#cw drunk reader

[oddballwriter]

The Moon Boys when the Reader comes back from a Night out Drinking

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Warnings: mentions of drinking, reader is very drunk, Marc and Jake make reader drink those hangover cure concoctions, the system being decent and good men.  

Author’s Snip: This was just a random thought and I figured I'd write it since maybe some of y'all like to drink hard and party.

Note: Drink responsibly and always have a designated or plan on how to get home without driving yourself.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

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Steven Grant

He stays up all night as best and passes the time as he waits for you to come home

When you do, some of your friends are usually with you so that you aren't walking back home by yourself while drunk

And drunk you are

You still had the ability to tell the difference between the boys

No matter how drunk you were

So when he came to the door and your brain managed to register what you were looking at your face turns from spaced out to pure joy

"Steven!" you slur out in a happy voice as you spread out your arm and stumble into his arms

He catches you and hold you up gently as you nuzzle into his neck and he takes your discarded shoes from you friends with a quiet "Thank you."

When he closes the door and turns back towards the rest of the flat with you still clung onto him

He knows how you usually are when your drunk and acts off that

"Did you have fun? It looks like you did." is what he usually says but really it's him politely asking "You've drank yourself silly, haven't you."

He helps you get ready for bed, since the gods know you'll probably lose focus and pass out somewhere else in your party clothes and makeup

He gently cleans off your makeup with a makeup wipe and gives you some nice and clean pajamas before tucking you into bed and then getting ready for bed himself

Of course, you have a huge hang over in the morning , so he takes care of you during that too by making you some breakfast, giving you painkillers and water, drawing the curtains to protect your eyes, and making you a nice bath to relax in

Marc Spector

Again, your friends walk you home and he's grateful that your friends wouldn't leave you drunk and vulnerable to defend yourself on your own

But once he closes the door after taking you in he starts to scold you about getting so drunk

He's not trying to be a party pooper and shame you for having fun, he sure drinks a good amount himself, but he does get worried

You never see it but he usually paces the living room when it gets super late and you aren't home yet

Marc does help you get ready for bed too but he does all the steps. So unfortunately you need to take a cold shower or bath and both a means to sober up and also get the bar smell off of you

"Marc. The water's cold. :(" "Yeah. I know. But you're completely out of it and I just washed the sheets a few days ago and I don't want you getting that bar smell on them. Get in the tub."

He'll get in with you but he's not up for messing around in it. It's late at night, he just wants you to get some rest before the hang over kicks in, and also you're drunk so you can't really make proper decisions and he's not going to use that to get something out of you

Also he loves you but he does not want to deal with your drunk shenanigans

In the morning he makes you some of those hangover remedies that he knows about

He might be able to get over a hangover faster but you don't have a deal with a murder bird of the moon so its the traditional hangover cure cup, and water, for you

Jake Lockley

Jake prefers to actually pick you up from the bar or wherever you were at since he shadows as a cab driver, so might as well come and get you right where you are

It's not that he doesn't trust your friends to help you walk/get home. He just feels like driving you home

He won't drive your friends home though, he wants to get you home and just says "Where's your designated driver?"

He can handle you when your drunk, he doesn't know how your friends are when drunk though

Once he starts driving home, he rolls down the windows to let you get some fresh air (and in case you need to... you know)

Jake kind of babies you when your drunk and heading home

Like when you walk out of the car he just picks you up and walks the rest of the way with you in his arms

And whenever you whine he coos "Oh pobrecito/a."

He makes you wash up and cleaned off similar to Marc because he knows that you'll be bedridden in the morning so might as well get everything done now

Speaking of the morning after

He also makes you do the remedies but he encourages you in a cheeky way.

"If you can drink a nasty mixed drink at the bar, you can drink this."

He's sweet to you though, he, and the others, help you get over your hang over

[catcze]

NO BC LISTEN.

WIRO REACTING TO HIS CRUSH/LOVER WEARING A SUIT. LIKE IT FITS THEIR FRAME SO PERFECTLY AND SNUGLY AND WDYM “WHY IS HE LOOKING” OFC HE’S LOOKING LIKE HELLO???

I can’t tell if he would shameless let his eyes roam or would avoid looking at them KDIDKSKSK WIRO BRAINROT IS SO REALL

KAJNSDSA BROOO OMG okokokok something along the lines but 👀

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

You're fiddling with the cuffs of your suit as you exit the changing room, a frown on your face. You're nervous— of course you are! It's not often that you're invited to a high-profile, black-tie event like this, and you'd rather not stick out like a sore thumb.

Wriothesley, who sits comfortably in a plush armchair, has been invited before though. But time and time again he's turned down the invites with some of the most ludicrous excuses. 'A monster is attacking the fortress' is one of his most used ones, closely followed by 'a bird shat on the shoulder of my suit.' But you wonder why he's accepted this time, despite his distaste for the limelight. Well, you shrug, pocketing the thought for later. At least you won't be going alone.

"What do you think?" You pose the question to him, still frowning as you look down at yourself. Did you look okay? Was the fit alright? Did this color wash you out? You had splurged on this (well. Wriothesley splurged on this, technically. He had said it's a gift) and had the suit custom-done, so it should fit your measurements to an exact, but... you frown, not able to shake off the nerves.

And it doesn't help that Wriothesley hasn't said anything since you've stepped out, either. Merely stares at you, eyes roaming your figure. Even at your question, he acts like he hadn't even heard it. Does the suit look that bad?

"Wrio?"

That seems to reach him, and he blinks, finally registering that he's been staring at you— and that you've begun to stare back.

"Oh, uh. Yeah, it looks nice on you. The tailor did a very good job," he says, glancing away, hoping you don't see the red tinge to his cheeks or his ears.

"Really?" You ask, evaluating yourself in the mirror with a frown. "I don't know. I feel like I look like a mess."

"if you look like a mess, then I dread to think what I look like," he says, glancing at you for a second, getting an eyeful of you in that damn good suit, and feels his mouth dry up again. Wriothesley turns his eyes to the corner of the room, finding the fake palm plant there incredibly interesting. Barely more interesting than you. In that very flattering suit. It emphasizes your body very well, he thinks. Makes him see just enough of you while still leaving some to the imagination. And the color you chose for it... red and black, to match what he'll wear, you said. He sighs, troubled, because just the mere memory of it has his heart racing and his palms sweating.

You keep criticizing your reflection for a while longer, and it takes just enough time for Wriothesley to work up the self-control to look your way. "You look good," he says at last. Then clears his throat. His face feels hot. "Better than good, even. You don't have anything to worry about, I promise."

It placates you, because you finally give your own reflection a rest. You back away from the mirror, humming. "If you say so. Thank you, Wrio," you tell him, flashing him a small, shy smile just before you back up into the changing room once more to take it off.

Once you're out of the vicinity, Wriothesley drops his head into his palms, groaning softly.

if he's this much of a mess around you at a fitting, he wonders how much of a fool he could make himself at the actual event.

[kissingchoso]

boyfriend!choso fulfilling your greatest fantasy and being ghostface for halloween.

cw: mask kink, degradation, shitty writing.

y’all this is my short horny piece for halloween so lol enjoy to the 5 peeps who will read this

you think you’re on the other side of the club away from him. you periodically check the many party goers and their costumes around you to ensure you don’t see a long, white mask. you’re walking away from the bar when you felt your phone vibrate and a message popping up across your screen that has your heart palpating faster than normal.

“i see you.”

you whip your head to the left and right, scanning the sea of drunken adults for a familiar silhouette but none comes. you’re about to step forward to change your location but someone from behind you catches your wrist before you can take another step. whipping your head around, you’re met with an all too familiar mask staring down at you. the lights are too dim in the party to make out the eyes, but just from the familiar grip alone, you know you’re staring up at your boyfriend.

he says your name once, tugging you closer until you’re chest to chest with him. “caught you,” he says with his normal tone, but you can make out a hint of smugness in there.

your glossed lips pout up at him, upset that he found you only five minutes into this little game of hide and seek you started.

“you do have a height advantage,” you complained, reaching up to push the mask up over his face so that it rests on the top of his head. you had the pleasure of adding some more makeup on his face, adding a dark eyeshadow around his eyes and even creating some false scars on his cheekbones and jaw.

“you never gave me any rules,” choso says before stepping forward, hand coming to rest on your hips.

you frown a little bit before you look up at his eyes, noting the way his face still had hints of a smirk, proud for completing his simple task of finding you.

“well, you won fair and square, i guess. what do you want then?”

choso pauses to stare at you. he’d never thought this far. while he didn’t doubt his abilities to find you in this crowded space, he wasn’t necessarily doing it for the purpose of winning. he just found himself at your side naturally, despite the space between you two. so while he racked his brain for simple prizes he could claim, he thought back to earlier while you two were getting ready for this evening.

you were seated on his lap, finishing his very basic makeup look. when you had finished with adding the makeup around his eyes, the iconic mask was slipped over his face and he remembers staring at you through the spaces of the eyes and remembering the subtle way your lower lip found its way between your teeth and the way your eyes flicked up and down to scan his body before you shyly shot up and finished getting ready yourself.

maybe choso can use this to his advantage.

“i have an idea.” is all he can offer you.

the next ten minutes are a blur. because in the first few minutes he’s dragging you out of the club with his mask pulled back down and in the next you’re laying in the back seat of his dodge challenger with his large body looming over you. everything about his aura has changed. nothing like your service dom boyfriend who usually waits for you to give him the go ahead. it’s swapped with this arrogant man who tells you nothing but simple commands.

he tells you to strip, you strip.

take his cock out, you’re undoing the button and zipper of his jeans before tugging them down with his boxers.

he adjusts the both of you in his car so he’s now seated comfortably. “fuck yourself on it, sweetheart.” he commanded with a muffled voice underneath his mask.

and god, this is the only time you hesitate. on any normal occasion, your boyfriend is horribly against this sort of thing but you’re proven wrong the moment he fists for the back of your hair, wrapping the locs around his fist.

“did i fucking stutter?”

“n-no, mr. ghostface,” you stammer out, fresh tears springing up in your eyes but choso knows it’s for show. he can fucking smell your arousal from underneath your tiny skirt.

“then do what i say and fuck yourself stupid on my cock. and don’t stop until i tell you to.”

“y-yes!”

happy halloween 🎃

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

KAT~!

What's your most unhinged Levi headcannon!

hi tobbi!! can’t deny it, it’s gotta be the breeding kink 🙂‍↕️ like the idea of filling you to the brink with his cum and watching it drip out of you is enough for him to want to drop everything and fuck you stupid on the spot. the image of your knees pressed against your chest, with his cock buried deep into your pussy drives him crazy with need

[sleeplessdreamer14]

You know what part of the movie I liked? When the Monkey King got "intoxicated" by the Peach. Can you imagine being this tipsy honest about a s/o?

get out of my head I’ve literally had the exactly same idea

whatever the heck he just ate or drank, he’s plastered

you’re gonna have to stop him from doing anything stupid

depending on the extent, he will start flirting with you and will not hold back

remember the “You must be from the Dang dynasty!” bit? yeah, a lot of that.

gets real cuddly, nuzzling his face into you and mumbling about how soft and warm you are and how nice you smell and how he wants to kiss your face

it’s actually kinda endearing

gets kinda clingy (if he can even stand up) and whines for you to “pretty please stay with him.” if you try to get up

but if he’s so blitzed he can’t even recognize you, he’ll start rambling about what he thinks of you and how amazing you are and how you make him feel

all that embarrassing sappy stuff

“[Name’s] like- the goodest person in the world. Like, the best. I swear *hic* I don’ even know how they put up with me half the time.”

pretty soon he just passes out, and you’re still up wondering if he really meant what he said

when he wakes up he’s probably either gonna have no memory of what happened or just pretend to because he cannot believe he seriously said all of that in front of you

[bamsara]

Oo oo oooh number 7?

Drunk! Reader x DCA (Moon Centric) Set Post-Fire / DCA is living with Reader. May contain slight spoilers for Solar Lunacy ARC 3.

AO3 Link (preferred if you want to comment!)

NOTE: This one was HIGHLY requested by several people omg. This one-shot is leaning more romantic, contains drinking and suggestive humor. Moon is caring for a drunken reader. Wordcount: 3,700+

It started out as a friendly invite from a couple of classmates, a few who's names you remember and some others that you'd hardly recall their faces, but you all faced the same hellish finals together, neck deep in studying and deadlines that the lack of aqqauintance with them didn't so much as matter as the mutual understanding that college was hell, and final exams were the metaphorical boss battle you all had to face against.

You pass by the skin of your teeth. Between what was happening outside of classes and your own habit of procastinating, you were close to calling it quits for the semester. But Sun was helpful going over the material for you, and Moon kept you from being distracted, so you pass. Barely, and you're already stressed to the nines, but it's enough.

So when your classmate messages the class's group chat (much to the proffessor's charigin) about a group outing at a local bar to celebrate, you agree. You haven't been able to be social lately, and some reprieve was needed. You didn't really drink, and the bar wasn't really your style, but a change of pace was in order. Gramps promises to answer the door for the Attendants if something came up, but they liked to bother him reguardless when you weren't home, so you leave with a quick goodbye to do a little celebratory socializing.

And that's how you're....here. Drunk and alone.

Turns out after the first hour, everyone scampered off to go get hitched or call it for the night. It was nice, but a majority of them are dispersed by now or in pockets, save for one classmate (Brittney? Becky? You don't remember) who's actaully chatting it up with the robot bartender.

She's twirling her hair around her finger and blantently flirting with the robot in plain view, probably as tipsy as you are. It's a scene you glance over at occasioanlly in amusement while you nurse your own drink. The robot doesn't seem bothered, but then again, you can't tell if it's able to even display emotion like that.

Though, you did notice it never shooed her away, never charged for her second drink and was currently pouring flavored water into her shot glass while she laughs at some sort of joke it makes that you don't hear.

Kinda funny how far along human and robot relations have come, hasn't it?

You sip at your own drink again, finishing it off, and stand up from your chair-

-and that's a bad idea. The world spins, tilts far left to the side until you grip the side of the counter to pull yourself back down to the chair and wait for the disortion to subside.

Out of the corner of your eye, the bartender's mechanical eyes flit to you for a split second, then return back to Brenda. (Or Bethany. Who knows.)

How embarressing.

Pulling out your phone, you check the time. It's late at night, almost the early hours of the morning. The bar is open for now, but will close soon enough by the time you wait for the tipsy to pass and sobering to start, and to be fair, it just doesn't dawn on you to ask for water when you're a bit too preoccupied trying to not be dizzy.

Walking home alone like this is...probably not a good idea.

Gramps is in your speedial, along with another number you've put in here fairly recently.

(You did teach them how to use the phone properly, right? Oh, you'll feel so terrible if you have to wake Gramps up at this hour, the poor old guy.)

(You can probably make it home by yourself. It's just a ten minute walk.)

(Maybe you can ask someone here for a ride home. Nevermind. The last remaining of your known classmates are either arguing in the corner, leaving as you watch and Brooklyn's flirts with the robot bartender is becoming more and more riskay by the minute.)

"It's late."

You blink. In your hand, your phone screen says you're in a call. You're finger is still pressing over the spot where you selected the contact. Oops. Did you mean to do that? "Uh.-"

A sound from the speaker thats soft spoken and slow. You press it up against your ear to hear it better amongst the bar's chatter, and a low voice repeats itself. "You should be sleeping."

You can't pick up the meaning in his tone. You're too muffled in your own brain to make out the ends of his sentences that you just rock back in your chair and hum in your throat. "Heya...Hi." You start, voice slurring. "Hi Moon."

There's a pause on the other end of the call. "Where are you?"

"Uh, same place. You know." You wave your hand off and don't feel stupid that he couldn't see your gesture. "The uh, bar down the road. The one with the big neon sign in the front. Looks like kinda like ah, a...banana. The thing, curved thing on the front."

"Okay." Moon sounds tired, except robots don't get tired, and that's just what he usually sounds like whenever he's dealing with your shenanigans, or something particularly difficult. Sometimes he says you're difficult, but not in the way that feels mean. "Stay there."

"Well, I can't, dumbass I gotta get home at some point. Bar closes soon." You huff into the phone. "Was gonna leave here in a bit, anyways. Just need to sit for a minute."

"A minute." Moon repeats. His voice echoes like he's talking to you from a stairwell.

"Yeah-huh. Like, a minute." You lean back in your chair confidently, then immediatly lean back towards the counter as the legs started to tip the other direction and forgoe any movement to just lean against the bartop. "Didn't mean to call you. My finger slipped."

He hums, and it sounds less than convinced. "Hmm. How much?"

"How much...what?" The end of your question is drawled out with your lack of sobriety.

"Nevermind." Footsteps, air against the phone speaker. Moon speaks plainly. "Did you have fun?"

"Man, whats with you and the questions?" You blow air out of your nose, your free hand thumbing minelessly for your shot glass and looking up from the wooden counterop when you feel something different.

A glass of ice water was set next to you, replacing what little alcohol you had left in your cup. The bartender is on the other side of the room, still talking to your classmate, but you've already seen how it's been replacing her drink with water, and frown at your own. "Aw, damn."

"Language."

"Shut uuuup." You groan into the mic, and your head plops down onto the counter, resting. "I had fun. It was...alright."

Moon makes a noise of aknowledgment, a quiet sound to continue.

"I got the lowest score in the class." You confess, almost mummbling. There's no one paying attention to you, and the bar was sparspy populated so it's not like you had anything to be embarressed over. Still, your breath comes back up to your face as you rest your head and it smells like vodka. "I mean, nothing's wrong with that. Still passed though."

He hmms through the phone. "We know. You told us."

"Got ditched." A slurred sentence, quickly continued after a moment. "Not like, ditched ditched. Like....everyone's gettin' ready to leave soon. They've got their own bubbles, m'not in them." You slow to a stop, looking around the room. There's even less people now, and with the slow music playing on the speakers, it's a nice vibe. Smelled like cigaratte smoke and alchol though.

It's relaxing. You're relaxed. That drink is really settling in, and your legs are feeling like heavy weights and your tongue easy to move when you talk. In fact, you could sit here for a few more hours under the low-lights, listening to soft music, rambling about how college is stupid and how you regret being such a lightweight. Maybe skip out on the drinks, next time. You were starting to feel tired.

"Don't tell me that yet."

You blink, blearily, head shifting to look back down at your phone. "Hmm?"

There's a small pause on the other end, a silence punctuated only by soft background noises that you can't make out through the call. "...You've been talking outloud for the past few minutes."

Minutes? It's been seconds, no way. You squint at the phone screen, ignoring the numbers in the corner for the numbers that state how long you've been on call. It's too bright for you, so you put the phone back to your ear. "S'fine. I mean't to do that."

"Sure." Moon says. "Anything else?"

"...It's uh, dark enough in here for you."

"That's nice."

"Kinda stinks, though."

"We wouldn't be able to tell."

"I think my classmate likes robots." You speak quieter, which only makes half of your sentence coherent but you continue off the drunken assumption that your rambles were making sense anyway, free hand cupped around your mouth and facing away from the flirting scene like a kindergardener giggling at juicy gossip. Luckly, your classmate is too far to hear you, and if the robot did, then it doesn't show it. "Like, likes-likes robots. She totally wants to bang it. Her. I think. I think the robots a girl."

"Uh-huh." Moon speaks dully, but you can hear faint amusement. "Good for her."

"Can robots do that? Wait, don't answer that." You bring down your phone away from your ear to glance back up towards said classmate like you were scared of getting caught gossipping. You were, in a sense, not the best at being subtle, but both the bartender robot and your classmate are now seated at a booth away from the counter, holding their own conversation.

You stiffle a small gasp. "Holy shit, I think they're hitting it off."

Moon does the robot equivlanet of a sigh. "Don't stare."

"Right. Rightrightrightright-" You turn away quickly, curling back into yourself like some child caught in the act. "I'm not-I'm not staring-Wait, how didja even know I was looking?"

The sound of a car driving past, a door softly opening. "We know you. You're nosy."

"You're mean." You huff, phone pushed into the space between your ear and neck, using the countertop to rest your head. "I want to go home."

"Mmhm."

"Can robots make out?" The question is so out-of-the-blue you can almost feel the whiplash you send through the phone. "Because I think they're about to. Becky, uh. Brianna. I don't know her name. They're like, really getting along. M'not staring by the way. I'm glancing."

"Okay."

"Is it like, all robots can do it or just some of them? I don't know if, it's like-uh, like..is that insensitive? Am I offensive?"

"No."

"If I google it do I get weird pictures or do I get an answer?"

"Both."

"Can I ask you a question?" You continue. "A totally...not weird question. Maybe kinda weird. Not the weirdest thing I've asked you. Anyway, can you-?"

Click.

You raise your head, looking down at the phone as it flashes the 'call ended' words before going back to your home screen. In a tipsy gasp, your mouth drops open. He hung up on you! Why that little-

"Ask again when you're sober."

A low voice startles you, and you spin around and almost falll off your chair in the motion.

Moon stands behind you, phone still in hand but lowering to pocket it in his hoodie. (Plain, simple, the biggest one you could find to fit them. He still wears his star pants and ribbons but at least he took the bells off his slippers.) and glowers down at you with a quiet look. He has the hood pulled up, even with the hat on, and it just makes his eyes glow a little more in the low-lights.

His hand raises to the glass of water, now with most of it's ice melted, and slides it across the counter towards you. "Drink."

You blink blearily at him, and it's out of synch. "When did you get here-"

"Drink." He repeats, hoisting the glass up to your face until you grumble something innapropriate and snag it from him. You chug it down rather quickly while he waits, and the room never quietens in the few seconds that it takes, but you listen to the conversations out of habit.

Bailey and the bartender robot were definatley gonna start dating or something, and your classmate didn't even look drunk anymore, just a bad flirter. Most of the people in the bar were humans (why would robots come here? They can't drink, and they'd be outnumbered 10 to 1 anyways) save for the other two automations you think are quietly hanging out outside, but it's mostly flesh and blood.

A quiet 'where did that one come from? the circus?' reaches your ears as soon as you finish the water, dropping the glass down on the table and turning your head to whatever human spoke but Moon inturrupts you. A sleeved arm holds out in front of you. "Stand up. Here."

"Don't tell me what to do." Comes out slurred and stuffed up, but the world tilts when you lift yourself off the chair, so your hands find his arm and your balance steadies. "I want to go home."

"Mmm." Moon turns, slowly so you don't get stick, and leads you to the door. "It's past your bedtime."

"Dun't have a bedtime."

"You will tonight." You are lead past the remaining patrons, who don't really care about your departure save for the one or two off-hand glances. Moon opens the door with one hand, holding it open, and guides you through. "Come on."

Your classmate turns your way, and you register her throwing up two thumbs up in your direction with a wide, encouraging smile just as the door shuts behind you. Whoops.

The bar's neon light is bannaa shaped because of some island-theme they had back before redesign that never got taken down, but in your shifting vision and the night's dim lights, it kinda looks like a cresent moon. This is something you voice outloud without meaning to, and Moon spares your thoughts with a glance to the sign, and a chuckle before he leads you down the sidewalk.

Walking is...well, it's taking some bit of effort. Everything felt kinda heavy, your stomach was starting to churn and you needed to use the restroom soon. Maybe you could get home faster if you speed-walked or something, or took a shortcut. You pull away from the guiding arm out for you. "I can walk."

"Okay." And so Moon lets you pull away, standing straight and watching as you take a few tentive steps. You fumble on your fifth step, but the ground never has a chace to rush towards you. A hand around your shoulders, tight but never lower, presses you back towards the Attendant until your own grip finds his upper arm and dig your fingernails into the sleeve.

He's walking before he even asks again. "Want to try again."

Your nose wrinkles up, and whatever word you had formlated in your mind comes out garbled and incoherent. "Heuh."

"....Guess not."

It's peaceful walking at night. Sometimes cars would pass by on this road, and the bright headlights would make your eyes sting but you never ran into anything. Fireflies start to appear in scarcity as you approuch your apartment, rambling about your classmates and the exam and how the vodka didn't taste at all how the bar marketed to be while your animatronic guide is quiet with the occasional noise of aknowledgement, and very focused on making sure you don't trip on every pebble you see.

"This is kinda like...when you escorted me to the doors, back at the pizzaplex." You talk outloud again, and there's no sting in your voice when you're drunk. "You know, ya escorting me."

Moon doesn't look up from the keypad to your apartments, jotting in the number (because just hacking it served you a few complaints from maintenence) and hums. "It is."

You are lead through the opened door, and into the stairwell. "But like, this time you get to come home with me."

"Every night." Moon adds, and finds the door to your apartment without so much as turning on the light in the hallway. It's nearly pitchblack, but you're not scared or bothered by the lack of sight in the slightest. The perks of having a robot friend with night vision means free avoidance of bumping into walls. You hear the clacking of keys, and the door opens. "Inside-"

You go in before he can finish, using the wall and the kitchen counter to steady you until you make it to the living room and the adjacent hallway. The lights are off for obvious reasons, but the living room lamp is on, so it's just enough light for you to make out your path. The world still tilts, although it's weakening, you barely manage to make it to the bathroom door, yelling out some incoherent 'illbeouutinasecond' before you swing the door shut.

When you come back out, Moon is in the kitchen, and he turns to see you almost plank on the sofa cushions for a rest. You miss, bounce off the edge of the seats and faceplant on the floor instead. "...oww."

Soft padded footsteps approuch you, and you are unceramounsly yanked up by the back of your shirt until you're placed on the cushions (he lifted you effortlessly and carefully, but you still groan like an elephant at the movement) and turned over until you're facing upwards, sitting back against the cushion on the back arm rest.

Something wrapped in a napkin is shoved in front of your face. "Eat."

You smell it before you can process seeing it. A plain, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which you take into your hands, pull away the napkin and take a huge bite before you can say your appreciation properly without a mouthful "Thhansk."

There's no response, but a hand comes up to your forehead, brushing back against your scalp and gentle running through your hair. His hand lingers there as Moon crouches besides the couch. The hoodie is gone now, so it's just his hat and t-shirt. You can see his soft smile more clearly. "You need to go to bed when you're done."

You talk inbetween bites. "M'not moving."

"Then stay here." He rises, knuckles brushing across your ear as his hand moves and disappears down the hallway. You're on the last bites of your sandwhich when he reappears with a blanket and pillow in hand, along with a folder you recognize with stars and moons in it's printed pattern.

The blanket is tossed over your legs and feet, and the folder is set to the coffee table besides you along with a pen. In your approuching bare-sobreity, you recognize the papers peeking out from the edge. Moon sits down besides the couch, back facing you, and opens up to where he left off presummably before he came and retrieved you.

He grades papers while you finish your sandwich and peek nosely over his shoulder. "You never answered my question."

Moon does not look up from grading his student's papers. "I haven't."

"Gimmie answer."

"Silly." He starts, marking an answer wrong and setting that finished paper to the side. His voice never breaks from the calm tone. "Asking personal questions, gossiping in public like that. Intoxicated."

"I wasn't the only one." You defend, and realize that's not exactly a factor that can play in your favor, so you search your clouded tipsy brain for another answer. "Look, listen. I was dared to do shots. I don't..., uh, drink. Like ever. M'lightweight. But I'm not a coward."

The animatronic's head turns towards you on his swivel. "Bad decision. Probably already tipsy."

"Hey-" You warn, pointing a finger in his face. "The amuont of drunk I was has no corrolations-" That last word comes out fumbled. You ignore how Moon's smile twitches upwards. "-no corrolations to the bad decisions I've made."

"Sure." Moon chuckles, onto the next batch of ungraded papers in his folder. "You make plenty of those."

You make a notable effort to brush off any of the crumbs on your shirt in his direction. "You weren't a bad decision."

The monotonous sound of pen scratching pauses for a moment. Then continues. "Debatable."

"Booo." You groan, your disagreement echoing in the living room and silence settling between you two only broken by pages turning and pen scratching.

Sinking into the sofa and watching him work becomes a lullaby, and you feel sleep teter at the edge of your mind as the animatronic finishes up the current page, closing the folder and setting it to the side. Moon pushes the folder to the center of the coffee table, left out to finish the rest later, and you puff up your cheeks to blow air at his face when he turns back to you.

He doesn't even squint, just stares dully at you until you've finish. "Thanks for getting me."

His head tilts. "Mhmm."

Your cheek presses further into the pillow. Nausea is there, something in the pit of your stomach, but it is long buried by the promise of sleep. "But for the record, I didn't ask for you to take care of me."

A blurred movement in the corner of your eye. His hand has returned, settled against your head with his thumb gently running over your skin. "We didn't ask for your permission."

"....M'gonna be hungover in the morning."

"Yes." Moon grin in a way that's both soft and amused. You wonder if his sunny counterpart would be this teasing too, considering that's who's most likely going to be rubbing your back when you're kneeled over the toilet in the morning. "You will be very hungover. Go to sleep."

You mummble something in protest, but your eyes close nonetheless. "M'sleeping already. Geeze."

Your response is a quiet hum, and the hand brushing against your forehead in slow motions until you start to drift away. That hand lingers, softley, and doesn't return to the pen until the world fades and you are well into slumber.

[hanasnx]

This is kinda morally wrong but drunk sex with ani. He’s off his fuckin face and he’s just grabbed you and pressed himself against you, you’re already wet so he just slides in easy. His sloppy, drunken thrusts and his weak grip on your hips and his stupid, babbling dirty talk.

hey! hey! good thing ani boy’s got a free use kink he doesn’t care when you want it, you’ve got it. so if he’s drunk and desperate for you and you want him, by all means help him out.

this ask was so fucking good, may (i checked ur blog for ur name. may, right?). like it had me feeling some type of way. you caught me at a good time bcos i just posted that drabble about a rare time that anakin actually does get drunk and how he handles it. and i just know he’d be all over you with his inhibitions lowered even more that usual when it comes to you.

he’s so big and strong and heavy, there’s not much you can do when he leans his body weight onto you other than pray.

oh my god the bit about him pressing into you and he slides in so easy oh my god the way he’d whimper, burying his face into your neck. heated skin against yours. panting while he shallowly thrusts.. almost like cockwarming but he can’t stay still.

“stupid babbling dirty talk” we’re kissing oh my god this was so hot

“baby, angel,” he’s whining into you. “feel so good, feel so good. please, please,” squeezing his eyes shut as he ruts, his dick warm and comfy sheathed inside you. “wanna stay here all night. can i? can i please?” holding you so tight you’re bracing against him, squirm to get better airflow. he just starts squirming with you, trying to get every inch of him to slide against every inch of you. swallow every square inch of stimulation he can.

[witchwyfe]

could I please request rafe and “nope, puppy dog eyes aren’t going to work this time”? thank you💖

(non-canon) Rafe Cameron x female reader

“Nope, puppy dog eyes aren’t going to work this time.”

thanks for requesting!!! 💞

cw: mentions of food and being drunk

“Babe, listen, like if we—”

“Rafael Cameron, I already said no.” You say, feigning sternness. The only way to deal with your sweet, intoxicated boyfriend right now. 

“But I really want some. And if you get me ice cream, I’ll let you have some.”

“You always let me have some.” You grumble.

“But I’ll let you have more.”

“I have no problem with getting you ice cream baby, I just know the second we get it you’re going to pass out and it’s going to melt.”

You pull out of Kelce’s driveway, watching the movement of the car already lull Rafe a little bit. As you get farther out of his neighborhood, the quieter Rafe is.

“Baby, look at me.” He says once you’re at a stop sign.

“Nope, puppy dog eyes aren’t going to work this time, Rafe.” You tell him, leaning over to peck his cheek. “Nice try though.”

He whines dramatically, throwing his head back against the seat. 

And sure enough, when you pull into his driveway ten minutes later, he’s fast asleep. 

© witchwyfe 2022. absolutely no reposting, translating, or modifying, even with credit.

[binahs-sinbin]

tweel drunk sex hc? I feel like working in the bar would deeeeeef lend itself nicely to this nwn

Ooh definitely!!

Drunk s*x hcs

~

Jade

Cw: meantion of ed/ging,

You have to keep an eye on how much he drinks as he is prone to getting whiskey-dicked, though that doesn’t deter him from grinding against you the second you’re out of public view

He’s definitely a lot noisier when drunk, he’s just not as aware of his volume, he’s also more sensitive

There’s a lot more kisses than usual, he just wants you to know he appreciates you! Though he’ll melt under you if you turn it around on him

Jade won’t last long, one of the downsides of drinking too much and then having s*x

If he drink so much he can’t stand up straight, you’re better off edging him until you’re ready to wrap things up, because once he cums he’s out like a light

But on nights when he’s not wasted, he’s clinging to you, his stamina is reduced but he can go about three rounds before his dick is too sensitive to continue (though that doesn’t always make the fun end)

Floyd

Cw: dick stepping,

This man is so fucking horny when drunk, hell, he’ll hump your thigh in public as long as you let him cum afterwards

He’s got little to know pride and he’ll show it, when drunk he always finds odd kinks he wants to try out

Floyd is very inpatient and will jerk if while waiting for you, but he won’t stop himself from cumming

He gets feisty when drunk and sometimes tears apart his clothes because he’s in such a hurry to get his dick out for you

Floyd will drop to his knees and let you step on his dick. Don’t underestimate him he can actually get off like that

[catcze]

[ ###… ] GN reader ( no clothing / pronouns specified ), Royal Reader x Knight / Bodyguard Wrio who is so gone for you, secret relationship type shii, a little ooc on account that he's a knight and you're in public, jealousy (just a bit <3), reader leads when they dance, suggestive-ish ending (up to interpretation), not related to my other royal x knight work

His palms are sweating under his gloves. Gods, he hopes that he doesn't look as nervous as he feels.

"Why so serious, Wriothesley?" You coo, dancing around him with a grace and poise that, while not a surprise, takes his breath away.

Wriothesley tries to keep up, his hand clenching around yours and his jaw tense. The numerous eyes —undoubtedly every single one in this forsaken ballroom— trained on the two of you do him no favors.

"All due respect, Your Majesty," he says, teeth grit, "I don't think it's appropriate to address your bodyguard so familiarly. Some might say it's inappropriate."

You scoff, leading the two of you further into the dance, twirling and whirling around the dance floor as if it were as easy as breathing. "Inappropriate my ass," you mutter, "I don't think anyone'll muster up the guts to tell the ruler of the kingdom what is and isn't appropriate."

Wriothesley sighs, long-suffering, but you catch it— the fond quirk to his lips that he reserved only for you, and your heart soars. Even if his steps are a little unsure, a little less practiced than your own, it's lovely to see the tenseness slowly ease out of him with each second that you two spend in your own little world. Your knight had been looking so dour the entire evening, forced to remain by your side as you met with all sorts of people, no small number of them enamored with you and vying for any attention from you.

He hadn't said anything when the droves of suitors had sidled up to you, pressing kisses to the back of your hand and whispering compliments in your ear and staring at you with eyes oh-so-adoring. Wriothesley had only ever remained at your side, silent as others vied for your attention. He had been quiet, watching out for your safety and ensuring that you were fine, as a good bodyguard should.

Ah, but it hadn't escaped you: how his hand tightened on the hilt of his sheathed sword and the furrow between his brows seemed just a bit more severe. How his jaw was tense as if he were in a battlefield rather than a ballroom, and he was facing an opponent he wasn't sure he could beat.

And so— you felt that a dance was in order. Just to help him relax, of course, no other reason.

Wriothesley's palm is warm when you squeeze it. "You are insufferable, Your Majesty," is all he can say. You have to fight back a laugh.

"Don't act like you don't love it."

Another sigh, but he doesn't deny it.

The dance continues, with the two of you dancing with grace and fluidity. Undoubtedly, as it nears its end, whoever hadn't been made aware of the display in the center of the room certainly had now, and all eyes were trained on the two of you.

And you— much to Wriothesley's fluster— grow bolder with each second that this all comes to a close.

Your fingers twine with his, and your touch becomes lingering and borderline intimate. Your hands are not shy when you hold him, and you press yourself close to his chest. He hears the audience gasp, but cannot bring himself to turn away from you— not when you're so close, when your eyes shine under the chandelier and you fucking smile in a way that he thinks is only meant for his eyes.

"Eyes on me," you say quietly, as if you ever had to remind him.

You twist and you turn and you pull him along, and your bodyguard is all too happy to follow your lead. The nervousness from earlier, the envy and the longing— they all vanish like smoke under your careful touch and the squeeze of your hand in his.

He can see why you've always liked your dance lessons, growing up. It's like he's in his own little world, just him and you.

But all-too-soon, the musicians play their final note and as the music fades you feet still, and the dance ends. You're panting a little, and so is he. Neither of you move for a good, long while, staring at each other as the audience waits on bated breath, as enraptured by this tension as Wriothesley is.

You wink at him and pull away, but before he can miss your warmth, your hand finds his, hidden from prying eyes. You cast your gaze back over the crowd, and smile— and before Wriothesley knows it an applause starts up, and he can hear (even from this distance) the praises being sung by the nobles.

"I'm rather tired from all that, so I'll be taking my leave early," you announce after you catch your breath, just for them all to hear. Before the nobles can begin to protest, can beg you to stay, you turn to Wriothesley and give him a small smile. "Will you escort me back to my room, loyal bodyguard?"

And Wriothesley, heart in his throat, squeezes the had you keep out of everyone else's sight, and smiles back. A smile he reserves for only you.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

[spideyhexx]

kit baby mention the specifics this is a safe space

:) alrighttttttttt

literally just like pissing somewhere ‘not supposed to’ like the easy answer would be somewhere outside in nature like in the grass or on a tree whatever but also even things like uh…inside. Like literally. Just that.

[direnightshade]

Hi bb! ❤️💜

I’m specifically thinking about a douchey, cocky version of Ben. Think this gif, at a party, we somehow end up in his lap (he’s in the perfect position…), with the prompt “I thought you ‘couldn’t stand me.’”

Love you bye 👀

MAAAA'AAAAAM PLEASE NOT THIS GIF. 😩 God, I love the thought of a cocky Ben. Also got to thank @leatherboundbirate for giving some input into this one. :phew: I am weak.

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption, Drunk Reader

The loud bass of the music that blares through a pair of oversized speakers fills the home that’s overflowing with partygoers. In the living room, people dance, in the kitchen others are refilling their drinks–seated on one of the sofas closest to the area where the kitchen and living room merge is Ben, his arms raised and hands clasped behind his head as he takes in the sight of the other people in the space.

He’s been watching you traverse your way through the crowd, not that he’d ever openly admit it. You hate him after all, or so he’s convinced. He isn’t sure why though… It’s not like he’d ever outright done anything to you. But…

You’d told him he was a dick once, that his ego was too big for his narrow-minded brain. The memory elicits a snort that becomes drowned out by the music.

This is your fourth drink now and he hasn’t seen you eat anything once, but as he observes you scooping more punch into your red solo cup, he makes no moves to stop you. You’re an adult, after all–responsible for your own decisions. Who is he to make you stop?

But now you’re stumbling away from the breakfast bar area, giggling at something some random has said to you. His eyes track the way you sway as you make your way back into the living room; it’s like slow motion, watching as some jackass comes barreling into the room only to bump into you roughly, sending your drink flying and landing you in Ben’s lap. In an instant, his hands settle against your hips, preventing you from falling over onto the people sitting on either side of him.

This is…not ideal.

No, it’s the furthest from ideal.

Of all the people in this room, of course it’s his lap you fall onto.

You hate him. You hate him so much, but…

You hate him because you love him. And naturally, what started off as a great friendship when the two of you were little only fell apart as you got older and split off into separate friend groups. Then Ben developed his ego and apparent God complex and it was nothing but a downhill slide from there.

And yet…

And yet the love you had for him back then remains, only growing in spite of how much he irritates you. Just like he does in this very moment.

“Never thought I’d see the day you’d throw yourself into my lap, babe.” A seemingly triumphant grin spreads across Ben’s face as your head whips around to look at him when he speaks. “And here I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

“I can’t,” you fire back, the remark only eliciting a chuckle from the man who’s lap you remain seated on.

“No?” Ben arches a questioning brow, the grin still firmly rooted in place. “That why you’re in a hurry to get off?”

“Wha– I’m not… I…”

You know that’s not what he meant, or…it’s Ben, of course he meant it as some sick double entendre. Chalk it up as another thing you love hate: just how quickly he can cause you to become flustered.

Ben hums in response whilst simultaneously sliding an arm around your stomach, tugging you closer until you are resting back against the hardened planes of his chest. It isn’t until this very moment that you’ve realized just how much muscle Ben is. You grumble at the thought and shift again until his other hand grips your waist in warning, a silent sign for you to stop.

“I think you are,” he says huskily into your ear, just loud enough for you to hear over the incessant pounding of the music. “You haven’t quit squirming since you sat on me, babygirl. Bet if I reached up under that skirt of yours,” he starts, a hand now drifting down to tease at the hemline of the fabric, “my fingers would come out glistening.”

Yes, you immediately think to yourself before silently chastising your own mind for having such a horrid thought. You know that it’s true, however, and what’s worse is that he knows and he hasn’t even touched you…not really.

“Fuck off,” you growl out in reply.

Again, Ben chuckles, this time giving an all too brief flex upwards of his hips, allowing you to feel the growing bulge beneath you. “C’mon, babe, don’t be mean to me. Not tonight,” he teases, leaning in to trail his nose up along the side of your throat, inhaling to capture a whiff of your scent.

When we shudder, Ben smiles. “I’ll make you feel so fuckin’ good. Don’t you want that, babygirl? To feel good?”

Your eyelids flutter closed briefly, and for a moment you aren’t sure if it’s the alcohol that’s emboldening you, or finally giving in after years of pushing him away.

“Okay,” you whisper, the response nearly lost to the blaring music.

“Yeah?” Ben’s hand squeezes your thigh whilst giving a quick nip to your skin. “That’s my girl.”

Without hesitation, he ushers you up and off of his lap, quickly wrapping a possessive arm around you when he, too, rises up to his feet. Together, the two of you stumble up the stairs and down the second floor hall to the nearest unoccupied room, disappearing to explore one another while the party carries on beneath you.

[zombieplaygrounds]

cw: smut, fingering, blow jobs, choking, man handling, age gap relationships, afab!f!reader

Poor König, just wanted to court you right and proper. There was a significant age gap between the both of you - with him taking the lead. You were a real pretty thing, and he was in love. Helplessly so.

Call him old fashioned, but König wanted to "win your heart" the traditional way. Took you out on dates that he paid in full, showered you in flowers and jewelry, did his got damned best to be "charming". Safe to say he was desperate.

Yet you didn't seem to mind. Rather, you giggled at his bad jokes, even let him pull you into his lap, leaning into him as he mapped out your curves through your clothes. A dirty, delicious, man; one who thought you were the most innocent thing hes ever seen.

Come the time you both decide you were "ready" to take the next step. Didn't take you to a trashy hotel, or fuck you in his car like other men might've. König invited you to his home, cooked you a fresh dinner of something from his native country - a pleasant conversation with dim lighting. How fucking romantic.

In his mind, you were so compliant, so swooned by his love and nuturing nature toward you. Probably hoped it would own a few blissful moans this night, afterwards he'd tell you to quit your job and live with him while you were still cock drunk. But after dinner, when the conversation slowly stumbled into the bathroom and was discarded on the floor in the forms of clothes and underwear - well, it was safe to say you were anything but the innocent bird he thought to have nurtured.

Rather, you lead him to the bed, pushing him back to a seating on the bed. His hands tangled in your hair, groaning and grunting as you nipped and kissed all his favorite places. Neck, jaw, his muscles even; you were so fucking perversely thorough. It left him weak and malleable to your desires and sinful actions.

Couldn't even question you as you begged to suck his fat, weeping cock. Just nodded with a stupid, star struck expression in his eyes. His head bobbing backwards as you licked and greedily fit him inside your warm mouth. The hot muscle of your tongue swirling against the sensitive head of his cock, followed by the vibrating moans of your throat, it was all crashing down at him at once.

The moment he felt himself about to come to a seering hot climax, you pulled away, licking your precum smeared lips, your sticky fingers earning the same treatment afterwards.

"Mhh.. Choke me, please?"

You were so bold. So unbothered by your own words. König could help but use the remained of his breath to release a laugh. Kids these days, so fucking vulgar. Though, it wouldn't sop him from grabbing that pretty throat and lifting you back to his lap.

After all, the sweet folds of your pussy practically oozed prayers of attention. And König was not about to deny his angel. He'd have his thick fingers ramming into your cunt, spreading them from the inside while you whined and cried his name; almost helplessly orgasming from some choking and fingering alone. K��nig would give you proper whore treatment if that's what you begged for.

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 31 - Free Use

Poly 141 x Reader - 4.3k (on ao3)

summary: Glimpses into your life as a housewife and free use toy for the 141 post-retirement. (Reader POV, second person)

cw: soft sex, half-drunk sex, light somnophilia, anal sex

note: last kinktober of the month! sorry i got off by a day at the end here, but i hope you guys have enjoyed everything so far :) btw this is less "free use" and more "sex with the 141 while living in domestic bliss"

Your days are filled with sex. Sex with all of your boys, in every position you can think of, in every room of the house they’d bought for the five of you after retiring. 

You all split the chores evenly these days. No one does more than they’re more comfortable with, and you’ve all found your stride, something to give you purpose, after the rigidity of the military.

Gaz has taken to bee-keeping. As odd as it sounds, he’s got the patience for it, and he’s quite protective of his bees, even has nearly an entire library of books he’s taught himself with. Price helps him out by selling the honey he harvests, keeping track of his profits and managing the household’s finances. 

Ghost hunts, spends his days out finding game to bring home, tracking herds and predators around your property. Johnny does a little of everything - fixes things when they break, chops firewood every morning, helps Simon skin his prey, tries to help Gaz and his bees. 

And you take care of the house. You make the meals, clean up after everyone, and find yourself perfectly happy to keep your men fed and warm. 

Your other chore is to bend over whenever they want. Well, bend into any position whenever they want, Ghost and Soap tend to enjoy getting a bit more creative. It’s not really much of a chore, considering how eager you are to do it.

It’s a great deal for you. Johnny and Kyle are always eager to get you off, and neither Simon nor Price is stingy with the orgasms these days either. You live your life floating between domestic labor and orgasms - not a bad existence, by your metric. You get to live without a care in the world, four men to take care of and four men to take care of you. It’s like a dream come true.

———————————————————————

You hum to yourself as you dance around the kitchen, wearing nothing but a frilly apron as you wait for your pancakes to cook. The small radio on the dining room table plays music from a local radio station, something cheery to start your day. It’s hard not to smile, with sunshine pouring in from the windows and a batch of fresh eggs to scramble on the stove. 

Your small moment of bliss is interrupted by a pair of hands on your hips and a large body bracketing yours.

There isn’t even a moment of fear, you instinctually lean back into the man behind you. A moment later, a rough beard brushes over your cheek.

“Pancakes this mornin’?” Price asks, big paws resting on the softness of your hips.

“Hmm,” you hum, tilting your head to claim his lips. He sways the two of you back and forth slowly, to the beat of the song, and lets you take your time with him. “Blueberries in yours,” you tell him when you come up for a breath of air.

One hand shifts to your ass, the other to your stomach, and you feel him smile. “Thank you, love. Got time for a quick round before they burn?”

You mimic his smile, let him bend you over slowly. “You’re just in time, Captain, I haven’t cracked the eggs yet.”

“Perfect,” he purrs, pressing himself to your backside. He tucks his plaid pajama pants down a little, rubbing his warm morning wood against you. You fold your arms beneath your head, let your eyes drift closed as his fingers make quick work of getting you ready.

Moments later, the heavy length of his cock fills you slowly. You moan, shifting your legs a little bit wider as he massages your waist.

“There you go,” he sighs, bottoming out and grinding himself slowly inside of you. “Tight as always, perfect girl.”

You giggle a little drowsily, wiggling your hips against his. “Always for you, John.”

He sighs contentedly, pulling out slowly. “Don’t I know it.”

He fucks you slowly, a steady pace that drags against all your most sensitive parts on every thrust. John’s thick, and the stretch isn’t quite comfortable with no prep. But you’re still a little loose from your time with Soap and Gaz last night, so it’s far from painful to take him.

He hunches over you as he gets closer and closer to the edge, elbows resting on either side of you and breath ghosting across your nape.

“Aw,” you hear Soap say,voice rough from sleep as he steps into the kitchen. “I wanted first go today.”

“Early bird gets the worm, Johnny,” Gaz teases, settling into a chair in the little breakfast nook Simon had built soon after moving in. “You’re the one who stayed up so late with her last night.”

“Wasn’t just me, jackass, you’re the one who-”

“Boys,” Price grunts, hips slamming against yours, leaving you squirming beneath him. “Will you shut the fuck up while I’m balls deep in our girl?”

You can’t help but snort beneath him, pushing yourself up enough to arch your back further, stick your ass further out for him. “Ye-yeah, boys.”

“Hush,” Price scolds, one hand shifting to your neck where he forces you flat to the counter again. “‘M almost there…”

He groans lowly as he buries himself deep inside of you, pumping slowly as you tighten up, trying to milk him. “Fuck, feels good…”

You smile against your arms as the pleasure that had been building inside of you starts to dull to a simmer, something warm in the root of you.

Price pulls out only moments later, two thick fingers tucking into you to keep any of his come from dripping out. “Keep me safe inside you, pretty thing, c’mon. Clench down.”

You take a deep breath and try your best to listen, straightening up and doing your best to keep yourself from dripping down your thighs. 

He turns you around, leaning you back against the counter and cupping your cheeks in his hands, tugging your face up to give you a soft kiss. “Thank you,” he whispers into your mouth, just quiet enough for you to hear.

“Of course.” You reach up to grab his wrists, holding him close. “Never gonna say no to you, John.”

The two of you linger in the moment, sunlight warming your skin as you breathe into each other.

It’s Soap that interrupts you, an intentionally obnoxious clearing of his throat nearly making you jump. “Any chance at coffee sometime today, bonnie?”

You huff a laugh into Price’s mouth, pushing him away and shooting a half-playful look to Johnny. “Can’t give me a minute of peace, can you?”

He smirks, “Nope.”

John scoffs as he pulls away, moving you with him and giving you a quick tap to the ass to send you over to the counter with the coffee machine. “Someone’s gotta teach you some patience, MacTavish.”

“If Ghost still hasn’t gotten it into him, no one is,” Gaz laughs, shifting enough for Price to join him on the bench. 

“Who says I haven’t?” Ghost says, stepping from the hallway. He’s already got a cigarette lit between his lips, and you wave him away with a spatula.

“No!” You scold, trying to shoo him closer to the window. “No smoking in my house! You know I hate the smell.”

Ghost rolls his eyes good-naturedly but lets you herd him to the open window, resting a shoulder on the windowsill and blowing a mouthful of air. You hmph, satisfied, and move to flip the pancakes. “You’re not the one who has to get that smoke out of all the furniture, you know.”

Ghost sighs, but he’s dramatic enough about it for you to know that he’s intentionally exaggerating his annoyance. “Awful early for all that nagging, woman.”

You glare at him playfully, picking up an egg to crack. “Awful early for a cig, too.”

He huffs and you crack your egg, the kitchen shifting into a comfortable silence. You continue your humming as the song changes to something more upbeat, unable to keep a smile from your face.

———————————————————————

You’re half tipsy, giggling into Soap’s mouth as the two of you stumble into the house. You manage to trip over the lip of the entrance, and you yelp as you start to fall.

Johnny just barely manages to twist and catch the both of you in time, grunting loudly as he hits the ground. The breath is knocked from the both of you, and you lay there in the dark for a moment, still.

You’re giggling as soon as you can breathe again, unable to stay still with all the energy and wiggling against his chest. “Jo-Johnny!”

“What?” He pants, still not fully able to take a breath in. You can see the outline of a smile, though, and his hands come up to fully cup your ass. “You were the one taht tripped, lass!” 

That only makes you laugh harder, kicking your feet against his shins. “I-I know!”

Now he laughs, a full-bellied sound that has you bouncing on his chest. He manages to push himself up so that you’re in his lap, and presses his mouth to yours without warning.

You make a high sound of surprise but quickly kiss him back, licking into his mouth when he parts his lips. 

Your kiss is messy, both of you a little too drunk and a little too needy to bother for tact. Johnny’s softer than he usually is, all tongue and no teeth. You wrap your arms around his neck, shifting so your knees rest on either side of him and squeeze his hips.

“Need you,” he pants into your mouth, shifting you over him to start a slow grind. “Need to be inside you, bonnie.”

“Yeah, please,” you say, quickly dropping your hands to his belt and clumsily working at his belt. It takes several tries for you to get it undone, and both of you get more and more desperate. Your underwear get more and more damp as you work yourself over the rough denim of his jeans, your skirt rucked up around your hips as he palms at your ass.

“Come on,” he growls, landing a harsh slap against the meat of your thigh. You yelp at the sting, then giggle, and finally manage to get his belt loose, quickly tugging it off.

“There you go,” you mumble, throwing the belt to the side and hearing it slide against the hardwood. “C’mon, c’mon, need you now, Johnny.”

He nearly snarls into your mouth, jerking your panties to the side and stuffing two fingers into you with no warning. You jolt higher on your knees and moan, digging your nails into his shoulder.

“Sit still,” he growls, tugging you back down and scissoring his fingers quickly to spread you. He slips a third finger in easily, your cunt already slick and dripping for him. “Stop fuckin’- stop wigglin’ around.”

You can’t help but giggle again, pushing your smile against his lips and nipping at his chin. “Can’t hold me down, MacTavish?”

You feel him grin, growling playfully, and before you can keep prodding him he’s got you flipped onto the floor beneath him. You squeal when he somehow manages to keep his fingers inside of you, pushing deep as he pins you down. He tucks your knees higher, both of your legs resting on his shoulders.

“I’ll show you held down, lass,” he growls, smile just barely visible above you. “Want it rough, then?”

You bite back another laugh, pushing up just enough to bite his bottom lip and tug it down with you. “As rough as you’ve got, MacTavish.”

It works as the perfect taunt you’d meant it as, and he’s buried in your tight heat before you can try and push him any further. Your head falls back against the hardwood floor as his falls to your throat, both of you moaning loudly as his hips meet your thighs.

“Fuck,” he groans, teeth pressed against your throat. When you arch your neck even further, he bites into your flesh, sucking a hicky and making you ever wetter between the thighs. “Fuck.”

“She tight, Johnny?”

You both yelp at the sudden voice, Johnny jolting away from your neck and shifting inside of you, causing you both to melt again.

There, in the corner of the room, is Ghost. He’s smoking a cigarette by the window, illuminated only by the glow of his cigarette butt and the moon. You can’t quite see his expression, but you can just imagine the cocky smirk.

Johnny groans above you, sinking back down to press kisses along your throat and forcing your knees almost to the side of your head. “Scared the shit outta’ me, Ghost,” he sighs, pulling out just enough to give you a few tiny thrusts. You moan, letting yourself relax into the floor.

“Not surprised,” Ghost says, and you watch as he stubs out the cigarette and take a few steps to where the two of you are tangled in each other. “How much did you two have to drink?”

You laugh at the question, but it melts into a moan as Johnny starts to find a rhythm that works for both of you. Your knees nearly knock against your own face as he makes his way across your neck, leaving bruising kisses. 

“Not-” you choke a bit on a particularly rough thrust, just barely managing to keep your eyes open and watch as Simon settles into an armchair. “Not that much.”

“Yeah,” Johnny pants, lifting himself up enough to look down at you. “How-how much’ve you had, L.t.?”

Ghost snorts, taking a swig from a beer bottle you hadn’t noticed before. “Less’n you two, I can tell that much.”

You and Johnny both snicker, half out of breath already, but none of you try and keep speaking as Johnny starts to really fuck into you, finding a perfect rhythm that’s just a little messier than usual, a little jerkier. 

The two of you make no attempt to be quiet, moaning and whining loudly as you work to find that peak. Even with folded in half as you are, you try to push into him as much as you can to help him hit the perfect spot inside of you. 

You nearly scream when he does, clenching down so tightly onto him that he’s forced to a still inside of you, his length throbbing in time with your heartbeat. 

The world blurs around you as Johnny takes your lips again, pressing your tongues together in a slick slide as he batters inside of you.

“Clo-close,” you gasp, clawing down his shoulders. Your nails dig in enough through his shirt to have him moaning, arching further into your touch.

“Me too, bonnie.”

He shifts enough to lean his weight further onto your thighs, newly freed hand smoothing down your chest and stomach to work against your clit. You melt beneath him, muscles going loose as you turn into nothing but a limp doll for him to fuck.

Your eyes squeeze shut as your orgasm starts to overcome you, Johnny’s work against your clit and the hot length inside of you finally shoving you over the edge.

“Fuck- fuck!” Johnny nearly shouts above you, your orgasm triggering his own. You cling tight to him, dragging his body as close to you as possible while your muscles clench down around him. The two of you are nearly drooling in each other’s mouths, eager for as much physical touch as possible.

It feels like an impossible amount of time later when you hear Ghost crouch down next to you, see his shadow cast over both you and Johnny. “You two done, then?”

You feel Johnny huff where he’s leaned against your cheek, feel his smile grow against yours. 

“Yeah, Si,” you say, squirming a bit beneath Johnny to try and get out from under him. “I think we’re done.”

Johnny gans a little but he obliges and shifts back enough for his softened cock to pull out of you. You both whine in sync at the separation, and he finally lets your legs fall to the ground, heels thudding against the floor.

Johnny rolls off of you, flopping to the floor next to you. “Carry us to bed, L.t.”

You giggle and blink up at Simon, softened from your orgasm and the lingering buzz from your night out. “Yeah, L.t.,” you lift your arms high, making grabby hands like a toddler. “Carry us to bed.”

Ghost snorts above you, but he still leans down and scoops you up beneath the knees and the back. You squeal when he hefts you over his shoulder into a fireman's carry. He ducks low again and you grasp onto the bottom of his sweatshirt, then giggle when Johnny flops bonelessly over Ghost’s other shoulder.

He carries the two of you effortlessly down the hall, and Johnny’s soft laugh joins yours - well, at least before you hear a muffled slap and he quiets himself/ Of course that only makes you laugh, earning you a spank of your own.

You’re dropped rather carelessly onto the massive mattress all five of you share these days, hand flopping against what you’re sure is Price’s chest as Ghost falls on top of Johnny where he’s dropped.

You hear a muffled oof! from next to you and curl into Price with a smile, tucking yourself close to his chest. He rumbles a low noise, instinctually tucking you close. You can hear Gaz getting annoyed with Ghost and Soap, feel him kicking at them to fight for his own spot on the mattress. You fall asleep with Ghost’s back to yours and Price’s chest to yours, surrounded by warmth.

———————————————————————

You groan into the sheets in frustration, fists clenched tight. “Simon, come on, please.”

He spanks you sharply, but the pain is hardly noticeable compared to the need you’re drowning in. 

“Quiet,” he grunts, three fingers spreading your ass. “Need to stretch you out properly, don’t want any tears.”

You whine, arching your back and pushing your ass further into the air. “I’m ready, I promise, just need you inside. I’ve been stretched for the last ten minutes!”

“And you’ll get stretched for ten more if you don’t quit complaining.”

It’s almost impossible to bite back a complaint at that, but you manage to dull it down to just a near-painful eye roll. You try your best to stay still for him, stay patient, even as you feel like your pussy is dripping like a faucet.

Ghost has fucked you with far less prep than this, you know he’s just trying to be an asshole - no pun intended. You also know that the more you rush him, the slower he’ll go. So you force yourself a little looser, let your body sink more comfortably into the position he’s got you in.

It doesn’t make the wait any easier.

You’re not sure how long it’s really been when he finally deems you stretched enough, but he finally pulls his fingers free. You whimper at the cold dribble of lube as he spreads a bit more across your stretched hole, the slick sounds echoing in the room telling you he’s likely spreading it across himself too.

“Alright, love,” he says, notching himself at your back hole with both hands on your hips. “Loosen up for me now.”

The stretch is sinful as he finally gives you his cock, enough for you to feel the sting but not at a painful point. Your eyes roll back in pleasure instead of frustration, and your knees shift just a little wider to welcome him more fully into your body.

“Fuck, you feel good<’ he grunts, grip tightening on your hip.

On a normal night with Ghost, you’d expect minimal prep and long rounds of edging. He likes to keep you from coming for as long as possible, then coax an orgasm that feels earthshattering from you when he finally shoves you off that ledge. Either that, or he fucks you quick and dirty - in the yard outside, in the shower, in the middle of the night, really any time he feels like getting off. With you around, there’s no need to masturbate. That leaves you getting bent over and used at any time he feels the slightest urge to get off, but you couldn’t mind less.

Now, though, Ghost paces himself far more slowly than usual. His thrusts are long, bottoming out and pulling back until the head of his cock just barely breaches your hole. If you couldn’t feel the way his hands bruise your hips, you’d almost call his pace leisurely. 

The two of you are near silent as he fucks you, content to fill the air with soft moans and the occasional whine instead of dirty talk. It feels nice, such slow sex with Simon. It’s a side of him he rarely lets you see, even now.

He knows you can’t come from anal alone, and is feeling generous enough to grab one of your hands and shift it down, telling you, “Rub your clit for me, love. Wanna feel you come.”

And, well, who are you to disobey?

You bring yourself to a slow, rolling orgasm with rhythmic circles against your clit, hips working against his even with his grip. You moan more loudly now, moith open and spit spreading across the pillow.

“Si-Simon,” you gasp. “Feels so good, so deep.”

“Yeah? Deep in your ass, huh, love?”

“Mhmm, mhmm. Can hardly br-breathe around you, Si.”

“I know, so big in your little hole. You’re taking me well, though, being such a good girl for me. Gonna - fuck, love - gonna make me come, give you a nice load then plug you up.”

“Yes, yes…”

“You want that? Want to be stuffed with my come? Keep me inside of you ‘til I say you can take the plug out?”

“Yes, I’ll keep it in for you, Si, be so good for you.”

“Oh, I know it, love. Always a good girl for me, most perfect girl… fuck, feel so good around me…”

He groans when he finally gets himself off, pulling you back onto his harsher thrusts and letting your channel squeeze the come from him. You rub your clit a few more times, ignoring the aftershocks in favor of forcing your muscles to milk him a bit.

When he finally pulls out, he tucks a good-sized plug into your loosened hole before any of his come can slip out. You shift from your knees to your stomach with a soft hum, tugging a pillow into your arms as your eyes drift shut.

“You stayin’ in here for a bit?” Ghost asks, brushing some of your hair away from your face and dipping down to press a dry kiss to your cheek.

“Hmm. Gonna take a nap before dinner.”

“Alright. Need any help tonight?”

“No,” you hum, curling deeper into the bedding. “You can set the table, if you really want.”

You hear him laugh as he pulls away, weight shifting off of the mattress. “I’ll leave that to Johnny, I think.”

A few moments later the door click softly shut behind him, and you float into a peaceful slumber while trying to half-plan dinner. 

———————————————————————

You’re half-asleep when you feel someone shift in bed next to you, their body covering yours. There’s a distinct hardness against the small of your back, and you press back against him.

“Stay still,” you hear Gaz whisper in your ear as he urges you further onto your stomach. You hum a little in response as he settles over you, kneeing your thighs apart enough for him to rest between them. “Don’t wanna wake anyone else up, right sweetheart?”

You hum again in what’s probably supposed to be agreement, but is really just a half-asleep sound. You trust all your boys, though, so you’re perfectly content to let Kyle do whatever he wants.

You sleep naked these days, so it’s easy for him to spread your cheeks a bit, to rub at your folds. You’re still a little damp from the shower sex with Price you’d had right before bed, and Kyle doesn’t seem to think you need much more than that.

You’re almost asleep again when you feel the tip of his cock at your hole, and then the familiar weight of him entering you. It’s hard not to groan, especially when you’re so dazed, but you think you do a good job.

Well, until Kyle shushes you loudly, stuffing a few of his fingers into your mouth. 

You make a small offended noise, but it shifts into a sound of pleasure when he sinks fully inside of you.

“Hush. Don’t wanna share you right now, just needed to feel you for a bit.”

You feel his hips shift against yours before he sort of falls to the side, taking you with him. You’re left spooning him, his cock buried deep inside of you and kept warm by your body.

He sighs, pleased, against your back and pulls his fingers from your mouth, letting his hand float down to rest on one of your breasts. He squeezes you for a few moments, but that only works you up more and has you squirming against him.

Kyle makes a small, whining noise and squeezes you more tightly to him. “Stay still, love. Just want to hold you, let you hold me. Go back to sleep, yeah?”

You sigh, debate trying to get him to finish what he started, but ultimately decide that it sounds like far too much work for your current state. 

So instead you let yourself relax into Gaz, body quickly adjusting to the weight and stretch of him. It’s easier than you might’ve thought to doze off like that, held close to Kyle’s chest.

[silveryclear]

Yan! Wolfboy X Fem! Reader

CW: NSFW, Non-con, rough sex, needy, desperate sex, whimpering, cuminflation, somnophilia, breeding kink, loss of virginity, teratophilia, stalking

Part 2

Plap plap plap

The sound of wet, rapid thrusts echoed in the room. It was needy and desperate— the need to breed sent him into a rut as he rammed his fat cock into your cum filled pussy. The sight of you under him, restrained and teary eyed was enough to make him hard over and over again, even after cumming inside you thrice already.

“Hnngh… mmm… ahhh~!” His whines fill the room, drunk from the tight warmth of your virgin cunt. He knew you’d make the best mate from the way he watched you from afar. You’re just so submissive and responsive to everything he does to you. Especially when you’re half asleep. And you saved yourself for him too! He wanted to take it slow and ease you into it, but as soon as he delved his cock into your wet heat, he was a goner.

He let out a string of needy whimpers as he felt you tighten around him and release your lovely essence on this throbbing cock. The scent of your juices mixed together sent him into a rutting frenzy, pounding you from behind, from the side— but his absolute favorite was the mating press he had folded you into, allowing him to reach the deep crevices of your warm, sopping cunt.

“Mate… mine… nngh..” He was panting heavily, mouth open and tongue out. His thrusts were deep fast, bullying your cervix with the same fervor from the beginning of your encounter. And he has no intention of stopping. Not when you are still coherent. No, he needs to make sure you’re thoroughly bred. That you’re so full of his cum that it looks like you’re pregnant. That you can’t even think of anything other than his cock. “Must breed… hnnngh.. ahhh~!” He lets out a particularly long whine when he felt you squeeze his cock. Oh fuck, you were getting off on this.

He groans at the feeling. “My pretty mate… I’m gonna fill you up so good… gonna look so pretty with my pups~”

You let out a soft moan. Even in your dreamlike state, your body still responded to his. How lucky he is to have found you— and now, you’re his forever~

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,�� he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️