#full hoodie's print be like

[glimpsesofeuterpe]

Sir Kitty

[incognit0slut]

Crawling back to you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Simmons!Reader Summary: You never planned on having a casual fling with your brother's friend five years ago, nor did you expect him to fall in love with you, which forced you to end things abruptly. But now he's unexpectedly back in your life—older, wiser, and fully intent on winning your heart. Content: (18+) >12k words, reader has commitment issues, he’s the softest softdom i’ve ever written, female oral, fingering, unprotected p in v, a little squirting? teeth rotting fluff and a chaotic ending because who am i without my crack humor A/n: This is for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB writing challenge and somewhat a celebration post for 7k milestone. Idk how that happened but tysm :( I hope you like this as much as I did writing it because matt simmons is so underrated??? I’m also freaking nervous with this i haven’t posted a new fic in a while so please please please be nice i feel like throwing up

Surprise has a way of stopping time. Although you're not sure you can call it that. What you’re experiencing is more than just surprise, it’s the kind of feeling that makes you freeze in place. It’s not just a jolt to the system—it’s a full-body takeover. Your breath catches, your heart skips, and your thoughts scatter like leaves caught in the wind. How could they not, when the last person you expected to see is standing right in front of you, clad in the most questionable clothes?

You almost laugh at how absurd he looks. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie with a tacky “Washington D.C.” print sprawled across the front. It’s baffling why he’s draped in that shapeless thing over his freakishly tall frame, but it’s too hard to focus on something so trivial when you’re still grasping with the reality of seeing him again. You really can’t believe it. Spencer Reid is here. The Spencer Reid.

The guy whose heart you broke five years ago.

You should have seen this coming. In fact, you kind of did, when your brother’s friends came rushing into the hospital room, their voices a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” as they crowded around the newborn cradled in Kristy’s arms. You exchanged polite greetings when they noticed you—Penelope even pulled you into a tight hug, gushing about how amazing you looked—and thankfully, there was no sign of him.

But you’d almost allowed yourself to believe he wouldn’t show up. When the small space became overly crowded, you stepped out into the waiting room to catch your breath… only to find him standing a few feet away with JJ.

And just like that, all the air seems to vanish from your lungs.

You had a plan, of course. In the back of your mind, you always knew a chance meeting was inevitable, whether you liked it or not. And that plan was simple. You’d offer him a polite smile. Exchange a few words, nothing too personal. You’d be friendly but distant, always make sure to keep the kind of composure that says you’ve moved on, and that the past is just that: the past.

But those well-laid plans seem fragile now, almost naive as you suddenly caught his smile. Now how do you stick to a script when your heart is starting to rewrite all the lines? Or blur the lines specifically, when the past and present merge so seamlessly that you’re reminded of the first time that same smile had charmed you.

You’re suddenly thrown back to that day five years ago, when your brother had thrown a barbecue cookout to celebrate some joint investigation his team had wrapped up. You didn’t know the details—didn’t really care to, if you were honest—but Matt had called you and insisted that you join him.

You hadn't thought much of it at the time. It sounded like another family gathering with a few new faces. But that was the day you met Spencer, and what began as a simple introduction quickly spiraled into something much more complicated. Really complicated. Because as charmed as you were by his smile, he had wanted something more from you when all you could offer him was your body.

So you ran away.

Although not very far, because apparently, he’s standing a few steps away from you, five years later. And the worst part? He’s now very much aware that you’re here. You watch as his jaw slacks open as he takes a double-take. You’re rooted in place. JJ, on the other hand, tugs his sleeve as she notices his demeanor slowly shutting down. She turns around to see what’s caught his attention, and when she spots you, a huge smile spreads across her face.

"Hey! You're here!” You force yourself to look away from him as she moves forward. You reciprocate the hug she throws at you. "How are you?”

You’re not entirely sure how to answer. How do you even explain that your heart just did a triple backflip and landed somewhere near your stomach? Or that you’re seconds away from having an internal existential crisis because, of course, the universe would choose this moment to throw Spencer Reid back into your life?

There's really no good way to sum that up. So instead, you plaster on a smile that probably looks more like a grimace and reply, "Good. I’m good.”

JJ doesn’t seem to notice the strained edges in your voice. “It’s so nice to see you again! How long has it been?”

There’s a moment of silence as you try to gather your thoughts. But before you can respond, Spencer’s voice suddenly cuts through the quiet. It’s soft, almost hesitant, as if he’s been holding onto this detail for far too long, but every syllable rings in your ears.

"Five years," he says. "Five years, three months, and seventeen days."

Your stomach does another flip. JJ raises her brows, her eyes darting between you and him. You carefully meet her gaze. "Actually, you and I met up last year.”

“Oh, right!” She exclaims, her face lighting up as the memory clicks into place. “You were in town for a conference, right? I totally forgot about that.”

“You were in town last year and you didn’t tell me?”

God, he’s making it terribly hard for you to keep your composure. You throw him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t know you wanted to see me.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He looks at you as if your words sounds ludicrous to him.

“I always want to see you.”

You can't decide what surprises you more, the fact that he still wants to see you after all these years, or how easily he says it. The words roll off his tongue so casually, so effortlessly, as if the weight of your shared past doesn’t cling to them. And to make matters worse, he's saying this right in front of JJ, who is now staring at him, clearly scrutinizing the significance behind his words.

You quickly shift your attention to her, forcing another smile. "So, are you going to head inside?"

JJ blinks at you. “Oh, yeah, I probably should.” She turns to Spencer and gives him a quick but knowing glance. "See you on Monday, Spence."

You glance at him. “You're not going to see the baby?"

"Spencer’s got something he needs to take care of,” JJ chimes in. There’s a slight edge to her voice, like she knows exactly what that ‘something’ is, but she doesn’t elaborate. She gives him one last look before heading inside.

You catch yourself looking up at him again. “You’re leaving?”

Spencer pauses, studying you carefully, his brow furrowing just slightly like he’s trying to read between the lines of your question.

“I was,” he says softly.

There’s a sudden tightness in your chest. “Right.”

“But now I don’t want to.”

There it goes again, the butterflies in your stomach. This is exactly why you didn’t want to see him. You knew that once you looked into his eyes, heard his voice, it would stir up everything you’ve spent five years trying to bury. You’d told yourself it was better to pretend that whatever happened between you was nothing more than a stupid choice. But now, standing here with him so close, you can feel all those walls you built crumbling down with just a few words.

You finally look at him, like really look at him. It’s impossible not to notice how he’s changed over the past five years. There are faint lines around his eyes now, signs of age that wasn't there before. His hair is longer, a little messier. It curls around his ears in a way that makes him look almost boyish, yet undeniably charming which suits him more than you'd like to admit.

But even with all the changes, his smile—gentle and just a little shy—remains the same. That smile reminds you of a time when things were simpler, where it was enough to convince you that you didn't have to keep your guard up all the time. But then you remember the reason you walked away, and his smile becomes a little harder to look at.

Because while he's changed, grown, matured, so have you, and you're not sure if there's room for the person you are now in the space that once belonged to both of you.

His eyes scan you in the same way you’re assessing him. “You look good.”

Your mouth twitches at his words. You didn’t expect him to be so straightforward. “Thank you.”

“You’re even prettier than I remember.”

The sigh you let out is long and weary. He really knows how to push your buttons.

“Spencer. Don’t.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say things like that after—” You hesitate, crossing your arms. "After everything. What happened to 'Hi, how are you?’. Or maybe something simple like ‘What have you been up to? Anything new?’”

He blinks, clearly taken aback by your abruptness. “Okay. Hi, how are you?”

You cast him a wary glance. “Good.”

"What have you been up to?"

"Work."

"Anything new?"

"No."

He pauses again, his eyes searching yours before he asks, "No new boyfriend?"

You frown. “Huh?”

“Girlfriend?”

"Spencer."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Spencer."

He smiles sheepishly, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You're right, that was inappropriate. I didn't think I would see you again, it’s throwing me off a bit."

“You didn’t think I would be here for my newborn niece?”

His smile turns into a grimace. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly." He shifts on his feet, fidgeting with his fingers—a small, familiar tic that you hadn’t seen in years. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, though there’s no real bite to your words. His nervous energy is making it hard to stay annoyed. Your eyes narrow on his oversized hoodie again, the casual, almost careless choice that seems slightly out of character for the Spencer you remember.

He seems to notice you staring so blatantly. “What?”

“You look funny.”

A hint of surprise flashes across his face. “You think I’m funny?”

“Different,” you correct. “Did you raid someone’s closet on your way here or something?”

"Oh… I had to change my clothes. I got wet at the park earlier.”

You glance towards the window with a frown. "It's not even raining."

"I ran through the sprinklers."

The cease on your forehead deepens. Even that sounds so unlike him. Spencer Reid doing something that carefree in public?

“You ran through the sprinklers? Alone?"

You notice his expression shift as the question leaves your lips, something very subtle, but you’ve known him long enough to catch it. The way his eyes flicker, the slight hesitation before he answers, makes it obvious. There’s a hint of something unspoken in the way he looks at you, and suddenly, it all clicks into place.

He wasn’t alone.

You look away. It's ridiculous, you think. To feel this somewhat… jealous when it should be the last thing on your mind because, really, what right do you have? What you had with him wasn’t even a relationship to begin with. But despite all the logic in the world, you can’t help the pang in your chest, the twist of something bitter and familiar curling in your gut.

"It's not what you think," he slowly says.

You force a small, awkward laugh, trying to brush it off. "I wasn’t assuming anything. It’s none of my business, anyway."

"No, really, it's nothing like that." he insists, scrunching his nose in the way he does when he's trying to think. "I mean, I did meet someone at the park, but it’s not like… what you might be thinking. We were just talking, and… and then there were these sprinklers and it wasn’t really planned or anything, then she—well, technically, we weren’t even alone the whole time because there were other people around, and it’s not like we—”

“Spencer, you don’t have to explain—” you begin, but then something dawns on you. “Wait, is this what JJ was referring to? Did you… Did you have plans?”

You notice his Adam’s apple dip as he swallows. "Kind of," he admits. “But it wasn't anything serious. It was just, you know, a casual thing.”

You can't help the way your stomach knots. Casual could mean anything. Maybe a simple coffee between two friends, or even a lighthearted conversation over lunch. But in your experience, at least in the book you and Spencer had written together in the past, casual had always meant sex. And now, hearing him say it about someone else feels like a punch to the gut you hadn't expected.

You suddenly feel foolish for letting your mind go there, for assuming that whatever he meant by casual was the same thing it had meant for the two of you back then. It's been five years, and so much has changed. Maybe casual means something entirely different for him now, and you're the one stuck in the past, reading into things that no longer hold the same weight.

He must have noticed the slight falter in your expression, the way your eyes momentarily cloud over with something you can’t quite hide. He takes a step forward. "It’s really nothing.”

You take a step back. “Even if it is, it’s really not my business.”

“But it’s not,” he urges. He’s suddenly so persistent, and you can’t help but feel the embarrassment gnawing you at how easily he can read your mind. It's one thing to wrestle with these feelings privately, but having them so clearly acknowledged makes it all the more humiliating. You can’t believe you let yourself get so worked up over something that shouldn’t matter this much.

You eye the exit door. “I need to go.”

"Right now?” His brows knit together in confusion. “But your family’s here."

You’ve only spent a few minutes with him and you’re already running away.

"I just remembered I have to take care of… something."

The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, but you don’t wait for his response. You quickly turn on your heel, and when he calls out your name with concern, you force yourself to keep moving, scurrying off down the hallway.

Me: I'm heading back first Big bro: You okay? Me: Bad headache Big Bro: You didn't eat anything, did you?

You scoff. What is it about your brother always zeroing in on eating whenever you complain about feeling off?

Me: You know I did. Just not much Big Bro: That’s what I thought. There’s some leftover dinner in the fridge. And check the second drawer in the kitchen, there should be some ibuprofen Me: Yes, Dad Big Bro: Don’t get smart with me Me: 🫡 Big Bro: Drink lots of water Me: Yes, sir. Anything else on your mind while you’re giving out parental advice? Big Bro: I’m just trying to keep myself from dragging you out of my house if you collapse Me: 🙄 Big Bro: The kids are staying with Kristy’s parents, I’ll drop by tomorrow morning Me: Okay Big Bro: Call me if you need anything

You toss your phone down on the bed, then let out the most exasperated sigh. Spending your Saturday night in your brother’s guest room is the last thing you expect to be doing, let alone faking a headache just to avoid confronting a situationship from the past. You honestly thought you’d outgrown this kind of avoidance, but here you are, slipping back into old habits as if no time has passed at all.

Ironically, your mind stumbles into the past, and you remember a conversation you once had with Spencer. It was during one of those nights when you both were tangled in each other’s arms. You could faintly remember the conversation started with him talking about his work.

He never actually told you the details of his cases, but he liked to share his thoughts on the different complexities of the human mind. And on that particular night, he was rambling about the psychological concept of avoidance, which he claimed to have detected the first time he spotted the bad guy. He went on at how people often retreat into familiar behaviors to protect themselves from discomfort.

At the time, you had brushed it off with a joke, teasing him about overanalyzing everything when the situation had already played out. But now the irony isn’t lost on you. You’re doing exactly what he once explained. It’s almost laughable if it didn’t sting so much to realize how right he was.

A sharp ding from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, and one glance at it tells you exactly who’s messaging. The name on the screen makes your chest tighten, but you don’t even give yourself a moment to consider responding. You quickly turn the phone to silent, push yourself off the bed, and head straight for the kitchen. True to your brother’s words, there’s leftover pizza in the fridge, but the idea of reheating it doesn’t seem appealing to you.

You reach for the bottle of wine instead.

The red liquor tastes like butter, or something close to it. It’s similar in the way the liquid melts over your tongue, spreading warmth through your chest and settling comfortably in your belly. By the time you're sipping the second glass, you feel more relaxed, but then the sharp sound of the doorbell ringing cuts through the calm.

You glance at the door from the position of the couch. You have a strong feeling about who it is. But as much as you're sure of the who, what really gnaws at you is the why.

You hesitantly make your way toward the door, and sure enough, when you pull it open, Spencer is standing at your brother’s doorstep. The corner of his lips turns upward in an awkward, almost apologetic half-smile as if he’s unsure of how to begin or whether he should even be there in the first place.

You lean against the doorframe. “Did Matt tell you I was here?”

He gives you a pointed look, his eyebrows raising slightly. “No, but it wasn’t hard to figure out.” You throw him the same questioning look, and he explains, “This is the only place you’d stay in town because not only do you hate staying alone at a hotel, but Matt wouldn’t let you even if you tried.”

You can’t believe he still remembers your offhand comment about sterile hotel rooms. It’s one of the reasons you used to prefer staying at his apartment whenever you were in town.

“Why are you here anyway?” You ask. “I thought you had plans.”

He pauses for moment as if deciding how much to say. Finally, he clears his throat. “Can I come in? I’d rather explain it inside.”

"I don't think you owe me any explanations about what you do with your time," you reply, crossing your arms.

"Maybe I don't owe it, but I want to give it.”

“Which isn’t necessary.”

“But appreciated, I hope.”

You find yourself caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. You tell yourself not to read too much into it, but there's a part of you that can't help but soften at his words. Maybe it's the way his eyes reminds you of melted chocolate as he stares at you that makes you want to let him in, despite your better judgment.

You pull the door open. “Fine, but take your shoes off. Kristy’s very serious about hygiene.”

He does as he’s told and tucks away his shoes on the rack by the door.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

He shakes his head slightly, offering a small smile. "I'm good, thanks."

You nod and gesture toward the living room. He follows you, and as you both approach the couch, he instinctively moves to the far end, settling down cautiously as if not wanting to invade your space. You take a seat on the opposite end.

“So, what do you want to talk about?”

He leans back slightly, resting his hands on his knees. You can tell he's trying to gauge your mood, figure out how much to push and when to hold back. "Do you remember when we went on that date at the street fair?"

You frown, remembering how you had missed your bus home in one of your trips here and ended up wandering at the fair with him. “That wasn’t a date.”

"Fine. Do you remember when we went to the street fair together not on a date?"

“I remember."

His shoulders relax a bit at your response. “You spent ages deciding what to eat and you ended up choosing that little Korean stall in the corner. We had to walk a bit further to get there even when your shoes were hurting you.”

You think back, internally scolding yourself for wearing those damn boots that day. “You thought I was being ridiculous.”

"I didn't think it was ridiculous. I just didn't get it at first. Your feet were practically covered in blisters."

"I really wanted kimchi."

"I could tell, and it took me a while to understand why you went through all that trouble. Now I do.”

You glance at him, sensing there's more behind his words. “Why are you bringing this up?"

He meets your gaze. His brown eyes looking a little more golden underneath the dim light. "I guess this is me choosing.”

“That you’re craving for Korean?”

He gives a soft, genuine laugh, the kind that starts in his chest and reaches his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. “Not exactly,” he says and leans a little closer. “What I’m trying to say is, that’s how I feel right now. I'm here because I want to be, not because it's convenient, but because it’s you.”

There’s a subtle flutter in your chest, and your skin prickles with a familiar warmth as he speaks. Your heart beats a little faster, not enough to be alarming, but just enough to remind you that you’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be. You can feel your palms start to sweat, and there’s that almost imperceptible hitch in your breathing that you hope he doesn’t notice.

“Spencer…” You don’t even know how to start. “It’s been five years."

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. A lot of has changed since the last time we saw each another, and you’re here acting like we both separated on good terms? Don't you hate me?”

His brow furrows slightly. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because I broke your heart. I—" Your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words. "The moment you told me you were falling in love with me, I... I ran. I couldn’t handle it. I pushed you away like a coward.”

“You weren't a coward, you were scared. And maybe I didn’t understand that back then, but I do now.”

You shake your head. “But I hurt you.”

The sigh he lets out is heavy, yet there's something deceptively calm about it, almost as if he’s already made peace with the past. “You did what you thought you had to do, and sure, it hurt. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I realized that I don’t blame you for needing space. It wasn’t about me not being enough, it was about you needing to protect yourself.”

His words start to chip away at the wall you’ve built around your heart. “I thought you’d hate me,” you admit quietly.

“I could never hate you."

You lower your gaze, your fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of the cushion. “Alright, let’s say you choose me. Now what? What is it that you want?”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers curled into his palms. He looks away briefly, taking a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts, then returns his gaze to you. “I want another chance.”

If you were surprised to see him at the hospital earlier, this is something entirely different. There’s something akin to panic fluttering in your chest. It’s amusing, really, how the human body reacts before the mind fully comprehends as if your heart knows what’s coming before you do. You can feel it in the way your breath catches, in the way your stomach knots with a nervous energy you can’t quite shake. Because how do you even react to that?

You finally turn to face him, leaning your head against the back of the couch. This moment feels like some sort of déjà vu, and just like the last time, your mind is already bracing itself, preparing to give him the same answer you did back then.

“You know it’s never going to work.”

He mirrors you, but instead of the frustration or sadness you half-expected, there’s a gentle smile on his lips. “You sound so sure.”

“That’s because I am,” you reply. “I know what you’re asking for right now, and we don’t function like that. Not in the past, at least.”

“How did we function?”

“Based on sex.”

“And what do you think I’m asking for now?”

“More than sex, which isn’t going to work."

“Why not?”

“Because—” you start, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not even sure how to explain. The fears, the doubts, the past... all of it feels too big, too overwhelming to articulate in a way that makes sense.

“Because the idea still terrifies you?”

You frown, caught off guard by the directness of his question. “No.”

The smile stretches even more across his face. “Then give me one good reason why you think so.”

"Oh I can name a few."

He studies you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to read every thought racing through your mind. “Let’s make a deal then. You give me those reasons why we can’t work, and I’ll give you reasons why we can.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his offer. It’s bold, almost reckless, and yet... there’s something in his eyes that makes you want to accept the challenge.

"And if your reasons aren’t good enough?"

“Then we’ll deal with that when we come to it,” he replies softly. “But I’m willing to bet we won’t have to.”

"You really think you can convince me?"

"I can try." He leans a little closer, just enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "So, what’s your first reason?"

That’s too easy, too obvious. “You’re one of my brother’s closest friends,” you point out. “What happens if this doesn’t work out? I don’t want to put him, or us, in that position.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “That didn’t stop us in the past.”

You scoff. “Spencer, we were sneaking around behind his back. It’s not exactly the same thing. This… whatever this is, it would be out in the open, and that’s a whole different level of complicated.”

“It would be different, yes. But that doesn’t mean it has to be a problem. If anything, it shows how serious we were then, and how serious we could be now.” You scrunch your nose at his response. “Now what’s next on your list?”

"Uhh.. the distance! You’re in D.C., and I’m not. It’s not like I can just drop everything and move closer.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re a three-hour drive away, maybe two if I take the expressway. And honestly, with how much we both travel for work, I don’t see how that’s an issue.”

His reasoning is so undeniably logical you feel a flicker of annoyance, not at him, but at how easily he’s dismantling your arguments.

“You didn’t even want to visit me back then.”

"You were the one who didn't want me to. You kept saying it was easier for you to come here.”

His words hit harder than you expect. You remember all the times you insisted on making the trips yourself. You'd convinced yourself it was about convenience, but with him calling you out on it, you realize it wasn't about convenience at all. It was about keeping things on your terms, maintaining a safe distance even when that distance wasn't physical.

"Well, I had more flexible hours," you claim. The excuse is flimsy, and the way Spencer looks at you—patient, but not fooled—makes it clear that he sees right through it.

You try to think of your next reason, although the words seem to get stuck before they even form. You know you can easily rattle off more excuses, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes it harder than it should be.

“That’s it? You’ve only thought of two? I was expecting a bit more of a challenge.”

You scowl at him. "I didn’t say I was done."

"Take your time," he comments, leaning back slightly, still wearing that infuriatingly patient smile.

You huff softly, trying to regain your footing. "Okay, how about this? Sex."

There's a beat of silence. "What about sex?"

You feel the words forming, but they sound ridiculous even in your own mind. Still, you force them out of your mouth. Your subconscious is urging you to come up with more excuses to keep him at arm’s length. "That was all that we had. What if… what if we just fall back into the same patterns?"

“Don't you think that's a reason why we can work? If we were only ever about sex and we're still here, doesn't that show there's something more between us?"

“Or it just means we had a strong physical connection. That doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something more.”

“You really believe that? That all we had was just physical?”

“Yes,” you retort, though the confidence in your voice wavers slightly. Your eyes flicker away for a split second before you meet his gaze again. “That’s all it ever was and I don’t know if it can turn into something you’re trying to imply.”

He lets out a low, amused sound, as the corners of his mouth twitches upward. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m being realistic,” you shoot back. “What if we try, and it doesn’t work? What if everything falls apart because we weren’t good at anything but the sex?”

His eyes light up, and suddenly he’s wearing the most boyish grin you’ve ever seen on him. “So you're admitting the sex was good?"

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“You know what I mean. What we had was...” Wild? Passionate? Crazy-hot-mind-blowing sex? “…intense. But intensity isn't enough for a relationship. What if the rest of it doesn't hold up?"

He leans in closer, his hand hovering near yours on the couch.

“But what if it does?”

All you can do is stare at him.

“You’re giving me all these reasons to push me away again,” he continues. “But I’m here because I’m not afraid of those doubts. I’ve always wanted to give you more than what we had because you deserve something real. I want us to be real this time, and I think you do too, even if you’re scared to admit it.”

His words are affecting you more than you like to admit. You can slowly feel it in the tension building between you, it’s surprisingly not the uncomfortable kind, but the sort that pulls you in, that makes you want to move closer even though every instinct tells you to stay put.

And then it happens. You feel a slight tremor in your leg, an involuntary movement that causes it to brush against his. The contact is so light it's almost like it didn't happen at all, but it did. He notices—Of course he does—and now there’s a certain gentleness in his gaze like he knows exactly what's going on inside your head. He doesn't push, doesn't rush, just watches you with those impossibly kind eyes.

And in the softest, most careful voice, he asks, “Can I move closer?"

Your heart is pounding now, the rhythm echoing in your ears, in your chest, in the pulse at your throat. The sensation travels downward, a slow, steady beat that moves through your body, inching its way down your spine, tightening in your stomach before it settles low in your abdomen. It’s a heat that spreads outward until it reaches your core, leaving you acutely aware of every inch of space between you and him—and how much you want to close that distance.

You find yourself nodding. He shifts closer. “Can I touch you?”

You really want to say something witty, something that might deflect from the weight of the situation, but the words won’t come out. You can only manage another nod. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to pull back. But you don’t. You can’t. You’re rooted in place as his hand reaches for you.

His palm gently rests on your jaw. Your eyes flutter closed against your consciousness, and the tension that’s been coiling in your chest slowly unwinds, replaced by a sense of calm. When his thumb slides across your cheek, he speaks again. His voice is so close it's as if the words themselves are brushing over your lips.

"Can I kiss you?"

You inhale sharply. The word "Yes" hovers on the tip of your tongue, but you don't need to say it out loud. He can already see the answer in the way you’re leaning into him, and his mouth is on yours in an instant.

The reality is, you’ve kissed Spencer before. Plenty of times, actually. You know the feel of his lips, the way they can be both gentle and demanding, the way he tastes faintly of coffee or something sweet when he’s had a treat. You also think back to those hurried kisses in the past when time was short and the world was pressing down on you. Or the playful pecks that came with laughter. Even the desperate, heated moments when the need to feel something, anything, was too overwhelming to resist.

This kiss, however, isn’t like any of those. This one is slow, and achingly tender. His movements are unhurried. The way his lips glide over yours carries a deep sense of care, like he’s trying to memorize every soft curve. Just as you begin to melt in his arms, he pulls away slightly, not very far, but enough to hover close that you can still feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

There’s a tense silence as the tip of his nose brushes gently against your cheek. You can tell he’s giving you the space to decide what happens next, and there are a lot of scenarios running in your head. You could push him away, repeating history all over again. You could be in denial and pretend all of this never even happened. But something inside you snaps.

Maybe it’s the way he’s holding back, so gentle, so careful, too afraid of pushing too far. Or maybe it’s the realization that you don’t want him to hold back, that you need more, that you’re tired of resisting what you’ve both been dancing around for so long. Before you can second guess yourself, you’re clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him closer.

He tenses for a moment, but the hesitation is gone almost as soon as it appears. His mouth finds yours again, and he lets out a deep, relieved sigh. You feel the soft, insistent push of his tongue against the seam of your lips. You hold onto him, parting your mouth eagerly before he slips his tongue with a desperation that catches you off guard.

Then his hands seem to be everywhere all at once, tracing the curve of your spine, sliding down to the small of your back, and brushing along the edge of your jaw. His fingers then tangle in your hair, tugging gently while his other hand skims over your waist. But when his hand slips inside your shirt, calloused fingers brushing your soft skin, you slowly pull away. “W-Wait.”

His eyes widen slightly, and you can feel the shift in his body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, tugging him closer again. “I just… I think we should continue this conversation somewhere more… private?”

He pauses for a moment. “Really?”

“If you want to.”

A subtle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Are you trying to seduce me for sex?”

You’re oscillating between being incredibly turned on and equally mortified. In a sense, yes, that’s what you’re asking. But you didn’t expect him to be so blunt about it. You don’t think he’s ever been this direct in the past, and now you’re wondering if you missed something before, or if he’s just tapped into a level of confidence you’re struggling to keep up with.

“Would it be inappropriate if I said that I am?” you ask hesitantly, and you can’t help but wince a little as the words leave your mouth.

“Since when have you been worried about being inappropriate with me?”

“Well, Spencer, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a five-year gap since the last time we slept together.”

His hand on your waist tightens slightly. “Five years too long, if you ask me.” Then he pulls you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. “You do realize this is you giving me a second chance, right?"

In a way, you do. You've spent so much time convincing yourself that you were better off keeping your distance. Walking away in the past was easy, but now… now it feels different. The years have stretched on, and the excuses you’ve made have started to wear thin. Especially when just being near him is starting to stir memories you thought you’d buried—some good, some less so—but all intense, all Spencer.

Maybe he's right. Maybe five years is too long to pretend that whatever was between you didn't matter.

You slowly meet his gaze. “I realize.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

You hesitate, not out of doubt, but because of the sheer gravity of what you're about to say.

"Maybe."

His sigh is audible when he hears your answer, and without missing a beat, he brushes the barest, lightest, most gentle of kisses on your lips. “Maybe is good.” Kiss. “I can take—” Kiss. Kiss. “—maybe.”

You think you should say something more, but all coherent thoughts scatter the instant his lips meet yours again. You return his kisses, hesitant at first, but quickly falling into a rhythm that feels achingly familiar. It doesn’t take long until his lips move into something more urgent. There’s a hunger there, a pent-up longing that he can no longer hold back. His tongue flicks against yours, teasing, coaxing, and you know you need to stop him before he starts to undress you right there on the couch.

You reluctantly pull back. “Bedroom. Now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls you to your feet, and you’re practically dragging him to the guest bedroom. When the door closes behind you, he’s quick to guide you toward the bed, his hands firm on your hips as he steers you backward. The moment your legs hit the edge of the bed, he pauses, his hands lingering on your waist, and for a moment, he just looks at you.

“Having second thoughts?” You tease. The sarcasm drips sweetly in your voice, knowing full well he’s been trying to win your heart the entire evening.

“No,” he mutters. “I’m trying to see if you are.”

You draw back from his arms just enough to climb onto the bed and lay down in the middle. “Does it look like I am?”

He shakes his head with that cute, bashful smile. Although there’s nothing bashful about the way he pulls off his hoodie and tosses it carelessly onto the floor. The shirt underneath is crumpled, and his hair is even messier, sticking up in ways that make you want to run your hands through it.

“Come here,” you motion for him. Without hesitation, he crawls between your legs and leans in for another kiss. His hair feels like the smoothest silk when you finally reach for it. There’s a slight dampness from the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way it curls just slightly at the ends, brushing against your forehead as he dips his head to capture your mouth.

You don’t think you can ever get tired of kissing him. There’s a familiarity in the way he moves. His lips mold perfectly to yours, soft yet demanding, as if he knows exactly how to draw out the deepest parts of your desire. And you feel it everywhere. In your pulse, in your veins, all the way down to the spot between your legs.

It intensifies even more when his lips begin to trail down your neck. You feel the first warm rush of arousal pooling in your panties when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat, the fluttering veins below your jaw with so much intensity as if he's taking every one of your heartbeats for himself. Your grip tightens in his hair as he marks another spot near your collarbone.

“I’ve missed this so much,” he murmurs as he slowly nips down your neck. “I’ve missed you.”

You can only hum a reply, your voice catching in your throat as your head starts to spin from the way his hands are now trailing down your side. He reaches the hem of your shirt and pauses, fingers lightly tugging at the fabric.

“Can I take this off?” He asks, pulling back slightly just enough to look down at you. With his messy hair falling into his glossy brown eyes and swollen wet lips, how can you possibly say no to him?

Without a second thought, you nod, your fingers already moving to help him with the fabric. His eyes never leave yours as he slowly lifts your shirt. It slides up over your skin, and you raise your arms to let him pull it off completely, tossing it aside without a care. Your bra comes off next, and when that follows to the floor, his eyes sweep over your body.

There’s a certain look in his gaze. Devotion would be too strong of a word, but it’s something close—something softer, yet just as intense. You’ve seen desire before, felt it in fleeting touches and heated glances, but this is different. This feels different. It’s as if his gaze is reaching into the spaces between your thoughts, gently pulling at the threads that hold you together to unravel you in the most tender of ways.

He kisses the spot between your breasts.

“You’re always so pretty.”

He gives a soft peck just above your heart.

“So incredibly beautiful.”

Then his tongue flicks along the delicate curve of your chest, making a slow, teasing trail upward until he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks gently, rolling it around with his tongue, and you’re mesmerized by the lewd scene of him drawing your flesh between his lips. Your fingers instinctively find their way back into his hair, tugging on the soft strands as he continues to lap at your sensitive skin.

He then shifts slightly, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft, wet sound before moving to give the same attention to the other. While he suckles and nibbles on one hardened peak, he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger, sending a rush of pleasure straight to your core. If you thought you were wet before, you’re certain you’re drenched by now. Your panties cling uncomfortably and the growing desire makes you ache to peel them off.

He must sense your growing need because his kisses trail lower, down to your stomach, while his fingers toy with the waistband of your leggings. His touch is teasing, slipping just under the elastic, and you instinctively lift your hips, silently begging for more. He takes his time as he slides the fabric down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your skin before discarding them somewhere in the room.

Your attention is on him as his palm dances along your inner thigh, and the closer he gets to where you ache him the most, the more your breath hitches in your throat. When his thumb brushes over the wet patch on your panties, your hips buck against him. “Spencer…”

He glances over at you and lets out the most appreciative sigh. You really are beautiful. Eyes full of lust, skin flushed with his marks. You’re a vision of longing, and every part of him is consumed by the sight of you. “Yes?”

You squirm under his gaze. “Aren’t you… going to take them off?”

A slow, teasing smile spreads across his face. “What, these?” He gives a playful tug at the edge of your panties, his fingers just barely slipping beneath the fabric before pulling away. “Are you sure you want them off?”

You try to hold back your groan when his thumb finds your clit. “Yes. I-I’m sure.”

He grins, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you, but instead of giving in immediately, he begins to circle your clit slowly with his thumb, watching your reaction closely. “On a scale from one to ten, how sure are you?”

Now he’s starting to get on your nerves. You can’t hold back the small huff falling from your lips. He simply laughs then slowly takes off the last piece of your clothing. The cool air instantly hits your skin as he grabs your knees, spreading your legs apart. He skims along your naked body and when you notice where his gaze settles, you swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy.

It's kind of ironic, you think, how you've gotten this far, and now, of all times, you're suddenly blushing like a damn teenager. It's as if your brain is catching up to everything your body already knows—that this is real, and it's happening. You can't help but laugh at yourself a little. Here you are, all tangled up in each other, practically begging him to get you naked and yet you're acting shy now?

He seems to notice the shift in your mood, his hands pausing on your thighs as he looks up at you with concern. He tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Did I do something wrong?”

You quickly shake your head. “I’m suddenly feeling very self-conscious.”

He studies your face for a moment. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” you blurt out, more forcefully than you intended, your hand instinctively reaching out to grab his wrist. “I… I guess I’m not used to feeling this exposed in front of you.”

He shifts slightly, moving closer so he’s eye-level with you, his hands still resting gently on your thighs. “We’ve done this countless times before.”

“I know, but that was years ago. Things feel different now… like there’s more at stake, maybe?” You let out a sigh. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” he reassures you. He soothes the skin behind your thighs. “But you don’t need to feel self-conscious with me. You’re beautiful, and I just want you to feel as good as you make me feel.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, there’s no doubt you’ll end up giving him your heart on a silver platter by the end of this. He shifts lower down your body. “We can go as slow as you want,” he continues, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another. “Just tell me what you need.”

You take a deep breath as his soft stubble grazes your skin. “I need you.”

“Then you’ll have me.”

You watch with heavy lids as he drags his lips along your skin until he presses the most tender kiss on your cunt. He really wasn’t lying when he said he could go as slow as you want because every kiss is achingly gentle, barely more than a feather-light touch. It’s the kind of softness that makes you writhe beneath him, and before you know it, your fingers are tangling in his curls while your hips buck against his face.

There’s a slight vibration on your skin—it could be his laughter, or maybe just a hum of contentment—but you don’t bother deciphering it. You’re too lost in the sensation as his tongue breaches your folds. You peer down and watch as he trails the tip of his tongue through your wetness, slowly tracing up and down your slit until he flicks it against your clit.

You’re honestly gone after that. You’re not surprised, though. If there’s one thing Spencer Reid is good at, it’s knowing exactly how to use his mouth. Sure, he’s a bona fide genius who spouts off random facts and quotes obscure literature, but his mouth? His mouth is a whole different level of expertise. It’s almost unfair how good he is. It’s like he’s studied you, memorized every little thing that makes you go crazy, and now he’s putting all that knowledge to devastatingly good use.

And it’s not like he’s doing it just for your pleasure. It brings him the same deep satisfaction. His eyes are closed, and he seems to lose himself in the act, savoring every taste, every reaction, every subtle shift of your body beneath him. It’s as though he’s completely immersed in finding an almost insatiable need to drink in everything about you. His tongue delves deeper, swirling around your entrance before sucking gently on your folds, pulling the soft skin into his mouth.

You find yourself pressing his head closer to your heat. His eyes flickers up to you. “You’re back.” Your response is simply another push of his head. “Oh. Needy, are we now?”

"Mhm," you manage to squeak out, feeling a rush of wetness seeping out of you. He leans in, his tongue catching a bead of moisture before it drips further, dragging it between your slick folds.

Your grip in his hair tightens.

“Spencer…”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smile before his mouth descends again, this time focusing on your clit. His tongue flicks over the sensitive nub before he gently sucks, pulling it into his mouth with a slow rhythm that has you gasping. Each motion is perfectly timed and you feel yourself growing even wetter under his attention. His tongue swirls, then flattens before he sucks a little harder.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel that familiar coil in your stomach. The pleasure builds steadily, the tension winding tighter and tighter until it slowly overwhelms you. Spencer seems to sense it too, his hands gripping the back of your thighs a little tighter, pushing them further apart as he continues with unwavering focus. He’s not rushing, though, he’s savoring it, but his slow motion is enough to make you snap.

Your hips jerk against his mouth, and he doesn’t miss a beat, holding you steady as he continues his ministrations. He’s relentless in his gentleness, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from you, even as you’re left gasping for air. When you finally come down from the high, Spencer finally lifts his head and places a final, soft kiss on your inner thigh.

“Do you still feel self-conscious now?”

It takes you a moment before you can answer. You smile lazily at him. “Not after that.”

He grins and pulls you up into a sitting position. “Do you think you can give me another one?”

“Spencer,” you breathe out. “Even if you gave me thousands of orgasms, I’d probably ask for more.”

The laugh he lets out is warm and infectious, the sound vibrating through you in a way that makes you smile even wider. “Well,” he starts, slipping his hand down your thigh. “The human body is capable of experiencing multiple orgasms in a relatively short period of time, especially for women. So technically, you could keep asking for more, and I could keep giving them.”

“Even up to a thousand?”

“Maybe not to that extent.” He pulls you close, and you lean your weight against him. “Hold on to me.”

You do as you’re told and somehow you find yourself in a new position. When he spreads your legs apart, your senses go on high alert again. “Spence?”

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “Try to relax.”

A gasp escapes your lips as his fingers dive between your thighs. Try to relax? Try to relax? Men and their audacity to tell you what to do, especially when they're the reason you're so wound up in the first place. Because how are you supposed to relax when his fingertips are brushing ever so gently over your clit? How are you supposed to calm your breathing when he’s spreading your arousal up and down your folds?

And how are you supposed to keep your composure when he suddenly fills you with, not one, but two of his fingers?

You feel yourself slipping and he tightens his other arm around your waist. “Told you to hold on.”

He’s starting to annoy you, but you listen to him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You take a deep breath as he starts to move his fingers. Soap, you decide. It must be his soap, because he smells clean and crisp, almost like fresh linen and a hint of something peppery. It’s almost distracting if it weren’t for the way his fingers are curling inside of you.

Then you feel that sensation again, the kind that ripples through every nerve of your body. At first, it’s manageable, an intensity you think you can handle. But when he suddenly changes his technique, everything shifts. His entire hand moves in a fast, up-and-down motion that catches you completely off guard, and before you know it, you’re whining, your grip tightening on him as your head falls on his shoulder.

The rapid pace makes your head spin. It feels like he’s pulling the control right out of your hands, leaving you questioning your own limits. You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself become drenched before, but you’ve never experienced anything like this. You never realized your body could produce this much liquid. It’s not an overwhelming amount, but more than you’ve ever seen from yourself, and it splatters against his hand, dripping down your thighs.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even flinch when your nails claw into his shirt. He keeps going, and going, and going, until the only thing you hear is your rapid breathing against his neck and the slick, wet sounds he’s coaxing out of you. You’re overwhelmed (in the best way, of course) but you can’t stop yourself from cursing as the sensation intensifies, multiplies even.

It's not until your body starts to go limp that he finally takes pity on you. He slows down, his fingers pumping lazily inside you. “Good?”

“How did you—when did you—” you exhale a long breath. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He slowly withdraws his fingers out, only to rub your essence over your puffy clit, and your hips jerk once more before he finally stops. You're a trembling mess once you sink into the mattress.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you do that before.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that in my life.” Your eyes suddenly feel incredibly heavy that you can't resist letting them flutter close.

He kisses the tip of your nose. “Still up for another one?”

You peer through one eye, and when you catch him starting to undress himself, your other eye shoots open. The nod you give him is eager. His smile widens as he shrugs off his shirt, and you can’t help but let your gaze drop to the line of hair trailing down his stomach. You wonder what it would feel like under your tongue.

"Wait."

Your eyes snap back up to meet his. "What?"

His face twists into a grimace. “I don’t have a condom.”

Shit. Neither did you.

You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow and resting your head in your hand. “And you’re realizing this just now?”

“I was too focused with you."

And by that, he means giving you the most intense orgasm of your life. You watch as his fingers hover over his belt. “You really didn’t think of bringing one when you decided to come over?”

“My intention coming here wasn’t exactly for this.”

“Well, it would be great if you at least considered the possibility." You study his face and blurt out the first thing on your mind, “I don’t want to stop.”

He shifts his weight on the bed. “Me neither.”

“I mean… we could have sex without using one. We’ve done it before. Once.”

He recalls what you're referring to and lets out an amused laugh. “Are you sure? Didn’t you freak out when you realized your period was late?”

“That was a coincidence! I was stressed out at that time, but I’m safe now—I think.” You pause, brows furrowing as you start calculating your cycle in your head. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not ovulating.”

“Pretty sure?”

You give him a look. “No, I’m actually sure. I know my body, and I’ve done the math. See?” You gesture vaguely, as if the numbers and facts are floating in front of you. “No ovulation in sight.”

The corners of his mouth twitches into a smile. “Alright then,” he murmurs, and leans down to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “No ovulation in sight.”

“None,” you confirm before tugging his belt. “Can you please take off your pants now?”

He complies—with incredible speed—and when he’s finally as naked as you, your mouth waters at the sight of him. His cock is painfully hard, thick, with a bead of arousal glistening at the tip. You try to reach for him, but he has other plans. He crawls over your body and slips between your legs. He then grips the back of your thigh with one hand, pulling it up slightly to open you to him, while the other holds himself from the base.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The moan you let out is lewd. “Fuck, Spencer.”

An airy laugh slips out from him as he rubs the head of his cock around your clit. “So needy.”

You wiggle your hips. “Hurry up.”

He only hums in response, before easing his hips back just enough to drag his swollen tip through your slick outer lips. The underside of his cock splits your folds open with each stroke, and your head is spinning. It’s almost sweet how he’s taking this slow, but at this point, you’re so close to just shoving him inside you. You let out a frustrated whine when he pulls back, only to thrust forward just enough for the head of his cock to nudge at your entrance.

Your walls squeeze around him.

“O-Oh…” His mouth falls open slightly as he stares down at where your bodies meet. “I… I don’t remember you being this tight.”

You follow his gaze, watching the way your outer lips swallow him inch by inch. “I-It’s been a while.”

He pushes further, and your nails dig into his shoulders as he stretches you in a way that feels almost too much, and you can't help but tense when he thrusts further. He wraps your leg around his waist before leaning down, propping his weight on his elbows.

“Need you to relax,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over the pulse fluttering wildly in your neck. You do as he says. Breathe in, breathe out. Clench, unclench. And then you feel him easing inside you, oh-so-deliciously slow, until you squeak out a gasp when he finally fills you completely.

Because fuck, he stretches you—wrenches you open, and you’re consumed by his heat, the pressure, the sheer size of him. It overwhelms your senses, and all you can do is sing out a filthy moan. He follows your tune with a melody of his own, though his voice trembles, sounding more like he’s in pain as if he’s trying to hold himself back.

“You’re so warm,” he groans, his breath hot against your skin. “You okay?”

You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “More than okay.”

“Do you think I can move?”

“Please.”

There’s no hesitation in the way he pulls back, only to sink into you again. His hips roll against yours in a way that feels both achingly slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring every second to memorize the way you feel around him. It’s like he can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re giving him the chance to be tangled up with you in this position again.

And truthfully, neither can you.

But here you are, two bodies moving in perfect harmony, intertwined in the most primal, human way. Flesh against flesh, breath against breath. Even your heartbeats sync in the same rhythm. The world beyond seems to dissolve, leaving nothing but the pull of desire that draws you deeper into the moment, into him, until the boundaries of where you end and he begins blur into something undefinable.

It’s nonexistent. You’re glued to him, fused in a way that feels as if this is exactly where you belong.

No more running away, you decide.

“Kiss me.”

He’s in no position to decline, and within a heartbeat, he captures your lips in the sweetest kiss—well, as sweet as it can go. Because even though he tastes like honeyed warmth, his hips continue to pound into you, hitting that deep, tender spot inside. You whine against his lips. A needy, breathless sound that has him faltering for just a second, his hips stuttering against yours.

“You feel so—” he chokes on his words. “God, you’re so perfect.”

You’re perfect, you want to say, but you stop yourself, biting down on the words before they escape. It’s not that you don’t believe it. You just can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud. Not yet. Instead, your need wins out, pushing past everything else.

“More,” you gasp between shallow breaths.

He rests his forehead against yours. “Yeah? You want me to go faster?”

You whine in approval.

The instant he pulls back, his tip barely teasing your entrance before slamming into you again, a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He repeats the motion. Once. Twice. By the third time, he doesn’t hold back, driving his hips hard and fast, the wet sound of your bodies slapping together echoing off the walls.

You turn into a putty mess. You can barely think, let alone form words, your mind clouded with nothing but the feeling of him—inside you, around you. Your whole world narrows down to this moment, to the way he fills you so perfectly. His forehead stays pressed against yours the whole time, his lips hovering above yours he murmurs, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

But it’s not. It’s everything. Maybe even not enough. “I…” you gasp when a certain angle from him hits a deep spot inside you. “Oh, Spencer… harder, p-please.”

He’s more than happy to oblige.

He shifts slightly, then snaps his hips forward with a sudden, forceful thrust. He repeats the motion. Over and over again. His pace is relentless now, and he starts to pant, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts, every exhale brushing against your lips. There’s a tension in his body, a taut strain in muscles, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. And you can’t help but moan softly into his mouth, swallowing each of his gasps as his control starts to slip away.

“Where do you want—” His voice falters. “Can I—inside—”

You nod frantically. “Yes. Yes.”

It’s enough to push you both over the edge.

The sensation starts as a gentle warmth in your fingertips, slowly winding its way through your body. It weaves through your limbs, spirals up your spine, before gathering intensely at your core. You’re shaking, trembling, and you instinctively reach out for something to ground yourself. One hand threads into his curls, the other clutches his jaw.

Then it happens. His cock moves in a frantic rhythm, sending you spiraling deeper into intense pleasure for the third time tonight. Your inner walls tighten around him as your orgasm crashes through you, gripping him so tightly that it pulls a raw, breathless groan from his lips. He slams into you with uneven thrusts as he presses your body flat onto the bed, until he stops and shudders, spilling hot, white liquid deep inside you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt something this intense before—not even with him in the past. Every inch of your body is buzzing as his warmth spreads through you, reaching places you didn’t even know existed. You cling to him, your nails softly grazing his back as he finally lets out a satisfied hum, his lips moving to pepper kisses along your face.

He starts with your left cheek. Two gentle kisses. He moves to your right, giving a light peck that lingers just a moment longer, almost as if he’s blowing a warm breath against your skin. You giggle as the air tickles you. Then finally, he settles on your lips with a sigh that merges into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, and tenderly slow.

You let out another laugh when he finally pulls away.

“What?”

His curls fall messily on his forehead and you reach up, brushing it back. “You’re starting to grow on me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I grow on you?” You simply nod. “Like fungus?”

Your fingers pause in his hair. “Like what?”

"You know, fungus. It grows on things. Like mold or mushrooms,” he explains and gives you a smile. "Am I growing on you like that?"

You’ve been apart for so long that you almost forgot how his brain works. His unexpected comparison sparks your amusement, so you decide to humor him. “Depends on what kind of mushroom you are.”

He looks thoughtful for a while. “There's this mushroom called mycorrhiza. It forms a symbiotic relationship with trees and helps them grow by improving water and nutrient absorption."

“And that makes you what, exactly?”

“Essentially indispensable.”

“So you’re claiming you’re good for me?”

A slow, confident grin spreads across his lips. “I’m saying I’m exactly what you need.”

You burst out laughing. Your cheeks might actually ache from smiling this much. “That was pretty smooth.”

He looks incredibly pleased with himself. Then after a quiet moment, he buries his face in the curve of your neck. You close your eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours, and a sigh escapes your lips. It’s like all the time you spent apart melts away in that single breath, and something inside you relaxes, as if he’s managed to sneak back into the parts of you you’d forgotten existed.

Maybe he is right. Maybe, after all this time, he’s exactly what you need.

You wake up to the sound of clatter. It’s loud, jarring, and it echoes around the house. You stir in bed, stretching your limbs before tensing when you feel something poking your back. Your hazy mind immediately snaps into alert, and you open your eyes fully, glancing toward the window. Sunlight is already pouring into the room, far too bright for how early you thought it was.

You quickly turn over to the other side.

“Spencer. Spencer!” you hiss, shaking his shoulders urgently. “Wake up! We overslept!”

He groans softly but doesn’t move. Another loud clatter bounces off the walls, and your heart pounds wildly in your chest.

“Spencer,” you whisper sharply, eyes widening. “I think Matt is home.”

That finally gets his attention. He blinks his eyes open. “Wha—?”

You’re already halfway out of bed, rushing to the window to peek through the curtains. Sure enough, you spot your brother’s car parked in the driveway. “Yep, he’s here,” you mutter under your breath, the panic rising as you turn back to Spencer. “And now he’s going to kill us.”

“He’s not going to kill us,” he mumbles, but even by his voice, you can tell he’s not entirely convinced. You watch as he finally slips out of bed, scrambling to pick up his clothes scattered across the floor. “We talked about this last night. It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

You shoot him a look before quickly pulling on your own clothes.

“There’s a big difference between telling him, and him finding out that his sister is sleeping with his friend while he was away taking care of his wife and baby.” You yank your shirt over your head. “In his freaking house.”

When you put it that way, Spencer’s heart sinks a little. Although Matt isn’t a violent person, he has twice the muscle he does, and it’s not hard to imagine him being a lot less forgiving in a situation like this. He can’t help but picture the worst-case scenario even though Matt’s always been the reasonable type.

Until now, maybe.

“Do you think I should climb out the window?”

You stare at him in disbelief. "Spencer, you’re not sixteen.”

“Actually, I’ve never been in a situation like this,” he admits, pulling up his pants. “My biggest concern when I was sixteen was getting my first PhD.”

You forgot how ridiculously smart he is. Smarter than most people, definitely smarter than you. “Well now you’re getting firsthand experience.” You start pacing around the room. “Let’s just try to stay calm.”

“That’s kind of hard to do when your brother could walk in while I’m half-naked.”

You look at him in horror. “Then put your damn shirt on!"

Before he can reply, there's a noise from outside the room—a quick shuffle of steps, light and rapid, as if someone’s rushing down the hall. You barely have time to react before the door is wrenched open.

But it's not your brother.

It's far worse.

You feel your stomach drop when your eyes lands on the small figure of your nephew, standing there with wide eyes. His gaze shifts back and forth—from you, disheveled and clearly flustered, to Spencer, whose bare back is facing the door, still fumbling with his pants. From little Jake's point of view, it must look like the most confusing sight, because he quickly retreats, bolting down the hallway.

“Dad! Help! There’s a strange man in Auntie’s room!”

You don’t know whether to laugh or panic. The fact that Jake didn’t recognize Spencer without his usual suit is almost comical. You glance at him, noticing how his body has tensed, his back straightening in alarm.

“Who was that?” he whispers, turning to you with wide eyes.

"Jake.” You blow a strand of hair that falls across your face. “Who apparently thinks you're an intruder."

The blood seems to drain from his face. “He didn’t recognize me?”

Your eyes flick over his appearance—his wild, tangled hair sticking out in all directions, bare chest still slightly flushed from sleep, and pants barely zipped. “Not when you look like this, no.”

But before he can respond, you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, heavier this time.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit.”

“I should have climbed out the window.”

The idea of him dangling from the window is even more absurd. You glance toward the door. "Okay, wait here. Let me talk to Matt first." Your eyes flicker to his bare chest again, and you let out the most exasperated sigh. "And please, for the love of God, put on your shirt."

You don’t have time to wait for his response as you rush out of the room, quickly closing the door behind you. You take a second to catch your breath, trying to compose yourself, when a noise down the hallway draws your attention. Only then do you notice Matt cautiously advancing towards your way, his back against the wall.

That’s when you spot the gun in his hand.

“Seriously?” you hiss, staring at him in disbelief. “What the hell, Matthew!”

He looks at you, equally surprised. “Jake said there was a strange man in your room!” he replies defensively, tightening his grip on the weapon. “What was I supposed to think?“​

Your eyes shift toward your nephew, who’s peeking around the corner, his little head barely visible as he watches the scene unfold. This is definitely not how you expected your morning to go. A simple, awkward conversation was one thing, but having to disarm your brother while explaining this mess was an entirely different level.

“There’s no intruder, Matt. Put the gun down.”

He looks past you, his eyes zeroing in on the closed bedroom door. “Then who’s in there?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. There’s no easy way to explain this. How do you even start? That Spencer is standing half-naked in the guest room, trying to gather his dignity after being mistaken for an intruder by a six-year-old? You never thought you'd have to introduce Spencer to your brother this way, in his own house, under these chaotic circumstances.

You can feel Matt's eyes boring into you, waiting for an answer. All you can think is how ridiculous this all must look, and how there's no good way to smooth over the fact that, yes, Spencer Reid, his friend slash teammate, is behind the door. And the most absurd part? A part of you is more worried about the look on Matt's face than the fact that he's holding a gun.

“Please don’t be mad.”

You hold your breath as you slowly reach for the doorknob. You push the door open and let out a small, relieved sound when you see Spencer fully dressed, looking almost presentable, except for the wild hair that refuses to settle. He gives you a small nod before stepping out of the room.

“Uncle Spencer?” Jake’s small voice cuts through the tension. Matt’s gaze darts between you two, his jaw tightening as he puts the pieces together. You can see the moment realization hits him full force.

“Reid?” Matt’s voice is incredulous, bordering on betrayed. “What the hell is going on?”

“I can explain,” you say cautiously. “It’s not exactly how it looks.”

“Not exactly how it looks?” Matt echoes, his eyes narrowing at you, then shifting back to Spencer. “You’re in my guest room looking like you just rolled out of bed—”

“Fully clothed now,” Spencer cuts in quickly, which only earns him a frown from Matt.

“Not helping,” you mutter under your breath, shooting Spencer a look before turning back to your brother. “Fine, it’s exactly how it looks like. So… uh, surprise?”

You watch so many emotions flashing in his eyes. Matt’s always been a good brother. Sometimes annoying, but always reliable. He doesn’t usually get angry at you—quite the opposite, actually. He’s calm, level-headed, and more prone to offering advice than raising his voice. But now? The frustration is clear in his eyes.

He’s not mad exactly, but he’s definitely not happy either.

“Surprise?” Matt repeats, his voice flat. His gaze flick back to Spencer, who’s now shifting his weight awkwardly beside you. “This is how you decided to tell me?”

“Okay, it’s not how we planned it, obviously.”

“Clearly,” he deadpans. You put on the best innocent face you can muster.

You put on the best, innocent-looking face you can muster.

“Maaatttt,” you try again, deciding to use a different approach by being cute this time. “Don’t be so harsh.”

To your relief, it actually works on him, like it usually does whenever you try to charm your way out of trouble. His tough exterior falters because, no matter what, you’re still his baby sister. His face softens for a moment, shoulders dropping as he lets out a sigh.

“I’m not mad, okay? But I am your brother. And you,” he adds, pointing at Spencer. “You’re supposed to be my friend. I feel like I should’ve known about this before… well, before finding you like this.” Your shoulders slumps at his words. “How long has this been going?”

Now that is a tricky question. Explaining that you and Spencer occasionally had sex five years ago definitely isn’t something your brother needs to hear right now—or ever, really. You can almost feel Spencer tense beside you, probably having the same thought.

You clear your throat. “Last night.”

"Last night?" Matt looks at you as if you’re crazy. It might be the most disapproving look he’s ever given to you. "You're telling me this just started last night?"

"But—" you quickly add, holding up a hand to stop his train of thought. "We’ve been talking for a while, it’s not like it happened out of nowhere. Last night was just the first time we decided to actually do something about it."

“Right under my roof?” Matt’s brows pinches upward. “You lied about having a headache, didn’t you?”

“Wait, you had a headache? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You’re not sure you can handle two men pestering you at the same time. You focus on your brother instead.

“Look, we didn’t plan anything yesterday. Things just… happened,” you say, trying to explain without making it sound worse than it already does. “But it’s not only about last night. For what it’s worth, we were planning to tell to you. Just not like this.”

Your brother cocks an eyebrow. “So this isn’t a one-time thing?���

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “God, no,” he says. You feel an arm snake around your waist. “I care about her. A lot.”

Matt stares at Spencer for a long moment, his face a mixture of frustration, concern, and something else. Acceptance, maybe. He looks back at you. “Is this what you want?”

You feel Spencer’s grip tighten on your waist. He’s also waiting for your answer.

“It’s what I want.”

Spencer’s thumb brushes over you as Matt lets out a long breath, his grip on the gun finally relaxing. “This feels weird.”

“In a good way?”

“In a bizarre kind of way.” Matt’s falls falls on Spencer again. “I’m still trying to process this, but if you hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Spencer promises. “I swear.”

“Good, because you know I can put you back to prison if you do.”

Oh, he knows. Spencer understands exactly what he means, after all, Matt was one of the few people who helped clear his name during one of the most horrific moments of his life. Even if there’s a slight jab in his words, Spencer can tell he’s being dead serious. Especially with that gun still attached to his grip.

You, on the other hand, are hearing this for the first time. “Wait, what?” you blurt out. “Prison? You went to prison?”

Spencer merely shrug. Matt finally lowers his weapon, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. “I need coffee,” he mutters, turning toward the kitchen.

“Wait…” Jake finally peeks out from behind the wall. You blink your eyes, forgetting he’s even there. “Does this mean Uncle Spencer is your boyfriend now?”

You feel three pair of eyes on you. Matt’s gaze is sharp. Spencer’s expression is cautious. And then there’s Jake, looking up at you with the straightforward curiosity only a child can have. To him, things are simple. Either you are, or you aren’t, and in hindsight, it really is a straightforward question. But nothing about this situation has been straightforward.

You look at Spencer for a fraction of a second. You can see the nervous hope reflected in his eyes. Maybe Jake’s question isn’t just his… maybe it’s Spencer’s too.

And sure, maybe it doesn’t have to be so complicated. Maybe it really is as simple as saying—

“Yes.” You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. “I suppose he is.”

If you’ve ever seen Spencer being happy, it pales in comparison to this. His eyes light up, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world. A genuine, almost boyish smile spreads across his face as you feel his warmth seep into your skin. There’s so much affection in his gaze it makes your chest tighten. He’s not just happy. He’s beaming.

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “Come on, kiddo, let’s grab what your mom needs and get back to the hospital.” He glances back at you. “You guys coming?”

You nod absentmindedly. “Sure.”

He throws you both a look. Not hateful, but definitely not warm either. You see him grip his gun from the corner of your eye, more out of habit than necessity, before steering his son away with a firm hand on his shoulders.

“That went better than expected,” Spencer mutters the moment your brother is out of earshot.

“‘It’s not going to be as bad as you think’,” you mock, reciting the words he said to you half an hour ago.

“It wasn’t.”

“Spencer, he held a gun.”

“He thought I was an intruder. I would’ve done the same thing,” he points out, his tone surprisingly calm as he holds you by your waist. “Relax, okay? He’ll come around us. Eventually.”

“You’re awfully optimistic about this.”

“He likes me.”

He does have a point. Matt has always had a soft spot for Spencer, but you’re not sure how far that can go after what just happened. “I think you might have lost a few brownie points today.”

He considers the truth in your words. “Maybe,” he admits with a shrug. “But at least I earned a few with you.”

“Because of the boyfriend thing?” He’s grinning so wide that his eyes practically disappear into crescent moons. You poke the slightest dimple on his cheek. “Don’t act so smug. I’m still trying to process the fact that I’m dating an ex-felon.”

“I was framed,” he explains, and the way he says it so nonchalantly only deepens your confusion. He tries to smooth your frown with a kiss. “I’ll tell you everything on our first date.”

“Who said I’ll go on a date with you?”

“You will,” he simply says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what makes you so sure?”

Because he’s always been sure. The man who doubts everything, who overanalyzes every situation, looks at you with a certainty that makes your heart swell. You’ve seen that look before—the one that says he’s considered every possible outcome and decided this is the one that matters most. There’s something magnetic about it, the way he seems to know exactly what he wants, and right now, it’s you.

“Because I’m your mushroom.”

He’s so silly, yet there’s something so perfectly Spencer about it that makes the idea of not going on a date with him feel impossible. You shake your head, unable to suppress your smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but the warmth in your chest tells you he’s already won your heart.

And you don’t mind him keeping it.

[yuujispinkhair]

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 01

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 3k Warnings: 18+, smut in later chapters. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Sukuna smokes a cigarette in this chapter. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 10 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

The first time you meet Sukuna, you literally run into him.

It's a Thursday morning. You are running down the hallway while rummaging through your bag, searching for the printed copy of the short story that you have to hand in today. The irony isn't lost on you. The story contains a scene quite similar to this. But unfortunately, you aren't a rebel princess running out of a ballroom with her cloak dramatically billowing behind her. You are just a creative writing student in a mismatched pair of sneakers who is late for her class. The second time this week. To a class taught by a professor who sees it as a personal affront if someone shows up late.

You grit your teeth, trying to run even faster, when you finally see the printed copy you were looking for. You cheer inwardly. But your relief is short-lived. Because a second later, you crash into a solid wall.

You screech in shock, the force of the impact making you flat-out keel over without any warning. This will hurt, is the only thought that flashes through your mind. But a millisecond before you hit the hard floor tiles, your fall gets stopped, and you get pulled up again and set back on your feet. Everything happens so fast that you can only blink in confusion.

A pair of well-defined, tattooed arms comes into view. You stare perplexed at them, realizing that they are what stopped your fall. And what you also realize at that moment is that the "solid wall" you slammed into is the tall and muscular owner of those strong arms.

Your face is currently only inches away from his chest. A broad and buff chest in a soft-looking white hoodie with a very familiar crest embroidered on the front. Two crossed hockey sticks and a tiger with glowing red eyes and his mouth opening in a feral-looking growl.

Your head snaps up to look at the face of your savior (and the cause of your fall), and what already began to dawn on you gets confirmed the moment you see the tattoos on his handsome face: You just ran full speed into Itadori Sukuna, the star player of the ice hockey team. The Red Tiger himself, The King of the Ice, and whatever other titles he gets called.

Even though you are hardly a hockey fan, you know Sukuna. Everyone knows him.

Sukuna gets treated like royalty on this campus. He's a living legend. The star player of The Red Tigers, the most successful ice hockey team this college has brought out in over five decades. And Sukuna is the reason for that success.

You gulp hard and take a hurried step back.

Out of anyone you could have crashed into, why did it have to be him? Sukuna is feared on and off the ice. You have never spoken to him personally, only saw him from afar while heading to class or when you were at the same party as him, but his reputation as a bad boy precedes him. And the way he looks with his face tattoos and his strong and tall build only adds to those assumptions. Sukuna is definitely a very intimidating guy.

Your automatic response is to try to make yourself look as harmless and cute as possible, smiling a sheepish, apologetic smile at him.

"I'm so sorry! I was late for class, so I ran, and I didn't see you. Sorry!"

You look up at him with big eyes and a nervous smile, steeling yourself for a scolding.

But Sukuna just eyes you with an amused expression on his tattooed face. His eyes travel lazily over your face and body, making you more nervous with each passing second. You feel your cheeks become hot when Sukuna's gaze finally lands on your mismatched shoes, and the corners of his lips twitch.

You silently curse yourself for snoozing your alarm one too many times and ending up like this in front of the hot boy hockey star of all people!

Sukuna is looking directly into your eyes now, his lips lifted in a lopsided smirk.

"I don't mind getting bodychecked by a pretty girl like you. It would be different if it were an opponent on the ice, but you will get away with it, princess."

You are dumbfounded for a moment, mouth opening and closing several times. Is he mocking you? You eye Sukuna wearily as you mutter,

"Um, well... Thank you for catching me before I landed on the floor."

Sukuna just looks at you a moment longer with that lazy grin, and then he bends down to pick up the bag you dropped. He pushes it into your arms, and you grab it instinctively and hug it tightly to your chest as if it is your lifeline.

"And thank you for the bag."

You add while once again smiling sheepishly at him. Sukuna laughs softly, cocking his head and looking at you with an infuriatingly smug grin,

"Don't thank me so much. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have fallen in the first place."

"Yeah, I guess that's true. But still, thank you."

You cringe at your own words, sure that you sound like a total idiot, but you force yourself to smile broadly at Sukuna and wish him a nice day before you turn around and walk toward the creative writing classroom on rather wobbly legs. At least you don't have to hurry anymore, you think grimly. By now, you are definitely too late.

There's a prickling feeling on your neck as if you are being watched, and you are pretty sure that if you looked over your shoulder, you would see Sukuna still standing there and looking at you with that amused glint in his eyes.

You refuse to give in to the urge to check if you are right and instead keep walking. But your pulse is still racing. From the almost fall or from Sukuna's presence, you aren't sure.

You slip into the classroom, and your professor sends a death glare your way, snapping at you for not taking her course seriously and all thoughts of a certain pink-haired, tattooed hockey player are wiped off your mind as you mutter an apology, and you hurry to the nearest free seat.

You encounter Sukuna again a few days later.

You stand outside the Gojo Hall waiting for your dormmate Nobara when you catch a flash of pastel pink in the corner of your eyes. You lift your head and spot not only one pink head but two. The Itadori twins exit the building side by side, Sukuna, and Yuuji, both wearing their white team hoodies, making you wonder if there is some rule that the players must wear their team apparel 24/7.

You are still contemplating the secret rules of the hockey team when the brothers give each other a high five, and Yuuji leaves with a big smile on his face while Sukuna turns his head, and his gaze instantly lands on you.

Your eyes widen, feeling like the deer in the headlights. You curse yourself inwardly. Why did you let him catch you staring at him?

A smirk appears on Sukuna's tattooed face, and to your horror, he strolls towards you.

You try to act cool, nodding lightly at him, a short greeting in passing. Only to feel your heart jump to your throat when you realize that Sukuna won't just walk by. The resident hockey star stops beside you and casually leans against the brick wall right next to where you stand.

He lets his head fall back and tilts his face to the side, smirking down at you.

"No mismatched shoes today?"

You can't help it, a laugh bubbles out of your chest even as you feel your face get hot. You shake your head,

"Wasn't really my style."

"And here I thought you were some fashion icon or something. Did you make it to class in time after our little accident?"

You scrunch your nose as you remember the angry look and the mean comment your professor sent your way and shake your head,

"No. And now my professor hates me even more."

Sukuna laughs softly. He is so tall that you have to tilt your head back to look at his face. He looks good. Too good. Dangerously so. His pink hair is a pretty contrast to the dark red brick stones behind him. His angular face with the sharp jawline is accentuated attractively by the black lines inked into his skin. A second pair of eyes is tattooed right under his real ones, sitting high on his cheekbones, giving the impression that he is always watching you.

Sukuna is beautiful in a classic way, but at the same time, his tattoos and the way he carries himself make that beauty darker. Beautiful, like a fallen angel, maybe. His looks and his personality give him a dangerous aura. He is undeniably very intimidating. But the way he jokes around with you and looks at you in that playful manner makes you feel surprisingly at ease. Maybe that's why you grin at him and ask,

"What about you? Did your professor get mad, too?"

Sukuna shakes his head.

"Nah. I wasn't on my way to class. I had a team meeting."

You raise a skeptical eyebrow, remembering the empty hallway.

"But I didn't see any of your teammates."

Sukuna's smirk grows bigger, and he raises an eyebrow, too, as if it is a challenge.

"Because I work out all the tactics and do the analytics and shit, so I have to be there before anyone else. Setting up everything, you know?"

You nod slowly, not saying it, but you are surprised and even a bit impressed by his statement. Judging by his looks and reputation, you wouldn't have taken Sukuna for the type of guy who bothers with tactics and stuff. You always assumed he solved everything with pure strength and brutal fouls. Apparently, you were wrong.

Sukuna hums and shoves his large hands casually into the pockets of his grey sweatpants, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He wears black nail polish, you realize, and somehow that fact is so fascinating that you find yourself unable to look away from his long, tattooed fingers as he gracefully lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag that makes his eyelashes flutter.

Sukuna then holds the still-open cigarette pack out to you, wordlessly offering you one. You decline with a shake of your head and a:

"I didn't know hockey players smoke."

You are met with another of Sukuna's boyish smirks that makes him look way too charming. He cocks his head, eyes sparkling with amusement, low voice dropping to an almost seductive purr,

"And why not?"

You shrug, making an indecisive gesture with your hands,

"Isn't it making you slower or something?"

Sukuna huffs softly, looking smug when he says,

"Well, even if I smoked two packs a day, I would still be the fastest one on the ice, so I guess I will risk it."

You laugh. And as you do it, you realize, to your astonishment, that you feel surprisingly relaxed around the star player and resident bad boy.

You watch him nod towards a group of guys passing by, who congratulate him on the latest win. Followed by two girls who giggle and twirl their hair as they look at him and coo his name as if he is some pop star.

But Sukuna doesn't seem to see anything out of the ordinary. He just lazily blows out his cigarette smoke, not blessing them with more attention than a bored smirk.

Yes, he is a bit of an arrogant asshole and the way people treat him like he is a King or something is super irritating. But you can't deny that Sukuna has a certain charm. Lots of charm! All in all, the resident starboy doesn't seem so bad.

He is looking at you again. A deep gaze that makes your pulse accelerate with how inquiring and intense it is. As if he sees right into your very core.

"Why are you standing in the smoking area when you don't smoke?"

That catches you off guard. You blink and look around, searching for a smoking sign or something similar, but you don't see anything like it.

"Um... I didn't know this was the smoking area. I am just waiting for my dormmate."

After a moment, you add,

"I'm a secondhand smoker, though. Does that qualify, too, or are you gonna make me leave?"

You have no idea why you talk that way. Almost like you are flirting with Sukuna! He grins at you like a devil, attractive and playful and a little bit dangerous as he leans closer to you.

"You don't have to leave, princess. I'll make sure to blow my smoke your way if you are so into passive smoking."

You can hear the amusement in his low voice as he teases you. And he said it again, that name. Princess.

You are pretty sure that Sukuna calls a lot of girls that way, and it's pretty cliché, and coming from any other guy, you would probably find it cringe. But the way Sukuna says it, in his low, velvety voice, while he has that teasing smirk on his handsome face, makes you feel a strange fluttering in your stomach.

But you don't give him the satisfaction of letting him see the effect that stupid word has on you and instead roll your eyes playfully, looking challengingly at him, grinning just like he does,

"Go on then. I don't mind the smoke."

And Sukuna's eyes glint in amusement, never looking away as he leans down to you and takes a deep drag from his cigarette. He pulls it away from his lips and slowly blows the smoke into your face while watching you with half-lidded, cat-like eyes, smirking when he sees that you really don't turn away.

You shake your head and chuckle, feeling like you are sixteen again, and try to infiltrate the cool kids' clique by hanging around near their usual smoking spot. It's a bit stupid, maybe, but also fun.

Sukuna looks pleased, the tip of his tongue gliding over his front teeth as he grins at you.

"Good girl."

You bite your lip, looking up at him with big eyes, finding it hard to breathe suddenly, but not because of the cigarette smoke. You are relieved when Sukuna pulls away and announces,

"Well, it was nice sharing my smoke with you, but I have to go to the gym now. See you around, princess."

He winks at you and flicks the half-smoked cigarette gracefully to the floor, crushing it under the soles of his red and black Nikes.

"Have fun at the gym!"

Your voice sounds too chipper in your sorry attempt to act as if nothing happened, and Sukuna's eyes glitter with that seemingly ever-present teasing expression as he lets them trail over your face once again. He lets out a low chuckle and then jerks his tattooed chin at you in a casual goodbye gesture before he walks away with large, confident steps.

You watch him leave, laughing under your breath.

Sukuna definitely has a strong effect on people. He is confident and sexy, and a bit dangerous. But he also has a boyish charm that makes it easy to talk to him somehow. And it also makes it very hard not to stare after him.

Your gaze is still glued to Sukuna's tall figure and his broad shoulders when Nobara suddenly pops up beside you, making you jump when her elbow connects sharply with your side.

"What is going on between you and our hockey star?"

"What?"

"What were you talking about with Sukuna? And why are you staring after him like that?"

"Nothing. And I am not staring! I just... I ran into him a few days ago when I was late to class. Literally ran into him. That guy is like a wall. I bounced off him and fell. But he caught me. And yeah, that's all."

Nobara is staring at you with comically big eyes and a shocked, open-mouthed expression on her face,

"Why didn't you tell me about that? And now you're chit-chatting with him? Are you friends or what? Or are the two of you fucking?"

"Excuse me? No! Why would you even think that? I just exchanged a little small talk with him, Nobara! That is all!"

She huffs dramatically and pushes her ginger hair behind her ears,

"Good. Because he is an asshole. On the other hand, he is hot, but I think the asshole thing outweighs the sexiness. Maybe you could fuck him once just to get a taste. I mean, he is probably good in bed. And then you can avoid him and..."

"Hello? I don't plan on fucking Sukuna!"

You roll your eyes exasperatedly and push yourself off the wall you were leaning against, quickly walking away so Nobara won't see how flustered her words make you.

It's stupid, though! You really don't plan on getting involved with Sukuna! You barely know him, and just because he has a pretty face, a good body, and a bunch of sexy tattoos doesn't mean you want him!

Oh, are you sure about that, my dear Reader? Because I personally already want him ;)

Thank you so much for reading the first chapter!! I am so excited to finally share this story with you! I wrote some HockeyPlayer!Sukuna headcanons last year, and I couldn't get that version of him out of my mind again, so I knew I HAD to give him a new multi-chapter story. I am already deeply in love with this man, and I am so happy that I can indulge in him for several chapters now ;)

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet ❤️❤️

In Chapter 2, Reader will see our sexy hockey star actually play.

[liferetainsitssparkle]

interested in whatever is happening here

[r4spb3rr13s]

pro heroes meeting their feisty, mcbling gf

♱ bakugou, kirishima, midoriya, dabi

♱ pt.2 here pt.3 here

note: it’s me, i’m the feisty mcbling gf 😞

Katsuki has been on shift for what feels like hours. In reality… well it has been hours. He’s been patrolling a smaller, more mundane part of Tokyo, where all he’s done is help little old ladies with their groceries and scold kids for trying to steal candy.

He was dying to get home.

So, when he heard a scream five minutes from patrol ending, the groan he let out was loud, unprofessional and frankly, really douche-y of him. But still, he flew towards the alley it echoed from.

He turned the corner, expecting a damsel in distress…

Only to see you.

Beating a man with a Juicy Couture suede bag, wobbling on platform sandals.

While this man lets out the girliest, highest-pitched screams Katsuki has ever heard in his life.

“That’s.” Hit. “What.” Hit. “You.” Hit. “Get!” Big hit!

Katsuki blinks out of his trance and takes a booming step toward you. “What the fuck’s goin on?”

You gasp and look up, and Katsuki swears his heart is echoing out of his chest.

Your s/c skin is everywhere, from your jean shorts to the cleavage practically spilling out your leopard print zip-up, and as you straighten up, he catches a glimpse of a belly ring that makes him gulp.

Your hair frames your face with a pair of sunglasses at the top of your head, showing off a fantastic scowl. Glittery eyes are met with furrowed brows, decorated with piercings-galore on your face, and two big hoops either side of your head.

“This prick!” You punctuate it with a nudge of your painted-pink toe, “Tried to rob me! I kneed him in his tiny balls.”

Katsuki raises a brow. You take a minute to glare at the guy, still whimpering, before you strut towards him with narrowed eyes.

You hate to admit it, but Dynamight was hotter in real life. Soot is smeared on his cheek and the scowl on his face sends his ruby-red lasers shooting through you.

“What? You have a staring problem?” You ask with a hand on your hip. Every ounce of confidence you’re letting off is soooo clearly fake right now, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

He shakes his head and looks around you to the poor guy on the floor. He’s not going anywhere, still curled up in a feral position and cradling his nads.

Katsuki sweats.

“Alright, sweetheart-”

You try to pretend it doesn’t make your heart skip a beat.

“Sweetheart?” He freezes and looks down at your cocked brow. “At least take me out for a drink first, Mr. Dynamight, c’mon.”

He clears his throat awkwardly, “Shit- sorry, I didn’t- look, you’re okay, right? No injuries?”

You’re inspecting your nails at this point, trying to avoid looking at the muscles in his hero costume. “Huh? Nah, but he should probably get checked out. Am I good to go?”

You sound eager to leave, but you make no move to when he nods.

Instead, you stand, scrutinising him with crossed arms. Katsuki hates to admit it, but even standing a whole foot taller than you, you’re making the blond blush.

“Okay, what? You need somethin’?” He gruffly says.

You glance back at the idiot still on the floor, and he flinches at your gaze.

“You don’t need my number for a report or somethin’?”

The words leave your mouth sooner than you can stop them, but you keep your face cool as your turn around. God, you need a smoke after this.

Katsuki’s hearts skips a beat, but his lip quirks up and he huffs out a chuckle. He reaches into one his pockets, and passes you his phone.

He’s still blushing, but God that man is grinning as well.

:::

Eijiro is mid-lat pulldown when he hears you through the full blast of his headphones. Being the manly pro he is, he takes an earbud out to hear the commotion.

“When I say fuck off, I mean fuck off! What part of that isn’t get through your thick skull?”

Eijiro watched as you scream in a steroid-fueled gym-bro’s face. You’re jabbing a pink nail in his chest, neon pink shorts matching to a sports bra and a small hoodie on your top half.

He gets off the machine, and a loud clang echoes through the gym - you don’t even notice.

“What, too much muscle blocking your brain from working?”

The guy is getting ready to respond, an ugly, violent grimace on his face. As Eijiro steps behind you and crosses his arms, the guy thinks twice.

He nods at you, and turns away, practically running.

You huff and tuck a loose piece of hair behind your hair.

“What was that?”

You jump at the voice and spin around with a shout. A chest- Jesus Christ, he’s tall. You’re face-to-chest with a man covered in muscle, a sharp-toothed smile and spiky, red hair to match it.

“Oh!”

…

…

He raises a brow and smiles at you.

A blush is fighting it’s way onto your face, but you’re too cool for that. Way too cool. So you clear your throat and stop staring at his adorable face for a minute.

“He wasn’t taking no for an answer,” You huff and cross your arms.

Eijiro frowns, “Shit, that sucks. Do you come here often?”

…

It’s your turn to raise a brow.

His face turns as red as his hair when he realises how stupid that sounded. It’s weirdly endearing watching such a large man blush and panic in front of you.

“N-no, like, I can get him banned if you’re a regular. I know the owners, so-”

“Where do I know you from?” You cut him off, doing mental gymnastics.

Eijiro freezes as he watches you. Your thick lashes touch your brows as you go wide-eyed, staring at him intently. So intently, he’s terrified to move a muscle.

You click your fingers and point a sparkly nail at his chest, “Red Riot! I knew I recognised you from somewhere.”

He grins and shrugs. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I mean,” You trail off for a minute, using all your self-restraint to not blush or stutter in front of this fine-ass man, “if you ever wanted to come to rescue again, I could just give you my number?”

Eijiro has never grabbed his phone faster in his life.

:::

Izuku has been caught in the midst of little fans. Children are detaching themselves from parents, flying away from friend groups to crowd around for his autograph. He’s reminded again why he always wears a cap and glasses when he goes to the mall.

He just needed to pick up a pair of boxers, for Gods sake.

A little boy comes hurtling at him, but such is the norm. What he doesn’t see is the girl sprinting after him- sprinting in platform heels that is.

Jeans cling to you tighter than your zebra print top, and the tiny handbag on your shoulder keeps slipping down. Every step you take is a loud jingle with the massive array of jewellery you have on, and star-shaped clips in your hair keep slipping out.

“Deku! You’re the coole-”

“Isamu! Get back here!” You screech. Your sister was going to kill you if she knew the one time you took your nephew out for a little trip to the mall, you lost him.

Watching him talk to a stranger was almost the cherry on top.

You come to a skidding stop, somehow not hurtling over on your open-toed death machines, and grab the 5 year old by the armpits. Isamu let’s out an excited shriek and smiles at you.

Then he points to the guy.

That guy being the number one hero in Japan.

You nearly drop your nephew.

“Oh my God-”

“I’m so sorry-”

You both speak at the same time, then shut up, and just stare at each other like two idiots. He’s not in his costume - duh, idiot, he’s at the mall?- but he looks just as good as he does with his face plastered all over Tokyo.

Strong arms are straining the seams of his black shirt, and his dark hair is brushing the nape of his neck- it looks so soft-

“I’m really sorry, I should have come out with my hat on, sunglasses-”

“Please do not apologise for looking that good,” You mutter and roll your eyes. Then you freeze. Then you both look at each other, while you nibble your lip and smear your lipgloss everywhere.

“Deku! Can I have your auto map!” Isamu screeches from your arms, wiggling like a worm. It’s getting hard to hold him, so you plop him down and hold his hand instead.

“Autograph, buddy, not auto map,” You whisper in his ear.

Izuku’s heart skips a beat. You are gorgeous, silly and amazing with kids- I mean, what else could he really ask for?

He nods and crouched to Isamu’s height.

“Who am I making it out to, then?”

Isamu screams his government name so loud you want to cover your ears, but you just smile awkwardly at Izuku crouching under you.

He looks at you with his big, doe eyes and a soft smile. “What about you?”

“Oh, no, I don’t want an autograph-”

“Your name?”

Oh shit. You mutter it and watch with a smile as the pro scrawls on a notebook he miraculously pulled out from his arse. His round, perky-

“There you go, Isamu. It was great meeting you,” He pats your nephew’s head, who is practically beaming. “It was nice meeting you too, Y/n,” he adds, and turns away with a wave.

As you walk away, Isamu thrusts the paper in your hand.

“LOOK AT IT AUNTIE Y/N!!”

‘if it’s not too forward, id like you text me sometime y/n :)’ and next to the note is his number.

Cheeky bitch.

:::

Dabi has no fucking idea how he ended up in a bar blasting Kesha from the speakers with millennial women screaming ‘this was my party song!’ but he hates it.

Until he sees you.

You’re in the tiniest jean skirt he’s ever seen, and your ass cheeks are so close to popping out. If you’d just stopped swaying your hips and bend over, he’d get a glimpse-

But you turn around, and he watches you twist and turn in a matching halter top, jewellery adding rhythms to the music.

Dabi swears he has never seen anything as captivating as your baby pink lips mouth along to Die Young. God, was he really thinking that? In relation to Kesha? You must be special, he thinks to himself.

He makes no move, though. He sits at the bar, watching you tip back fruity cocktails and teeter on your fur-covered boots.

He looks away for a second, he swears, and suddenly you’re on the bar stool next to him. Not just sat, but staring. Like, blatantly staring right at him.

He mirrors you, leaning on his palm and watching you.

You’d be lying if you tried to say his cerulean eyes weren’t doing something to you, but there were more pressing issues at hand.

“You’ve been staring at me all night.”

It’s a fact, he has been.

A smile curls onto his lips, and he shifts so he’s closer to you. “Have I? Didn’t notice…”

You’re drunk. Like, much too drunk, because his face is a blur- a handsome blur though. You are aware enough to tell he’s staring at your tits, though.

You click your fingers in his face and he looks back up at you. There’s a moment on his face where he looks shocked, but a bigger smirk replaces it.

“Sorry, hun-”

“Hun? What am I, 5?”

He leans forward, and the overwhelming stench of a beach fire is fighting with your Britney Spears perfume. The air starts to smell like burnt sugar around you, and it’s weirdly compelling.

“What do you want me to call you then?”

“Well, you’ll need my number to call me.”

It takes you a minute to realise how dumb that was- you’re drunk and that is not what he meant, but it made him drop the cool boy act. He stared at you for a second with wide eyes before chuckling under his breath.

“You are somethin’, princess…”

“Princess?”

“Yeah, the skirt and all the pink- very princessy,” He gestured to your outfit before pulling out… a burner phone.

You really should not have drank that much, because you don’t even care to question it as you’re typing you digits in.

note: ffs i didn’t make izuku’s gf feisty enough 😞

[teamatsumu]

screenshot. (kita shinsuke x reader)

summary: your friend confesses on your behalf. for my valentine’s day event - theme: confessions.

word count: 1161

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi @sleepyxxhead d @priv-rose @nishayuro @kitas-tapioca @kakashineedstotouchgrass @amisuh @avis-writeshq @samanthaa-leanne @akaashi-todorki @sp1ng @kur0obaby @bleach-your-panties @pinkiipeachiikeen @whippedbel

event masterlist

Many of Kita’s friends and volleyball teammates think he is a stickler for routine. And they are right. But Kita isn’t rigid. He isn’t unchangeable. He accepts a break in routine, takes it in stride, learns from the turning tides and comes back with a smile on his face. Why else would he be the captain of the volleyball team if he didn’t know how to assimilate with rapidly developing circumstances?

Today, he is confronted with another such change. He is staring it right in the face. For a few moments, Kita cannot fathom the sight. How can it be? A red envelope in his locker? Surely, it must not be meant for him.

His next thought is how it got there in the first place. No one besides the volleyball team is allowed in the club room. He is the one who always opens it and he is also the one who locks up every night. Did someone sneak in during practice time?

Nothing else in his locker seems out of place. Just the letter placed delicately on top of the rest of his belongings. Kita finally reaches out for it, tugging on the flap to detach it and pulling out the crisp white paper inside. Kita is halted in his tracks when he realizes that there is no writing on the paper. It’s a print-out. Of a screenshot.

He eyes the text message chain, recognising the small icons on both the sender and receiver’s text bubbles. It’s Suna, his underclassman, and he also recognises you, the manager and his long time best friend.

‘I can’t stand it anymore suna!’

‘then just tell him’

‘u know i cant’

‘thats a u problem’

The next message is long, bordering on a whole paragraph, and Kita’s eyes skim over it. For the first time in a long while, his heart skips.

‘ive known him forever rin. hes such an amazing person and my best friend but he doesn like me that way. if i tell him im just gonna lose him as a friend and id rather we be friends than nothing at all’

The punctuation is atrocious, and the grammar is slightly questionable, but Kita smiles regardless. He carefully folds the paper again, placing it inside the envelope. He closes his locker and continues his evening routine of cleaning up and locking the club room.

Over the next hour as Kita cleans, his thoughts mull over the letter he had just received. The menial nature of the tasks relaxes him, gives him time to mull over this new information. Kita realizes that maybe he isn’t as perceptive as previously thought by his friends.

How can he have not seen that look in your eyes before? Softer than anything and directed only at him, now that he thinks about it. He ponders over your words, the insecurity and negativity behind them. He has never known you to be a negative person. You are endlessly optimistic and full of energy. You are so bright that Kita loves basking in it. He has known you for a very long time, and he is almost affronted that your budding romantic feelings were hidden from him for so long. Especially when Kita has made his courting intentions for you fairly clear.

He has not directly said anything. But he doesn’t think he was ever being discreet. But maybe he has been wrong in his approach. Maybe you hooking your arm with his when you walked to school in the morning, sharing lunches every day, permanently stealing a few of his choice hoodies were all friendly gestures on your part. While Kita has interpreted the gestures as romantic, it seems you have not felt the same heat behind those actions.

Kita has always walked the same route home, sometimes with Aran, sometimes with you, and sometimes on his own. Today he takes the walk alone, but he is not bothered. He has purpose in his mind, the red envelope in his hand, and his feet carry him all the way through the winding streets until he stops at your doorstep.

He smiles at the surprise in your eyes when you receive him at the door. He nearly coos at the fuzzy slippers on your feet, huge and with bunny ears on them, making your feet look twice their usual size. You are so cute. Kita scolds himself lightly, regretting that he had wasted so much time as your friend when maybe he could have spent it with you as his romantic partner. His girlfriend.

It has a nice ring to it, Kita decides.

“Shinsuke?” Your voice breaks his train of thought. The ‘what are you doing here’ is clear in your voice. Your eyes are wide and your face is questioning. There is a tinge of worry on your face, and Kita realizes that showing up unannounced may not have been the best idea. He isn’t sure what is going on in your head, but he quickly tries to quash your worries.

“Everything is fine.” Clear, direct, to the point. It’s Kita being Kita. “I’m here about something I found in my locker while closing up.”

He holds up the red envelope, and when you stare at it in confusion, he proceeds to open it and pull out the white paper. You take it when he offers it to you, unfolding it and reading the letter. If you can call it that.

Kita watches the color drain from your face, notices how the panic overtakes your features as you recognise the conversation printed in front of you. He feels his shoulders slump a little, lamenting the fact that you are truly scared about him finding out. What do you think he will do? Has Kita truly not made his intentions for you clear enough? He cannot help but self loathe in that moment, seeing the state you were in now.

“Shin-”

He doesn’t let you finish.

“If you will allow it, I would like to take you out for dinner this weekend. Will you be free on Saturday?”

You blink once, twice. Your mouth opens and closes. Kita is acutely reminded of a fish. He tries to tamp down his smile.

“R-really?”

He merely nods.

Slowly, life reinjects into your face. You seem to age in reverse before his very eyes. Your grip on the letter crinkles the paper slightly, and Kita reaches out to gently pry it from your hands and smooth it out. He stays quiet as you process his words. He thinks of hugging you, maybe even kissing you. But stops himself. Those are moments he will reserve for after your first date, after he has properly given you the best date of your dreams. So he keeps his eyes on the letter.

“Remind me to thank Suna for this letter.” He comments. “I must say, it’s the strangest confession letter I have ever received.”

There is a pause.

“You’ve received other confession letters?!”

[luveline]

hotch’s daughter and him looking thru baby n childhood pics n realizing just how much they missed angst (her missing out on having a present father n him missing out on raising her)

Aaron’s winded when he sees you that morning. You’re smiling, in sweatpants and a hoodie with a bag on your shoulder that promises an overnight stay, but what hits hardest is the way you light up when he opens the front door. He sees you coming through the window and can’t wait for you to knock. 

“Hey, honey, you’re early!” he says. 

“I know,” you say, stopping just a paving stone away, “but I got this magic jigsaw for Jack that I thought he’d like. Once you complete it you can move it around and create a new jigsaw in the middle.” You smile. “You look happy. Good breakfast?” 

“I’m happy to see you, that’s all.” 

You cross that last step. “Thanks, dad.” You bite your bottom lip, ever so slightly bashful. 

He literally couldn’t be happier. “Did you eat?” 

Aaron brings you inside. Jack is already awake and eating his second breakfast in a meandering picking by the TV. 

You love being a big sister. It’s all the more endearing. “Hey, babe. What are you upto?” you ask. 

Jack whirls and sends a couple of grapes flying. “Oh my gosh yes!” he says, to your laughter and Aaron’s disbelief. He races across the rug in a blur of blue pyjamas to wrap himself around your thighs, face pressed to your hip. “You’re here!” 

“We said Saturday sleepover, right?” 

You get down on your knees to hug him. Your arms around his back, your face to his, you aren’t as rough as you could be —how do sisters hug their brothers? Aaron doesn’t know. But you rub his back in a gentle up and down and lower your voice to say hello. “Hi, Jack. You’re happy to see me?” 

“I’m so happy.” 

“Me too, I’m so happy. I brought you something.” 

“A present?” Jack asks, leaning out of your arms. 

“Not really, it’s for me and you, but I brought you cookies too.” 

“Dad,” Jack says, “can we have some?” 

Aaron holds up a finger. One cookie is enough sugar for the morning. “We can have a couple more after dinner tonight, okay?” 

You take the cookies from your bag, a huge box of palm-sized cookies, chocolate chips shaped like stars, the best kind of indulgence from the bakery not far from here. Aaron catches a look at the inside of your bag, spying a slim white photo album against your weekly medication divider and the plastic wrapped jigsaw puzzle. 

“What’s the album?” he asks. 

“Oh.” You slide your thumb along the sticker that seals the cookies and crack them open for Jack to take his spoils. “They’re my baby photos.” 

He stills. “They are?” 

“And some of me growing up.” You tip your head at him and smile. A little shy, more happy. “I was thinking about Jack, how we both do that chokey laugh when we’re tired, and I wondered if we had any other similarities. And then I realised you’ve never actually seen any of my photos. Would you want to look at them?” 

“Please,” he says immediately. “Yes. I’d love to see them.” 

You lay the album out on the coffee table. Aaron sits beside you on the couch, and Jack sits on his feet, and together you look through your baby album one page at a time. At first, he’s quiet. He has no idea what to say. You are a beautiful kid, you’re perfect, little baby you with a pacifier on your tummy, or in the summer sun with mud on your little hands, wearing a pink dress with matching canvas shoes and a smile so wide he can see all your baby teeth, or sitting beside a fish tank with a party hat on. 

His favourite is a photograph of you that’s been printed oddly, more sepia than colour, where you look to be eight or nine years old. He can see everything in your adult face right there in ink, your smile, the trusting warmth in your eyes when you love the person it’s directed at. Maybe he’s full of himself, but he swears it’s his smile, and Jack’s smile. Hotchner through and through. 

“I wish I’d seen you in person,” he says quietly. “Just once.” 

You tease the photograph from the plastic sleeve and offer it to him. “Sorry.” 

He doesn’t want you to be sorry. Aaron takes the photograph and stares at it against his leg, your little face, your hands behind your back, your left knee wrapped in a bandage. “We missed out on so much,” he says softly. 

“I know.” 

He places the photo on the armrest, precious and needing a frame. You melt into his arm as he wraps it around your shoulder, and you let him kiss your temple, even if he doesn’t deserve to do it yet. He’s polite about it, he knows his sincerity might feel gratuitous to you —after all, he missed out on so much. But you don’t go rigid at his affection, you just breathe. 

“I would’ve loved to have seen it,” he says, too old for tears, and yet a warmth collects behind his eyes anyhow. He won’t cry, only the feeling is there and aching as you move back and give him a typical Hotchner smile. Like he’s being silly, and like you love him. 

“It’ll be okay,” you say, “you’ve got, what, a good ten years left? You can see my golden years.” 

He laughs suddenly. “Ten? How old do you think I am?” 

“You act like you’re nearing seventy.” 

“Oh, I do?” 

You roll your eyes and lean across the photo album for another cookie. “You do! I wish we didn’t have to wait so long to meet, but it’s not like I’m going anywhere. You won’t find me so charming in a few years, so don’t worry. Now, could you leave me and Jack alone for a bit? I’m trying to sneak him another cookie and you’re getting in the way.” 

Aaron hugs you whether you want him to or not, a tight squeeze that you always seem to enjoy, before doing as you’ve asked, promising to find the jigsaw board in the garage so you and Jack can start the newest one. 

“Did you miss him?” he hears Jack asks inexplicably. 

“Who, dad?” Aaron watches you from the door that leads into the garage. He can only see your hands from this angle, your left one landing on Jack’s shoulder for a small squeeze. “I missed him so much you couldn’t believe it.” 

“Thank you for the cookie.” 

“You’re welcome! I missed you too, you know? I have to make up for all my lost time being your big sister. Here, you can hide this one in your pocket, if you want. Just don’t forget it’s there.” 

[beansprean]

THANKS FOR ANOTHER GREAT NOVEMBER 5TH EVERYONE!!

[prints, stickers, etc available!]

Support me on Patreon or send a tip on Kofi!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: Dean, Castiel, Jack, Sam, and Eileen standing in a line against a damask-papered wall in the stylings of one of those haunted house photos, reacting to a scare offscreen. Dean is hunched over at the back of the line and screaming open-mouthed, both hands gripping onto the back of Cas’s trenchcoat like reigns. Cas has lurched forward, coat stretching out behind him in Dean’s grip, instinctively putting two arms protectively around his son. His right hand is in front of Jack, turning him away from the scare, and the other is cupping the back of their head as if to tuck them under his chin. Cas’s mouth is pressed shut but his eyes are wide and startled. Jack looks surprised and fascinated, the right string of their hoodie falling out of his mouth as he stares at the scare offscreen. They are half turned away from the scare at Cas’s nudging, right hand resting on Sam’s arm in front of them and left holding his left hoodie string in a fist. Sam is screaming open-mouthed, shoulders pulled up to his ears as he straightens to his full height like a startled cat. He is holding onto Eileen in front of him with both arms, clutching his own hand just under her chest and squishing her tightly to him in fright. Eileen, obviously having not heard the audio cue that scared the rest of them, looks confused and a little irritated, hands covering Sam’s over her torso. She is startled only by Sam’s sudden bear hug as his jump launches her own breasts up toward her chin. /end ID

[msbigredmachine]

Black Sweatpants (Roman Reigns)

Why did the Tribal Chief arrive late to the Pat McAfee Show? Based on Roman's appearance on March 22 2024. Pat was forced to cut a promo on the fly because Roman took too long to come out 😂

Pairing: Roman Reigns/OC

Word Count: 1.8k

Warning: Smut

-------------

You knew he would get out there late, and you accepted full responsibility. But given the way you were getting dicked down right now, it was totally worth it.

Your blood-red lace thong dangled from your right ankle as Roman jackhammered into you, his thick shaft stuffed inside your tender walls. Biting down on your bottom lip, you wrapped your arms tight around the big man, long-awaited pleasure coursing down your spine all the way to your pastel-colored toes as he pounded you out in the corner of the spacious locker room.

"Oh, ohhh fuck," you couldn't help but cry out at one particularly deep thrust.

"Keep it down before someone comes in here," he growled. Hunched over you, the wicked gleam in his eyes watching you struggle to suppress your moans, told you he was relishing every second of your agony.

"I'm trying, you ain't helping," you whined back.

"Not hard enough," he countered, nudging your legs wider and making you watch his dick disappear inside your wetness. He slapped your hand away when you placed it on his abs to push him back because he was getting too deep. "Naw, you wanted this dick all day, you better take it now..."

When you ordered the new all-black hoodie and joggers set from Nike for Roman, you knew he would look good in it. However, when he returned for his scheduled private flight to Iowa for Pat McAfee's show wearing it, you didn't expect him to look that good. And you certainly did not expect his dick print to be on display like that. You had endured three tortuous weeks of no sex because he'd been away spending time with his two kids he shared with his ex-wife. So you were excited to have him back, and judging from that not-so-little bulge between his legs, he was excited to see you too. You could all but see it, that long, thick brown cock that time and again wreaked the unholiest of havoc in you, protruding against the cotton material and calling for your attention. But the man had the gall to play hard to get, deliberately spurning your advances, acting all platonic and professional, like the rest of his team didn't already know you were lovers. Never one to back down, you ramped up your actions, rubbing his inner thigh throughout the flight and on the ride to Field House, brushing your body against him every chance you got, teasing him right back, trying to get him to crack. As soon as he ordered everyone out of his locker room just minutes after arriving, you knew you succeeded.

Roman planted wet kisses along the side of your neck, the soft prickles of his thick beard unleashing another flood between your legs. His hulking body stretched over yours, his sweatpants rolled down to just underneath the curve of his ass cheeks for the purpose of this quickie. He was so hard inside you, demanding your pleasure as he impaled you with no mercy, his tempo hot and frenetic from the very start. His big hand slipped from your breast downwards to twirl his fingertips around your clit, your throaty whines music to his ears as your sweet moisture pooled around his fingers. The squelching noise pierced the air that was already thickened by your heavy breaths and his hips smacking into yours.

"Mmm, wet as fuck, just the way I like it," Roman grunted, leaning down to suckle on your left nipple, his saliva smearing the puckered skin when he released it with a wet pop, "I can tell you was goin' crazy without this dick, right, baby?"

"Yes, and yet your punk ass still ignored me all day, too fuckin' busy making your damn TikTok videos," you griped.

"Quit your whining, Daddy always gives you what you want in the end. Unh, how you feel so good all the time? I love it," he moaned, his brown irises rolling back briefly before they landed on yours again in an intense stare. Through the lustful haze of passion, you felt your heart thumping rapidly inside your chest as you looked into his eyes. It didn't matter if you were having sex or not; it always sped up in his mere presence.

You fell in love with him not long after you became his personal assistant a year and a half ago. You worked hard to please him, on the job and off it, and he showed you his gratitude in a plethora of ways, carnal and otherwise. You were a walking cliché, but you couldn't care less, not when it bagged you a man like that. The sex appeal oozed from his pores. He was confident and self-assured and had worked his ass off to get to where he was today. He got along with all of his team, was a decent and fair employer, and was generous to a fault, showering his staff with presents on birthdays and Christmases. The diamond pendant he gifted you for Valentine's Day currently hid between your cleavage he was kneading with his big hands. He was everything you could ask for in a boss and a boyfriend, which was honestly an impressive feat.

You placed one hand behind his neck and tugged him down to flick your tongue inside his warm mouth. His thrusts remained indulgent as you kissed hungrily, branding you, marking you, wiping out everything from your mind except the euphoric feeling that engulfed you every time he kissed and fucked you dumb. He pushed your dress further up your waist and gathered your supple ass cheek in his competent hand, lifting you right up against him. He was all up in your stomach and your walls suckled his cock greedily, holding him in a vice-like grip. The gruff yet sensual sounds pouring from him teased your core, making you need more of it, more of him.

"Awww, shit, yes," Your eyes fluttered shut when he began to wind his hips, circling clockwise and then in reverse, the head of his cock churning your sweet spot, his triumphant growl accompanying every thrust. In and out, in and out, the erotic loop punctuated by the low, husky groans of your Tribal Chief, causing your head to rock back from blinding bliss. "Ooooh baby, baby right there, ahh," you whimpered.

"Uh huh, I'm deep in that shit. Got this pussy feelin' good, huh?" Roman said, his haughty taunts disappearing in another moan as your pussy rippled around his dick over and over. He kept up his grinding strokes which seemed to intensify the throatier and more desperate your moans grew, as though the mere sound of them fueled his ruthlessness. His paw curled around your throat, his display of dominance leaving you a sopping, dripping mess as he made you take every inch of him. You were dizzy, on the verge of falling apart, and your body burned for release, yet all you could do was hold on while this man continued to destroy you, rendering you helpless and pathetic and under his heady spell.

"I'm gonna come, Daddy," you gasped. Your fingernails clawed at his forearm holding your neck, moaning his name as he fucked you harder, making sure there was no way you would last long with the kind of pounding he was giving you right now.

"Mmm-hmm, come on my dick, give it to me," he ordered, barely hanging on himself. He groaned as your pussy walls held his cock hostage, making him swell inside you as his climax beckoned. "Fuck, babe, ahhh, fuck..."

Burying your face in his broad chest, you barely kept your scream muffled as your orgasm tore through you, your body arching, legs trembling around his waist as you came hard. Time and space and coherence blurred into one sensual puddle. His heavy weight almost smothered you as he chased his own orgasm, his eyes glazing over in a telltale sign that he was right there with you. His hips jerked as his dick began to throb and twitch inside you, and you gasped at the feel of his seed spilling inside your walls, his big body shivering from the force of his release, his deep voice exhaling guttural moans as he succumbed to you. It felt so good, feeling him fall with you, toppling over the precipice of pleasure together.

After he finally caught his breath, Roman shifted back a bit to observe you, taking in your face, flushed with satisfaction, your lips plumped and ravaged by his own. You looked damn beautiful, and he showed you by brushing your mouths together in the gentlest, sweetest kisses.

"Happy now?" he smirked.

You grinned from ear to ear. "Very happy, Daddy. I've missed you. Love you so much."

"I love you too, baby," he replied with one last soft kiss, both of you moaning as his drained dick slipped out of your warm confines. You dragged yourself to a seated position when he climbed off you and hurriedly tugged his pants back up. Adjusting your dress, you checked your watch and sighed. "Great, you're two minutes behind schedule. You're not even mic'd up yet," you said, fishing out Roman's bottle of Jean-Paul Gaultier cologne from his backpack and giving the room a few quick spritzes to stifle the cloying scent of your latest sexscapade.

"Well, Pat's gonna have to wait," he answered flippantly as he raked his hair back into its trademark bun. He watched you reach for your underwear that had tangled around your foot and beat you to the punch, snatching up the tiny scrap of lingerie and tucking it into his back pocket.

"Roman!" you exclaimed.

"What? It's mine now," he declared, grabbing his gold championship belt and standing to his full height. You bit your lip as you drank him in, your gaze stopping between his sturdy thighs. You just had sex but you found yourself getting aroused again.

"Your dick print is still showing," you pointed out, licking your lips reflexively.

"Course it is, I got that thang on me," he bragged, smoothing his big hand over his groin, his body tingling from the memory of your delicious warmth. Noticing the heat in your eyes, he smiled that suggestive half-smile of his and tapped your backside. "Down, baby girl, Daddy's gotta go to work. You can have me all you want after TV tonight."

As you followed him out of the locker room and stepped into the cold sunshine, you caught the slightly pronounced limp in your man's walk, his glowing, kiss-swollen features, the extra width in his smile, and beamed with pride.

Yeah, I did that shit.

THE END

--------------

Another short one. Thoughts?

I have a few more Roman ones I'm working on and hope to get out soon.

Thank you all so much for reading!

Banner made by me. Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

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[mystellenia]

giving ellie a hoodie full of kisses ୨ৎ

summary: you paint a hoodie with kisses for ellie, and the gesture flusters her.

content: nothing much, just ellie being shy

notes: answer to this req!! i'm trying a new format of posts. sometimes i see people do not quite hcs but also not quite a normal, paragraph-formatted fic. its this in between of bullet points????? idk lemme know if yall like it

(wc 0.6 k)

after spending an hour on painting your lips and pressing them to the cloth of the hoodie you'd gotten for ellie, you sat back and examined your work

you had to admit: the hoodie looked beautiful. but! you did not!!!! your lips were stained red from the paint, your back hurt from hunching over to kiss the hoodie, and you'd probably ingested about an ounce of red40!!! (i know red 40 is in food but let me be silly)

after washing the paint that had gotten on your skin off in the sink, you ironed the sweatshirt to seal the paint in (don't ask me how that works bc idk i just saw it on tiktok like 10 mins ago)

and now we wait for ellie to come home!!

when she finally comes in, she throws her keys on the table near the door and toes her dusty, disintegrating, been-to-bethlehem-and-back converse, bc have you seen them. one day she's gonna take a step and they're gonna turn into a cloud of dust i swear

anyway you're sitting on the couch with your phone in your lap, the painted sweatshirt folded into a square with the kisses hidden inside. she walks towards you and gives you a lil kissy kiss on the forehead like hiiii

you get all smiley because you're excited for her to see the sweatshirt and she gets all suspish.... like what's so funny....

sooooooo.... you tell her you made her something and unfold the hoodie and hold it up to your body so she can see the full thing. and she would soooo get all beet red, like, "...you made this for me?"

and you're like "yes of course do you like it queen" then she gets over the like flusteredness (????(actually i revoke my ???? bc i just made that a word)) and gets so happi like yayyy!!!!

then she looks all confused at your lips and is like "is that why your lips look so severely chapped and red?"

and you get mad so you take away kiss privileges so she does the only reasonable thing which is putting you in a headlock to force kiss you

would definitely immediately put it on and go look in the mirror at her with it on. she'll start geeking and thank you and all that jazz

she would wear that shit 24/7. sleeping working showering shitting ANYWHERE best believe she has that hoodie on. and you tell her its been like 2 weeks of her wearing it nonstop so she needs to wash it but she refuses bc she doesn't want the kisses to start fading. u wash it anyway bc its dirty and she cold shoulders you for about 30 mins before she sees some dumb reel she just has to show you (me fr).

i feel like she's a hot sleeper--like she gets too hot at night to wear the hoodie but she still wants it so she'll just hold it as a baby blanket of sorts and Whatnot.

wait very unrelated but does anyone have a baby blanket that they've had for so long its like basically just threads thats so funny

but overall she loves it. she likes to kiss the kiss prints you made on the sweatshirt bc it's "like kissing you."

there was one time she couldn't find it for like 2 days (because you'd washed it since she never does) and she tried to act all nonchalant and unaffected like she wasn't about to start tweaking and like twitching

then you gave it to her all calm because it was literally just in the wash and she was like "what😨😨😨 where did you find it😨😨😨" and you just tell her it was in the wash and shes like "oh that makes sense"

pls im so sorry. before i say anything i would like to formally apologize to the anon who submitted the ask for this bc this is so shit. you ask me for a product and this is how i repay you!! shame on me. please dilly dally on over to my asks and ask me something else so i can actually, i don't know, do a good job!! this ask was cute tho u ate with that

@picklesarenice69

wow i very strongly dislike this format so much this is the first and last time i will be doing this!!! i’m only posting this bc its been like a week since i last posted and the citizens will soon revolt, which the city's defenses cannot afford!! we're about to run out of wheat like times are getting tough. maybe i should just try just headcanons 🤔

can you tell i was fighting demons to not make this my normal vocab and format. like just look at this sentence and how it progresses: "when she finally comes in, she throws her keys on the table near the door and toes her dusty, disintegrating, been-to-bethlehem-and-back converse, bc have you seen them." the way that sentence progresses is just the silly demons taking over and also my coping mechanism for grimacing at how much i didnt mesh with this format

like i just couldnt take myself seriously. "yes of course do you like it queen" HELLO??? WHY DID I TYPE THAT but i will not be fixing and/or deleting it bc its making me giggle

dont get me wrong some of you ladies chew it up but i am made for unreasonably long and time consuming fics!!! i’m getting heated too bc not only is this so short and quick to do but it also takes less focus and brain power and ofc i had to make things hard for myself and hate it!!! i’m soooooooooooo silly

click here!! oh and here too!! ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶

---

edit: wait i would like to clarify that i just hate this because perhaps i’m not used to it. if you guys like this maybe i'll do more bc i follow the clout always 💯

[iplayghoul]

𝗹𝗲𝗴 𝘂𝗽 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗮𝘁. 𝗼𝗻𝘆𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗼𝗽𝗼𝗻

warnings: mentions of weed, reader is a dealer, black coded reader, strangers hooking up 🤭, squirtinggg, i like the word cock, sum dick in there too. pussy is refered to as a 'she', use of 'ma' and 'mama', p in v, thumb in ass shit, oral (f & m receiving), use of the n word

word count: 2.4k

notes: its ony's birthday! 🎂 ive come out my cocoon to deliver this delish lil smut for yall🤭 please enjoy, i havent written smut full out in a bit so! comments, rbgs wit comments all appreciated mwah

"𝗪𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝘂' 𝘀𝗮𝗶𝗱? 𝗣𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝗱𝗿𝘆?" 𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗮𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗱. "𝗧𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗽𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼 𝗹𝗲𝗴 𝘂𝗽 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗮𝘁."

"In five minutes? Oh yea', Con' I'mma do 'em up for you, real good. Mhm, you lucky Sash' my girl." Glossy lips smacked as you ended the call with Connie. Tossing your phone on your bed and heading to the small office space in your apartment. Various tools were laid out across the table. Humming a little, your lavender bunny slippers shuffling as you enter, you hook the handles of two pink glittery packets on your acyrlics. You weighed the packets again and checked the information Connie messaged you. According to Connie, his best friend 'Ony' wanted some good strains you were selling, so of course he hits you up to get the packs for his friend.

Your doorbell went off once, hurrying you to hop down the stairs, holding down your braless, pierced tits behind the thin strapped tank you had on. You peeped at who was outside your apartment, staring for a long two seconds at the buff, darkskinned man with a nose piercing and a fade. The white wife-beater paired with a grey hoodie that matched his sweats, ain't do his muscles justice either! Bejewled teeth bite back against your lips, and you swing the door open, slightly pulling your care bear themed shorts down. His lips grabbed your attention immediately.

Actually, you had to take in his presence quick. His bottom lip was a pretty pink and his top lip dark. His hands were big and so was the broadness of his shoulders. He looked a little nervous too. "You Con's boyfren'?" His lips curled a bit, "Fuck did that nigga tell you ma?" Shit. He spoke so softly you could barely hear what he had to say, only the low base of his voice helped you hear him. You bounce onto your other leg, swallowing hard, "'M just teasin', you 'Ony'?" He licked his lips and hummed with a nod, "Yea, 's Onyankopon." Not one for small talk? "Yea, come in n' lemme get it for you." You eye him and try your hardest to make small talk as he puts his hands up on your door frame, you already had to look up to see his face.

The packets were in the pockets of your shorts, really, with free stickers in 'em too! But you were not about to fumble some potentially lethal dick. You gulp feeling the softness of his body brush against yours as he accepts your invite in, the music from your speakers gracing his ears as you follow him to the living room. You pat the couch for him to sit and walk to the half bath, wasting a few seconds to 'get the packets'. With each interaction you became increasingly aware of what you were wearing. You peeped in the mirror and the heart shaped print of your nipple piercings becoming more prominent.

"Ya'know, youn' really talk dat much... or loudly, do you?" You shuffle back into the living room. He rubs above his lips and manspreads, hands moving to rest beneath the band of his sweats. "If I'm bein' deadass, I'ain got much to say, Con' ain't tell me you was cute ma. Ion really ever like raising my voice eitha'." Somehow, your body temperature just kept going up and your eyes kept drifting back to his lips. You plop down onto the couch, "You got a bitch ri-now?" He leans his head back against your couch and your peer at the way his lips purse out, and his adam's apple bobs. He seemingly manspreads wider, his large build making your couch cushions seem tiny. "Nah, why?" "Jus' wonderin'." Your lips began to feel shaky with every word. The entire encounter was like a meaningless dance around the elephant in the room. And fuck, you were gonna' fuck Constance punk ass up when this night was over. "So listen, I can give you the packets now, 'n you can pay me," You toss the packets onto the coffee table, his eyes remain trained on you. "Or, you c'n getcho dick wet." You mumbled, eyes drifting to connect with his.

A sharp inhale and you see the way his eyes open slightly to peak at you. Fat thighs squeezed together as you sat back with your socked feet up on the couch. "Don't that sound good, Onyankopon?" The way his chest rose with his breaths paused for a minute, reveling in hearing your sweet voice utter his name. His hands push further into his sweats, giving his dick a few long strokes before slipping it out his sweats. It was heavy, so heavy that he held it up for you and let it rest on his wife beater, on his belly button. Being the 'pretty dick' fiend you were meant you needed him in your mouth, immediately.

Quickly lurching forward, you press glossy lips to his pretty cock. His dusted pink tip was fat, and as his dick got darker down the shaft so did it get fatter. The nigga was HUNG, and you could mearly slide your tongue around the circumference of his cock head.

"C'mon mama, do watchu wanna do." It was enough incentive for you to swallow his dick down, relishing in the way it squished down your throat as your held your breath. With each stroke that relieved your airway you took a breath, folding your lips in to glide across his cock as globs of spit dribble across the shaft. You slurp and gag a little with each slip of his dick in your mouth, his hips gyrate and buck up. Ony keeps his eyes on you. Frowning as he interlocks his hands behind your neck, stuffing and forcing your face down on his cock. His head drops back against the couch, fucking his dick up into your mouth with heavy groans filling the room, even above the slow beats of your music. You needed him to tear your shit up within the next two seconds before you start to go crazy.

"Fuck, take all dat shit off, ma." Ony grips your jaw as he pulls you off his dick, spit dripping down your chin and lips plumped up. You wobble on your knees to stand up and undress yourself while he shrugs off his hoodie and wife beater. Tattoos decorated his pecs and arms, the dark ink prettily accentuating his melanin. He nods his head to the side, "Lay back right there, pretty." Plump pink lips pout a little but you follow his directions regardless, laying back into the cushions and spreading your legs. "Ain't nun' wrong with puttin' it in dry," you mutter below your breath when his lips connect with your clit. He mumbles something like 'don't piss me off' and his tongue is all over you.

His hands are big enough to grip the entire spread of your thigh, forcing your leg back as he worked his tongue in circles around your clit, sloppily spitting through your folds and caressing your hole with his tongue. He ate it like a starving man, his frowning and groaning into you growing more frequent as he pushes his face deeper. Your nails ghost the back of his neck, feeling the vibrations of his groans while the other played with your nipple. He tilts his head at an angle, flattening his tongue against your clit and you flinch, the electric pleasure shooting through your tummy and he smiles.

"Right there?" He peers up at you just as your eyes started springing tears. He bites down on his lips, and gives your clit a few kisses. You gasp and start pushing on his shoulders, understanding where he was going . Ony, undisturbed, curls his tongue into your clit, sucking and spitting on your cunt and maintaining the angle. Your tummy begins to tighten, clit pulsing with every lick, holding your breath and arching up into him. A sharp smack on your clit forces a cry out of you, "Stop holdin' yo' breath or imma' leave you right here," Fuck. You let out exasperated breaths as you desperately gyrate your hips into his mouth. Your clit, swollen and fat started to feel almost numb, you can't help but slap his shoulders and whine. "Shit, shit, shit— Ony, that's enough." It only edges him on, sucking up your creamy releases and forcing himself impossibly closer to you. You head was already pressed up against the armrest leaving you no escape, eyes rolling in different directions and mouth agape. Ony's mouth is latched onto you, bouncing your entire body into the couch cushions. You could only moan 'yes, yes, yes' with each rocking of your clit in his mouth.

Your toes curl and you're pushing his head into your pussy, chasing a bigger release than the one you just had. "Fuck, yeah, eat it just like that, baby," Your grip on everything begins to loosen and your lower body feels like static; milky slick squirts out of you as your body begins to relax and you hold Onyankopon's head in place as he drinks it all up. "You're fucking insane," You huff out at him when he lifts his head up to look at you, your release dripping off his nose and chin. "Watchu' said? Put dat shit in dry?" he rasped. "Turn over and put yo leg up on the seat." You give a start and look at him, feeling a mess.

"You not gon' let me recover, bitch?" He licks his lips and sits up on his knees, grabbing your ass like he was preparing to put you in position if you didn't do it. Consistently maintaining eye contact. "Don't call me no bitch," You hear him say low, "And turn the fuck over," He gives your ass a hard shove. You flop over onto your stomach, arching your ass up for some backshots, before sitting up to pull your right leg from out under you and kicking it up onto the top of the couch. You feel your inner thigh burn from the near split position, gripping onto the arm of the couch. Ony's fingers toy with your cunt and spreads you about the length of his dick, pumping it a few times before moulding circles around your clit with his tip: movements calculated. "Shit," You mumble softly, noticing the ever-increasing slip of your pussy. He slows the teasing of your clit, a large hand gripping your ass and pushing you down simultaneously. He lets his tip catch your sopping entrance, pushing in slightly and ignoring your whines as he basks in the wetness pressinh on his tip. "Ony stop playin' 'n put that shit in, God." He pulses his tip back and forth, slowly sinking deeper but not deep enough for you to even get two inches of his cock.

He whispers something lowly and you're unable to hear him. Just as you opened your mouth to ask 'Watchu sayin' nigga?', so did it hang open when he stuffed his full length into you swiftly. "Holy fuck," Was all you could force out of your mouth, his girth pushing against your walls as he sit in it. His hand spreads your ass and you feel him sink his thumb into your ass, his grip on you tightening. Your eyes already start rolling back into your head with the slight movements of his dick in you while he shifts to adjust his knees on the couch. You grip the couch hard and press your head against it when he starts using your ass to gain leverage, momentum.

"Think you c'n take sum fat dick?" Onyankopon mutters above you, the hand with his thumb in your ass slowly dragging you off his cock and back. "Yeah, yeah, gimme— gimme whatever you want, baby." You swallow, attempting to comprehend his question amidst the aching of your pussy that hungrily slobbered all over his dick. Maintaining the slow drag, he reaches down with his other hand to grip your neck, giving you a few tugs to manhandle you into a comfortable groove; before finally hammering his hips into your ass.

Ony groans and curses low while you struggle to hold onto the couch, his strong arms on your neck, forcing your ass back onto him. "Fuck! fuck— fuuuck, Ony," You let out a sob with each stroke he put on you, feeling incredibly full with just his thumb and girth combined. Your pussy was spread and aching around him, slippery and loud and nasty. "Fuck— she talkin' to me?" Onyankopon grins above you and only snaps his hips down into your ass harder, letting it sting. Your pussy was dripping, strings of slick falling from your cunt onto the couch and dripping down to tickle your sensitive clit with each stroke.

You were a mess, with every curse and 'ah!' came drool spilling from your mouth, slobbering about the couch and spreading it down to your fattened nipples. Your hand toyed with the piercing and you only felt more full, your tummy swelling more with each invasion of his dick against your walls. "C'mon take it, take it," Ony removes his hand from your neck to slap your ass hard, forcing his other thumb deeper in you, moving the other to play with your clit. White, foamy, release plops down like whipped cream onto his fingers as he rapidly and roughly guided them around your swollen clit. The same realese making his cock hot and melting in your pretty pussy, coating his every inch and forcing low moans out of him. "Ain't this watchu wanted? My dick wet as fuuuck, mama," You moan back some unintelligible response, you could barely hear the words coming out his mouth. Your entire being was totally focused on the way you began to tremble and squirt small spurts of cum gliding down your legs.

Onyankopon holds you still, hiking one of his legs up and fucking into you unimaginably deeper, sloppier, nastier. You squeal and grab his hand that's at your clit, slapping his arm and biting the softness of the couch's limb while your cry and whine. Ony ignores your attempts to tap out amidst the convulsing of your legs and hard quivering of your body. Your head was pounding now and you go completely blank for a split second, your full releases forcing itself out of you for the second time without your consent, in thick streams.

Your gasps and desperate as you attempt to get yourself together, all while Onyankopon can't help but nut deep in you before pulling out and slapping your clit a few final times with his dick. Your body refuses to move from the complicated position, Ony silently pulls your leg off the seat and carefully moves you onto your back. He wipes some tears off your fucked out face, hesitating before getting up and digging in your fridge for water before returning with two bottles. He opens one for you, feeding you the cold comfort that soothes your thoat while you hold onto his wrist.

"You straight?" He asks before leaning to dig in the pockets of his sweats and pull out a bit if cash. "Mhm," was all you could muster, watching him throw the money on the table before grabbing his phone. "Shit," He half grumbles with a soft chuckle before showing you the bright screen. Six missed calls from Connie.

[cinellieroll]

☆ random obey me headcanons part 2!

asmodeus, levi and barbatos ♡

part one (lucifer, mammon and simeon)

part three (beelzebub, belphegor, solomon)

part four (satan and diavolo)

cw: some small nsfw on asmo's part :p

small note: thank you so much for the likes and reblogs! i never expected such a large majority of people to enjoy my content so it's very dear to me. once again, thank you!

☆ asmodeus:

- kinda bad at cooking. his way of slicing and dicing vegetables is very mediocre if not clumsy looking. there are days where his cooking is acceptable and days where it's to seasoned or too bland (always convinces himself its good tho and posts it on his devilgram)

- though he's kinda bad at cooking, his baking skills are okay! his favorite pastry to make are cookies because he can design them the most.

- "ofcourse mc! you'll always be the first one to try my desserts! unless you want to taste something else?~ ♡"

- he has a collection of sanrios, hironos and sonny angels in his room. ESPECIALLY sonny angels. crazy thing is he always gets them for free from his fans and its always the limited edition ones

- he really enjoys watching old movies from the human world especially the romcoms. mean girls, notting hill, pitch perfect. he will pester you to rewatch it with him even though you guys have seen it multiple times already.

- he keeps a small jewelry box in his room but instead of jewelry its full of pics of you and him and the gifts you give him. theres some pics in there where the other brothers were cut or crossed out so it'll be just you and him lmfao

- he is a yandere and i stand by this. it's not as obvious but if he's really into you he'll constantly mark you with his scent and the stuff he wears. he'll leave a hickey or a bite mark if you're lucky ;)

- the type of guy to only bring a purse to school. if you ask for a pencil the bitch is gonna open his bag and say "oopsie! i only brought my makeup pouch and mirror today. sorry babe!"

- has his own private concert in showers every goddamn day

- he'll either fangirl with you about celebrities or he'll get extremely jealous because you're simping for someone else.

☆ levi:

- sometimes his ass crack will be on display when he's sitting down on the floor

- wears booty shorts religiously. sometimes he'll casually just walk out his room wearing a hoodie and booty shorts with prints on it

- has a tumblr account where he posts a bunch of hc, drabbles and other shit and until now no one knows its him

- had an amino and discord phase where he always roleplayed with other people. till this day it haunts him at night

- he livestreams twice a week on twitch and has been scolded by lucifer on stream once. there was also a time where mammon barged in his room half naked and suddenly all the views went up 10x

- trolls on roblox like it's a 9 to 5 job

- every once in a while he'll stay in lucifers room while lucifer is doing paperwork. he'll just lay down on his bed, watch and play games and even fall asleep

- makes his own persona in every fandom he gets into and writes very detailed backstories (dw levi, same)

- only reads "x reader" fics for obvious reasons

- went insane because human world games and animes are better than the ones in devildom. dont get me started about aot. (his favorite is levi ackerman obvi)

☆ barbatos:

- wishes he could get piercings but since he's the demon prince's butler he obviously can't

- started tweakin when you said some humans keep rats and bugs as pets. like he stopped polishing some plates and looked at you like you just dog shitted diavolo's name

- really enjoys your spotify playlist filled with metalhead and grunge songs. he really likes slipknot

- likes to order those cute, fancy tea sets when he has the time. when you gifted him tea leaves and a limited edition teapot set his love for you sky rocketed.

- gets annoyed when solomon manspreads

- has a really good voice when he sings. he used to sing diavolo lullabies when his father would get angry at him

- scrolls through levi and mammon's post for educational purposes cuz he wants to learn slangs just incase diavolo asks him what a specific word means

- "barbatos, what does 'runnin from da opps' mean?"

- "my lord, 'runnin from da opps' is a slang made by the new generation. it means fleeing from your haters."

- loves to tailor and iron his bed sheets so he can have a peaceful rest after a long day of non stop errands.

[d3stinyist1red]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ғᴇᴍʙᴏʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Yandere femboy who gets praised 24/7 for his cute personality and looks

Yandere femboy who expects you praise and love him as well, fluttering his eyelashes at you as he asked you a question, trying to get you to fall to your knees and beg him to be your wife for pure entertainment

Yandere femboy who was shocked and angry that you just nonchalantly answered his question before walking away, shrugging him off as he stared, eyes wide.

Yandere femboy who now has interest in you, trying to bring you to your knees and beg him to be his wife every time hes near you, trying extra hard, fluffing up his skirts and fixing his puffy pretty hair.

Yandere femboy who now follows you to every class, acting like a pick me for you. He clung onto your arms, blinking slowly to show his long eyelashes. "I'm so small, and petite, right n/n?"

Yandere femboy who started stalking you to find out what would make you beg him to become his gf, trying to find out your type

Yandere femboy who now is totally obsessed with you, now dead ass wants to have kids with you. He wants to stuff u full as he cries, pleasure being too much

Yandere femboy who hugs your arms, and kisses your cheeks, leaving a lipstick mark on your cheek. "You're so cute, n/n!"

Yandere femboy who is now your male wife, packing you lunches.

Yandere femboy who whenever he comes over to your house, he washes your dishes and cleans as if he was a house wife waiting for his business wife

Yandere femboy who wears more miniskirts around you, showing his pale and small thighs around you to try to seduce you. You could almost see his dick print through his miniskirt

Yandere femboy who wears crop tops that says "I luv my gf!" Only around you, you thought of it as a coincidence until he wore those type of shirts everywhere he went with you

Yandere femboy who wants you to stuff your boobies in his face as he whines and begs for more

Yandere femboy who is now only wearing miniskirts, booty shorts, and crop tops around you, showing basically everything

Yandere femboy who you were watching a movie with, suddenly straddles you and lays on your chest, interlinking your guys fingers.

Yandere femboy that sitting on your lap becomes a rare occurrence

Yandere femboy who sits on your lap as you play video games, trying to get your attention by kissing up and down your neck

Yandere femboy who steals your big, oversized hoodies wearing them bc they smell like u

Yandere femboy who you now cuddle with, him on top of you as his thighs wrapped around your waist, not wanting you to get up without him

Yandere femboy who runs up and jumps on you like a koala whenever he sees you, grinning ear to ear

Yandere femboy who is now 80x clingier, sitting on your laps, and feeding you every lunch time during school as you tried to get him off you

Yandere femboy who luvs his gf whose not rlly his gf yet!<33

GUYS IMMA EAT RAISING CANES RN IM SO HAPPYYAYAYAYAY

GUYS I HAVE MORE DRAFTS COMING LIKE YAN BULLY, YAN MC DONALDS WORKER BC IM A BIG BACK, YAN EX, YAN DELUSIONAL SIMP, AND YAN NERD<33

[sam015]

Hoodies & Coffee

The Arsenal training grounds were always chaotic. Players from the men's, women's and youth teams working and hanging out around the facilities. Today was no different. 

“Y/n, get back here!” Viv shouted as Y/n attempted to sneak out of the changing room behind Katie.

“Sorry, I tried,” Katie whispered, leaving Y/n behind like a deer in headlights, hurrying out on the field inorder to avoid Y/n’s overbearing parental figures.

“Traitor,” Y/n whispered back as Katie left her behind.

“Come back over here,” Viv repeated, sighing with her head down Y/n sulked back over to her pseudo-parents.

“Come on, you need to put a jacket on before you go outside,” Beth said, directing Y/n towards her locker. Y/n looked up at Beth with a sheepish look on her face.

“I may or may not have forgotten it,” Y/n frowned, not wanting to look up and see the disappointed look on Beth’s face.

“Y/n, it's getting cold outside. You need to take care of yourself. We can’t have you getting sick,” Beth lectured while Y/n studiously avoided her gaze, her fingers rapidly tapping on her leg.

“I know. I’m sorry, but I was in a rush this morning. I woke up late, and it just slipped my mind.”

“Why did you wake up late?” Viv interjected, looking over to Y/n curiously as she pulled her gloves on.

“Nightmare,” Y/n whispered, turning away from the conversation and back to her locker, desperately hoping that she had left one previously. Pulling open the door, she was relieved to see a red Arsenal hoodie folded on the seat, a printed six on the right side. Smiling slightly, she pulled the hoodie on, breathing in the smell of Leah’s familiar perfume.

“Thanks, Lee,” Y/n called out, catching the English captain just as she left the room.

“No problem, darling,” Leah said with a small smile before turning and leaving the still partially full changing room. Y/n turned to follow the Englishwoman out of the changing room.

“We will talk about this later,” Viv called. Y/n nodded, shaking her head as she tried to focus on the training ahead of her. Leaving the room, she walked out onto the pitch, grabbed a ball and began to warm up.

As practice began, Y/n became very warm in her borrowed hoodie. She quickly stripped it off, tossing it over to the side beside their water bottles. Beth raised her eyes at the action, but Jonas pulled her attention away as the drill began. Y/n enjoyed training in the cold. It reminded her of home and the cold practices they would have during winter and fall training sessions. 

Throughout practice, Y/n could feel Beth and Viv’s eyes on her. For the most part, she ignored them, knowing that they were just worried she was cold. Occasionally, she could feel Leah’s gaze on her. This one felt different than Beth's and Viv’s; it made her face flush a bit, and it wasn’t because of the cold. 

As practice came to an end, Y/n decided to run a few sprints. She loved the feeling of the cold air in her lungs. It reminded her of home, of the times she would run home after school. It reminded her of when things were more straightforward, and she could just run and play football without worrying about anything else.

“Come on, Y/n, let's go inside,” Viv called out, holding Leah’s sweater out to the younger girl. Y/n shrugged it on with a smile, feeling the warmth and softness of the hoodie. It felt like a warm hug; she enjoyed the feeling. Something about the warmth combined with Leah’s perfume made her feel safe. 

Viv wrapped an arm around Y/n’s shoulder, escorting her inside, with Beth following the pair.

“Hey, I feel excluded; I’m your girlfriend, not Y/n,” Beth jokingly pouted. Y/n stuck her tongue out at Beth, causing Viv to snort in laughter.

“You know you can talk to us about anything, right Y/n?” Viv asked, pulling Y/n into a small alcove which Beth followed the pair into. Y/n nodded, and Viv pulled the shorter girl entirely into a hug.

“Whatever it is, we are here for you,” Beth reinforced, using her hands to guide Y/n’s eyes to look into her own.

“I know.”

As the team slowly trickled out of the changing room after training, Leah nervously stood at her locker, waiting for the right moment. She kept shifting her weight from foot to foot as she tapped her fingers on the thin metal of her locker.

“Do you need something?” Beth asked, slightly concerned about the anxious energy the normally confident English captain exuded. Leah only shook her head. Beth rolled her eyes. Leah was so obvious, but for every bit of obviousness Leah had, Y/n was just as oblivious. With a slight grin, Beth pulled Viv, who was still packing her things, out of the changing room, leaving Y/n and Leah alone. Leah watched as the door swung shut, waiting before it was entirely closed before approaching the younger girl.

“Do you want to go for coffee with me?” Leah asked hesitantly, looking up from her locker and towards Y/n. Leah could feel her cheeks heating up as she waited for Y/n to respond. Y/n turned around, making it so she was facing the Englishwoman.

“Like as in a date?” Y/n clarified, pausing in her packing and taking a step towards the other woman.

“Yeah,” Leah said, the tips of her eyes turning bright red.

“I’d love to,” Y/n said, watching as the anxiety bled out of Leah’s figure.

[beeing1alive]

Cute headcanons with Tokyo Revengers boys Pt.3

f.t.: Mikey (Manjirō Sanō); Draken (Ken Ryūgūji); Mitsuya (Takashi Mitsuya); Chifuyu (Chifuyu Matsuno); Baji (Keisuke Baji); Takemichi (Takemichi Hanagaki); Angry (Souya Kawata), Smiley (Nahoya Kawata); Hakkai (Hakkai Shiba); Kazutora (Kazutora Hanemija)

Mikey's hands are always warm. No matter how warm or cold it is outside, his hands are always the same pleasant temperature. In winter you can always warm your hands on his. However, his hands are also warm in summer, which means that in summer you can just intertwine your little fingers.

Darken usually has to leave the house very early, which means he never really has time to talk to you in the morning. That's why he always sticks a note on the mirror in your bathroom. Every day it says something different, but usually something like: "Have a great day, be safe, I love you -Ken"

Mitsuya organises a photo shoot for the two of you every few months. One of these couple photo shoots, and it's always super fun, especially because he already knows all the photographers. The pictures that come out are always so cute, and he prints out the best of them and puts it in his wallet.

Chifuyu insists on showing and introducing you to every animal in the pet shop. After closing time, he walks through the shop with you hand in hand and enthusiastically shows you all the animals. After a few months, you know every animal by name and its characteristics. He just loves animals, but he loves you more, he just can't help it.

Baji has got it into his head that he wants to learn how to cook. That's why he suggested that you cook something together at least once a week. He would like to pursue this habit but sometimes he just can't make it, but at least one evening is always reserved (if he can't make it, he feels bad and brings you something from out of town)

Takemichi regularly puzzles with you. He just finds it super relaxing, he already enjoys doing puzzles on his own, but it's a thousand times better with you. You usually watch a film or listen to your favourite music on the side. He could spend hours doing it. Just not having to think about anything, with you close to him.

Angry has a playlist with you, which is full of your favourite songs. He always pays attention to what music you listen to and when he sees how much you enjoy a song, he will immediately add it to this playlist. When you listen to music together, he always puts this playlist on and seeing you enjoy every song makes his heart melt.

Smiley introduced you to his brother first. He just cares what Souya thinks of you because he knows that his brother has a much better sense for healthy relationships. His heart skips a beat when he sees Souya talking to you enthusiastically, his face relaxes a little and he nods to him, and even if Souya didn't like you, he would have loved you.

Hakkai always left one thing in your house when he was with you at the beginning of the meeting phase. Whether it was a hoodie or a packet of chewing gum, just to make sure you'd see each other again. He always made it look like it was accidental, but it never was. He just always wanted to see you again sometime.

Kazutora writes you poems. When he goes to class for you, he usually gets so bored that he starts scribbling sweet words for you on a random piece of paper. Sometimes his texts stretch over several sheets of paper, it's just so easy for him to write how he feels about you. Much easier than telling you, he prefers to show it.

Note: I hope you like it and my requests are open. If you want to read the other parts, here is P.t.1 and here is P.t.2 :3

Attention: The characters and the gif do not belong to me. All credits go to the actual owners. If you want anything to be changed or removed, please write to me.

[ghostlykeyes]

Hear me out

Grunge bf kayn with a hyper feminine gf , like his gf loves sanrio and cute stuff 🫢🫢🫢

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

HEARTSTEEL KAYN: ULTRA-CUTE PARTNER HEADCANONS ♡ Gender Neutral ♡ SFW ♡ No TWs ♡ I am so fucking rabid for the idea of this combo...demon bf/ hello kitty reader SUPREMACY

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

KAYN

At first, the pairing confuses people, but those that see you and Kayn together recognize that somehow you just work. You soften Kayn's sharp edges in a way that he only lets those closest to him see, and Kayn helps highlight the fact that even though you look innocent and soft, there's more to you than that.

Both you and Kayn recognize how much work it can be to curate and present an aesthetic. That's part of what helps you two mesh so well, even though on the surface, you're entirely different. There's a mutual respect for the other, stemming from understanding.

Though he keeps them stashed in a bathroom drawer, Kayn's got a matching set of soft bunny-ear headbands for when you sleep over. Usually he just bobby-pins his hair back to wash his face, but when you're there, he'll pull out the cute headbands so you can match during your morning/night-time routine. For the sake of his image, please, please don't ever show anyone your bunny-eared, spa-masked selfies.

Kayn has you saved as 'prince/princess' in his phone. Fitting, since you're the patron saint of all things cute and soft, no?

The guys tease him whenever they catch Kayn with your things around the apartment, like when he's washing your pink Starbucks cups or pulling your cinnamoroll pajama pants out of the dryer. "Changing your look, Kayn?" They'll smirk, but he just rolls his eyes and sneers. "It's (y/n)'s, obviously," he bites. He's not really embarrassed, though—truth be told, he loves the way your life has leaked into his enough for others to notice. Besides, those nerds are probably just jealous that he bagged such a fucking perfect cute pastel angel.

Obviously, Kuromi is Kayn's favorite, if he has to pick one. You won him a little Kuromi figure from a claw machine, once, and he actually keeps it on top of his dresser, in full view for everyone to see. (It's probably the cutest thing he owns, and though he might not admit it, he fucking treasures that little figurine.) He sometimes says he's your Kuromi, though not usually in earshot of others. The similarities are uncanny—a proclivity for black, a tendency for mischief—they even have almost the same birthday!

Whenever you're in his room, Kayn sets his LED strip lights to pink for you.

If Kayn's going to be gone for awhile, touring and the like, he always gifts you a Calico Critters set the night before he leaves. "Try to take good care of them, yeah?" He smirks. "I don't wanna come back to the mouse family in the middle of a custody battle."

Kayn stashes a plushie in his underwear drawer, so you'll always have something to snuggle with when you stay with him (besides him, of course).

The visual contrast when Kayn lets you borrow a hoodie or jacket is nothing short of jarring. Here you are, this adorable thing in Mary Janes and a pastel skirt, sporting a bleach-dyed hoodie with a death metal logo. Kayn, of course, thinks the contrast is fucking adorable.

Kayn gently teases you about your bedroom—"I didn't even know this many pink things existed," he'll say"— but the truth is, he loves being in there with you. The softness makes him feel totally surrounded by you. It's gentle. Safe, even. Drinking from Sanrio glasses and slipping underneath a strawberry-printed comforter to spoon you may not be his usual style, but you make it feel so natural. (Sleeping in your bed, though? Kayn doesn't love that as much. He moves around in his sleep enough as is, but now he's got to worry about accidentally shoving your favorite Hello Kitty off the bed? Not fun.)

Kayn's favorite cutesy thing to buy you is sleepwear. Those pastel, soft-fabric cami and sleep shorts combos? Fucking delicious. There's at least three sets of your pajamas stashed in his PJ drawer, and Kayn bought all of them.