pressed inside of yourself. You’re shaking, with the thought of Spencer fucking you until you can’t take it anymore, the ideal of him in your mind too perfect, until you’re moaning into your hand as you orgasm. You sob, clenching tight around your fingers, feeling your slick gush out as you ride your high.
You don’t mean to fall asleep, but after both a long day and a crazy good orgasm, you end up passing out with a tissue clenched in your hand, with your panties and sleep shorts kicked off to the foot of the bed.
---
Spencer can’t stop thinking about you.
He shouldn’t, not when you’re his coworker and also one of the people he’s friendliest with in the unit.
Spencer would say he couldn’t bring himself to trust many, especially after coming out of prison, but you were the one he warmed up to the easiest. A new face in the BAU wasn’t uncommon, but Spencer had found himself drawn to you. You were kind and warm to him fresh out of prison, your tenderness a welcome reprieve as he’d gotten accustomed to being back at the BAU. With your intellect and quick wit, matched with your beauty, Spencer could not help but be attracted to you – but that’s besides the point.
Spencer knows how much your friendship with him means to you, and he’s certain that that’s all you see him as: a friend.
Yet, he can’t stop himself from thinking about you in those pants. Those pants that hug your curves just right. Those pants that make your ass look great – not that he was looking – especially when you’re leaning over an interrogation table, trying to play the good cop with the suspect from earlier.
Spencer had hung back, trying to get a read on the suspect while you spoke to him. Him getting to ogle your figure and stare at how good you looked in those pants was unintentional, but he definitely wasn’t complaining.
Spencer only felt a bit bad wrapping his hand around himself in the shower, mind flooded with thoughts of you. Water, almost scorching, running down his body, his hand moves fast and reckless, exhaling harshly as he gets himself off.
He can’t get you out of his mind, your gorgeous figure, your pretty face, your wide eyes and thick thighs and soft lips – he shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. You were a coworker, a friend, for God’s sake, and yet he can’t stop imagining you under him.
He can’t stop imagining pressing you against the table in the interrogation room – your lithe frame underneath him, making you look so small, making him feel so big.
He presses his growing problem to your perfect ass, watching you writhe underneath him. You keep looking back up at him, with your wide, wet eyes and your flushed cheeks, looking like you need him to give you exactly what you need.
“Please, daddy,” you whine, and Spencer is groaning and undoing his belt before your pants get pushed down too. Stroking his cock quickly, Spencer easily finds his way to your entrance, wet and dripping with your slick. He pushes into you, pressing kisses to your neck as you groan with the intrusion.
“Daddy,” you whimper, “Feels so good.”
“Yeah?” Spencer coos at you. Spencer feels you press yourself back up against him, pushing his cock deeper, and he loses all sense of control as he starts to fuck you hard. He feels like a madman, unable to hold himself back as he takes and takes and takes, fucking into your tight wetness, his head spinning with how good you feel around him.
You’re whining and moaning under him, your noises music to Spencer’s ears as they echo off the walls. Your cunt is wet and sloppy as Spencer fucks you, wanting to give you everything you need and more.
“Fuck, baby,” Spencer groans, his hand tightly fisted around his cock. The way the tip of his cock leaks is easing the slide, as he pictures in crystal-clear detail how your cunt would draw him in, slick and messy be fucks into your perfect, tight cunt. “You’re too good to me.”
“Daddy,” you sob, your hands clawing down Spencer’s back. Spencer gropes you greedily through your clothes, grabs your tits and feels his fill of your waist, your perfect ass, your thighs as he rocks himself back and forth between them.
“Gonna cum inside of you, love,” Spencer grunts, his pace unrelenting. His hands are on your thighs, gripping you tight, both fucking into you and dragging you onto his cock over and over. “You’re gorgeous. Gonna make a mess of you.”
You’re whining underneath him, making him feel too good, as you clench around him tight and moan even louder. Spencer can’t help himself, thrusting into you hard and fast and eager until he’s cumming.
He spills into his hand, the thick white ropes of his cum washed down the drain with the spray of the shower from above him. Visions of you flash through his mind, your gorgeous frame, your pretty face, your mouth on his.
He’s barely towelled off before he’s knocked out in his bed, too tired to even process feeling guilty about jerking off to you.
---
Sure, perhaps it’s childish to try and avoid Spencer all day, especially when you have an active case all of you need to be working on. You must be a fool to think that getting yourself off to Spencer would help, because all you can think about is your fantasies of him last night, how you imagined him bending you over and taking you– Not helping, you remind yourself.
Emily must secretly be on your side or be able to read your mind or something, because Spencer is relegated to work on geographic profiles and speed-read through case files back at the police precinct, while you get sent out onto the field to chase down your killer.
But you can’t avoid Spencer forever, and you aren’t any good at it either. You feel like Spencer’s eyes are on you the whole day when you and him are in the same room, but you never look up at him to find out. While you could chalk up your nerves to a serial killer still being out on the streets, you don’t have any more excuses at the end of the day when you’ve finally caught him, and the team decides to get dinner to celebrate.
You purposely wedge yourself between JJ and Emily when you sit down at the table, trying to avoid Spencer, and you think you’re successful with getting away with seeming a little out-of-it when you end up slipping away early, claiming you had a rough sleep last night.
You’ve barely settled down in your hotel room for the night, finally feeling like you can relax, when there’s a knock at your door. You have no clue who it could be, but you open the door, and–
There Spencer is.
“Hi,” you say curtly, feeling embarrassment wash over you all of a sudden, because all you can think about is getting off to the thought of him last night. You feel your cheeks warm, but you hope it’s not obvious that you’re blushing. Then, in an attempt to seem somewhat normal and well-adjusted, you add, “What’s up?”
“I should be asking you that,” Spencer says, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What’s up with you today?”
You press your lips together in a thin line before you say, “Nothing’s up. I’m fine.”
“Come on,” Spencer prods, his head cocking to the side as he deadpans. “You know I can read you like an open book. Something’s up.”
You frown, Spencer stoking the flames of brattiness in you. “Yeah? Tell me what’s the matter, if you can read me so well.”
Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
“I- I thought we said no inter-group profiling,” Spencer says, his voice a little weak, and for the first time, you see Spencer look a little helpless. It’s kind of hot.
Do you make him… nervous?
“Yeah, but if you insist on thinking something’s up with me…” You shrug, smiling. Spencer just blinks at you.
No. You couldn’t possibly entertain the thought.
Spencer clears his throat. You watch him fidget with his hands just slightly, before he puts them by his sides to seem confident. “Well, you’ve been avoiding me, on purpose or not – both attest to your desire to avoid me somewhat. You could barely look me in the eye all day, which means you might be embarrassed or guilty of something, likely having to do with me.” Spencer says, his voice even, but he isn’t looking at you.
You raise your eyebrows. His explanation is both specific and vague, and you feel slightly called out and safe from his scrutiny at the same time. But, you can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something more to Spencer’s words, the way he’s looking at you like he hopes you can’t pick his brain apart.
So, you turn it back onto him, “Then, what do you think is the problem? You aren’t looking at me either, and you were fidgeting with your hands. Is something up with you, then? It almost sounds like you’re projecting, Dr. Reid.”
Spencer freezes, like he’s a deer caught in headlights. You can practically see his brain running a mile a minute, overthinking every possible outcome, overly self-aware of himself, his actions, his thoughts.
You try to stop yourself from smiling, because Spencer is kind of cute like this. “You wanna tell me what it is then, Reid?”
“When did this become about me?” Spencer squeaks, his usually cool facade quickly disappearing. There’s a look in Spencer’s eyes, as he nervously looks you up and down, and oh– “I just– Well, I– You–”
“I’m thinking we might be on the same page, here,” you say, smirking. “Wanna tell me what it is?”
Spencer furrows his brows, his mouth agape as he looks up at you, but you’re putting your hand on his chest and trailing it down slowly. “Oh–”
“Tell me, Dr. Reid,” you cock your head, eyeing him up and down lazily. When you look at Spencer’s face, he’s shocked, enamoured and turned-on all in one.
“You’re… attracted to me,” Spencer says, somewhat uncertain. “The same way I’m attracted to you.”
“And what makes you say that?” You hum.
“I thought I heard you last night. Through the walls,” He says timidly, nothing you’ve seen from him before. “Thought I should’ve gone over to help, but I realised you were, um– You were pleasuring yourself. To- To me.”
“The walls are thin, huh?” You laugh, a little sheepish, but you note how Spencer’s becoming shy at the thought. “Did you…?”
His eyes grow wide. “Did I do what?”
You smirk. “That tells me everything I need to know, Reid,” you say, laughing.
“Well, you shouldn’t presume–”
“Shut up and kiss me, Reid,” you huff. You pull Spencer closer to you by his tie and you press your lips to his.
It’s too perfect, when Spencer’s mouth is finally on yours. His hands cupping your face, Spencer kisses you hard and eager, like he can’t believe that he finally gets to have you. He kisses you like he’s starving, desperate for you as his next meal. You moan as his hands reach for your hips, pulling you in closer to him, greedy as he feels you up.
“Did you fantasise about this too? About me, like this?”
“This is better than I could’ve ever imagined,” Spencer says breathily. “You… You’re so attractive.”
“Could say the same about you,” you laugh, reaching to unbutton his shirt. His tie is already loose, hanging around his neck, but you want to see more. You undo the top few buttons, revealing more of his chest. You trail your finger over the exposed skin, letting your nail graze it slightly. You hear Spencer inhale sharply, and grin to yourself, proud of the effect you have on him. “So, do you want to just stand around and talk, or do you want to fuck me?”
Spencer’s eyes widen, and you chuckle. As if he hadn’t expected this was how it was going to go. Spencer purses his lips. “I mean, absolutely. I want to fuck you. But, um– We should definitely talk about this though.”
“Later,” you say, waving him off, before you lean in to kiss him again. Spencer grabs your waist again, like he needs to have you close. He lifts you slightly, making you squeak, but the both of you stumble over to the bed, unable to keep your hands off of each other, unable to keep your mouths off each other. You sit down on the bed, Spencer crowding you in with one of his knees on the mattress.
You loosen his tie and take it off, while Spencer moves to unbutton your shirt. HIs hands move deftly, eager to undress you, and he pulls away to marvel at the curve of your breasts in your bra when he pushes the satin shirt off of you. “Wow.”
“Wow yourself,” you say. You appreciate the view: a dishevelled, eager Spencer Reid in your bed, his hands all over you, his shirt half-undone, revealing tanned skin and a gorgeous body. “Need you to fuck me right now.”
Spencer laughs, perhaps a little incredulously, and he instead moves to take his shirt off instead. “I’ll- I’ll do that.”
“Good,” you say, distracted as you admire Spencer’s frame, the lines of his body, the softness of his stomach. He’s so hot you might die. “Very good.”
“I’m glad you like the view,” Spencer says, a little timid, like he’s shy to show off in front of you. He meets your gaze when you look up at him, caught in the middle of ogling him with no shame.
You smile up at him sheepishly. “Please fuck me, Spencer.”
“Okay,” Spencer smiles, warm and gentle. He helps you slide your pants and underwear off your legs before you spread them. Spencer’s jaw drops, his eyes focused on the slick mess of your cunt. “Oh, my God.”
“Yeah?” you laugh, thoroughly amused with his reaction. “Show me how much you want me, too.”
Spencer’s hands are quick to push down his bottoms, dress slacks and boxer-briefs on your floor in an instant, wrapping a fist around himself as he works himself up for you. You can’t tear your eyes off of him – “Spencer, you’re… big.”
“Am I?” Spencer asks, and you’d lose your mind if you weren’t expecting Spencer to fuck your brains out.
“You are,” you say calmly, because if you let yourself sound any more excited he might think you were insane. “But I can take you.”
Spencer grins. “Good.”
His fingers press against your cunt after you tell him to do so. His slender digits pick up all the slick that’s leaking from your hole, spreading it around messily as he toys with your clit. You shudder with the sensation, throwing your head back against the pillows. Then, one of his fingers slips into you, and he coaxes you open with a care you haven’t felt from most partners before. “How’s that?”
“So nice,” you groan, getting used to the feeling. He fucks you on his fingers, slow and careful, intent on stretching you out until you’re comfortable. You whimper and whine, feeling embarrassed at how vocal you’re being, but Spencer is kissing your breasts without a care in the world, and then you’re thinking about letting him know that you do feel good. Your next gasp is less ashamed, as Spencer coaxes a second finger in.
You’re panting as Spencer fucks you on his fingers, the repeated motion only working you up even more. The squelch from his fingers fucking you is obscene, and his eyes are wide as he looks at you. “You’re perfect,” he whispers.
“Fuck me, Spence,” you say.
Spencer bites his lip as he sits up and settles between your legs. He’s tugging at his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance. He slides his length along your folds, wet with your slick, and you groan at the friction. You grunt, wanting more, “Come on, Spence.”
His hand on your leg, Spencer leans forward so he can press into you, and Spencer is practically folding you in half so he can fuck you. You moan at his thickness deep inside of you, filling you up, and the stretch is so undeniably amazing. Spencer’s length drags against your walls, such a delicious sensation deep in your bones, and you sob a little.
“Does that feel good?” Spencer asks softly, his voice tender.
“So good, Spence,” you gasp. Spencer kisses your cheek, down your neck, and waits patiently for you to give him the go-ahead.
You feel his cock twitching inside of your heat, both your fantasies unable to live up to the real thing. Confident, cocky Spencer in your dreams is just that – a dream. The Spencer right in front of you is perfect, more perfect than what you’ve dreamed: shy but so attentive and sweet. He takes such good care of you. It makes you lose your mind a little bit.
“Fuck me,” you insist, and Spencer puts his hands on your hips as he starts to move. He fucks you deep, just the way you need him, and you cry out as he digs into your soft flesh, holding you tight so he can fuck you hard. The way Spencer pounds into you has your whole body trembling, pleasure coursing through you like electricity, till your mouth has fallen open and your toes are curling.
“You’re so much better than I imagined,” Spencer groans, eyes squeezed shut as he puts all his energy into railing you. “Can’t believe this is real.”
You clench around him just to hear him moan, and you’re proud of yourself when his hips stutter and a groan rips through his throat in his pleasure. He glares at you. You grin, as Spencer keeps fucking you.
“What- Oh, fuck– What did you imagine? With me?” You gasp, as Spencer rolls his hips in a particularly deep thrust.
Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, before looking down at you, like he’s really contemplating if he should say this. “I– I pictured bending you over the interrogation table. Fucking you, making you scream my name, taking you right there, I–”
You moan as Spencer hits that perfect spot inside of you, your legs trembling as you gasp, “I– Why did we have the same fucking fantasy? Fuck–”
“What? You thought of me that way too?” Spencer sounds incredulous, like he can’t imagine you thinking of him that way– As if he isn’t drilling you into the hotel bed right now.
“Fuck, Spencer– Oh, my God– Yeah, I– You had me pinned down on the table, and you were fucking me in the interrogation room, in front of all of them–”
“God, you’re perfect,” Spencer grunts, burying his head in your shoulder as he uses the leverage to fuck you deeper, harder, faster. You can’t stop moaning Spencer’s name, simply too overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you, the way he’s fucking you into the mattress. This is all you’ve ever wanted. Spencer fucking you like a madman, giving you all the pleasure you need but still being greedy enough to take and take and take.
“Please! Spencer, you– I’m gonna cum, I can’t–” You cry, sobs wracking their way from your throat, so loud but you can’t be bothered to keep yourself quiet. Spencer groans your name, a sweet, sultry sound, and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind.
“Cum for me,” Spencer hums. “You’re so perfect, and you’re laid out like this all for me. You’re so fucking hot. Show me how good I make you feel.”
You’re sobbing as your orgasm hits you, overwhelmed by Spencer’s filthy words and his filthier actions, so intense as he fucks you into next week. It’s too good, and you lose yourself much sooner than you expect. Your pussy clenches tight around Spencer with your orgasm, sending him over the edge as he fills you up, cock twitching as he cums inside of you.
He collapses on top of you, his weight comfortable as you both catch your breath. Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t care when Spencer is leaning over to kiss you again. It feels so right, this wild feeling you only thought existed in your dreams.
The next morning when the team is gathered in the hotel lobby to head to the hangar to fly back to Quantico, Emily gives you a pointed look, and Rossi is clapping Spencer on the back with a knowing grin. You apologise sheepishly, while Spencer grows red, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. He only meets your eyes, and the two of you share a smile. You can tell neither of you want this to end here. Maybe you’ll talk about it when you get back home.
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post-chunkban pt2
continuation of this. word count 1202
notes: I think the european cathedrals inspired images and plagues in myhead
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But where would that leave him? Alone on this cold cliff, purposeless again, without even the lump of hope sitting in his throat that Parrot meant it when he said he wanted Wifies as his best friend. Yes, Wifies might have Ken, and Ken is warm and wonderful and loyal down to the bone, but this is someone who doesn’t know what he is who says he wants him. This is Parrot, whose eyes are the sun, and Wifies can’t give that up.
The strength—and perhaps also shame—of that revelation sinks him to his knees, right there on the rock. He looks up at Parrot, who is so bright it hurts Wifies’s eyes.
For whatever reason, Wifies’s tear ducts have never been removed. Maybe it made the escape rooms feel more real to the viewers, if his eyes could water and he could cry.
So he cries now—unwillingly, shamefully, truthfully. The tears scorch his face before being torn away by the wind. No, he’ll never be able to give the sun up.
“I can’t,” he says. A confession to the figure staring down at him in all his shame. “I can’t.”
Can’t tell him, can’t kill him. Would he be doing this if he knew?
“You have time.” The words sink into his veins. He shivers. Time, time, time. It feels like he’s always running out of it.
He can’t be truthful with Parrot, but he can do this—make his way to him. Even if he has to crawl on his knees.
He manages to stand a few feet away from Parrot, ignoring any residual aches from the stone. It feels like layers of him slough off with the grit of the rocks as he does. Parrot’s eyes follow him the whole way.
Wifies takes the feather.
It’s like flipping a lever. Parrot’s wings relax and he lets out a colossal breath and the morning light hits Wifies in thick, gauzy beams. Wifies has to blink a few more times, both to adjust his eyes and to clear away any residual from the crying. It helps to clear his head too.
“Hey,” Parrot says.
“Hey.” Thankfully, Wifies’s voice doesn’t crack.
Parrot rolls his shoulders. “So. Um. Do you have any questions?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I don’t know that much about any of this. I don’t—I guess if you don’t mind explaining what that was?” Wifies is very curious. This is knowledge untouched by anything from his past; this is knowledge he can swallow whole.
“Sure. Wanna sit?”
When Wifies nods, Parrot rummages around in his inventory and pulls out two white carpets, setting them on the cliff and pinning them down with stray stones. Wifies takes the one further from the cliffsides.
There’s a crunch as Parrot bites into an apple with a thoughtful expression on his face. He looks calmer—not forcibly calm like he’d been yesterday, not impassively calm like he’d been just now. Wifies realizes he also feels calmer. The churning in his stomach has reduced to lapping waves, barely present.
“Mm. Okay. I—when I say I, I mean avians—shed feathers all the time. Those random feathers don’t really mean anything on their own.”
To prove his point, Parrot rattles a wing. A lone piece of fluff falls out. “See? I obviously don’t moult all of them all at once, or else I’d look stupid and I wouldn’t be able to fly.”
“Like an actual parrot,” Wifies observes.
Parrot chuckles. “Yeah. But anyways, feathers that are freely given have significance. There’s a bunch of rituals with different meanings and stuff that are used when giving feathers. So ‘what just happened’ was one of those.”
“Which one?” The question tumbles out of Wifies’s mouth. He’s having fun learning this. Maybe too much fun. It feels like too much fun. “Sorry, I—”
“No, that’s a good question,” Parrot says. “You should get to know that.” He takes another bite out of his apple, throat bobbing when he swallows. “There’s not really a set name for it, I guess. I’ve been calling it the ‘Beginning’ ritual in my head. The feather given is one of the smaller ones because accepting it is accepting the beginning of something, whether that’s an alliance or a promise, and it’s done at dawn because that’s the beginning of a new day. It’s pretty self-explanatory. I’ve done it a few times.”
He tucks the finished apple core away. “I only use it for promises and relationships. There are other ways to make alliances that aren’t this serious.” A small smile. “I mean, you saw how dramatic that was, right? And I had to time it perfectly.”
“But it was beautiful,” Wifies says. Beautiful and terrifying.
“It’s meant to be, yeah,” Parrot murmurs. “But I’m glad you liked it.”
“I did. A lot.” He means it. Then his curiosity nudges him towards another question. “I feel like ‘Beginning’ implies a next part,” Wifies muses. “Are there related ones?”
“Yeah. There’s at least two more parts. The feathers given get bigger and bigger. People who get really serious will go up to a primary.”
An unasked question materializes, hanging in the air between them. Will you? Will I?
Parrot’s headwings drift towards his face like free-floating curtains, then abruptly snap back. “I’ve…yeah. I’ve gone that far. I’d—I’d do it again.” He stares at Wifies. “If it felt right.”
Maybe that lightness Wifies felt after the ritual was the removal of Wifies’s ability to maintain a neutral resting face. He must’ve shown some kind of question in his expression. “That’s…thanks for the information.”
Wifies has a very, very good guess of just who has one of Parrot’s primaries. But it would be beyond rude to ask Parrot, so he thanks the heavens that he doesn’t have that loose of a tongue.
“Do you have any specific questions now?” Parrot asks. “Since you know some basic stuff.”
“Hmm. Actually, yeah. What’s the proper way to store this? Or wear it? I’ve seen people with earrings. Is that how it works?”
“It’s up to you,” Parrot says. “A lot of people just keep the first feather in a pocket somewhere on them so it travels with them through respawns. Turning the later feathers into jewelery is more common.”
“I’ll stitch it into my jacket cuff, if that’s okay?”
Parrot blinks, then smiles. “Yeah, that works. That’s a pretty innovative way of doing it too. Remember, it’s first and foremost supposed to be a gift to you, so you can do whatever.”
Right. The feather is Wifies’s. He doesn’t have that much to his name—a painful history, a prong of the trident he and Ken used in there, the clothes he wears. But now he has this as well. Something warm blooms in his chest. It’s his. Just like the trident fragment. And Ken might be happy to hear about it, because Ken always tells Wifies he should have more things.
“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, Parrot.”
Parrot nods. “Thank you too, Wifies.”
Wifies blinks. “For what?”
“Being you.”
It’s so—Parrot. It’s a little corny and honey-sweet and Wifies’s stomach does what can best be described as a floppy somersault. Parrot didn’t say “thank you for being Wifies." It makes all the difference.
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