#need to shake some of u by the shoulders like shut up

[science-hoes]

hello lovely!

saw you were wanting some fluffy or hurt/comfort thoughts and i hope i deliver!

thinking about cuddling robby but just having him lay his full weight on you. having pressure and weight on me after a stressful or overstimulating day helps chill me out…. all the better if dr robby providing the weight. hed be apprehensive like…. r u sure im a big dude. like im sure shut up and lay on me so i can switch my brain off

hope you feel better soon 💕

This concept alone might cure me of every sad thought I’ve ever had, thank you my love 🥹

—

You were curled into a ball in your bed, lying on top of the comforter, snug in only a pair of pajama shorts and one of Robby’s hoodies. Crystals of salt dusted your cheeks after your tears dried up and your sniffles had faded away. But the sadness still lingered. You’d been laying there for maybe an hour, unable to move from Robby’s side of the bed. When the front door opened, you heard the telltale whistling that meant your fiance was home. The song carried down the hallway, growing louder until the thud of his sneakers being kicked off indicated his presence in the bedroom.

“You look like a roly poly.” He chuckled when he saw your body folded into a fetal position on his side of the bed.

The comment would have usually made you giggle, maybe even pretend to unravel into a full roly poly to play along with his joke, but you had dissociated too far into your mind to respond. Your silence concerned Robby immediately, and he tossed his Hoodie of the Day onto the ground near his shoes before sitting at your side. The mattress shifted, and your face became more visible to him, peaking out of the hood of your (his) hoodie. He stroked your cheek with a large, calloused thumb, brushing away some of the tearful residue.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” He asked, his voice suddenly soft and devoid of its usual gravel.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you let go of your legs and held your arms out to him. Robby instinctively leaned into your embrace, pulling you close to his warmth.

“I just need you close.” You whispered, settling your face into the crook of his neck.

Robby tried to lean away to look at your face, but you refused to let him meet your eyes. “You okay?”

You shook your head, your nose digging into his carotid. “No.” When you felt his jaw muscles flex to continue talking, you cut him off, “but I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

Robby half smiled when you shut his interrogation down, amused by how well you knew him. “Okay. We don’t have to talk.” He relented with a kiss to the crown of your hairline.

After a few moments of silence, you realized that this wasn’t going to be enough. The anxiety still burned in your chest. The sadness lingered in your brain. You pulled away to look at him, catching him with his eyes already shut with intentions of sleep.

“Can you lay on top of me?” You asked meekly.

Robby cracked an eye open, raising an eyebrow with it. “On top of you?” He repeated.

You nodded and swallowed thickly. “I feel like I just need…pressure. I want pressure on my body.” You explained.

Your fiance reawakened fully, letting out a chuckle. But when he saw your doe eyes staring at him with desperation, he quickly sobered up and nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He replied.

Robby shifted until his body hovered against you, keeping himself propped on his elbows. His tummy pressed against you first, squishing as the rest of his body lowered to what he thought was a comfortable position.

You whined and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, trying to pull him down. “No, don’t hold yourself up. I want all of your weight.” You fussed.

Robby let out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head. “Honey, I don’t want to crush you.”

“I need you to crush me.” Your request sounded ridiculous, but some primitive desire was burning for the weight of his body. “Please, Michael.”

When you invoked his first name, the one you rarely used except in intimate moments, he felt his heart shatter. “Okay, okay. Just…let me know if it’s too much.” He agreed.

Robby let off his elbows, bearing his full body weight onto your frame. You felt his heaviness, his bulk, his heat. It began to numb your mind and force your lungs to take deeper, stronger breaths.

“Is this helping?” He whispered, his lips ghosting next to your ear.

“Mmhmm.” You mumbled, feeling like you’d taken a shot of some warm whiskey, the soothing burn numbing your nerves.

Robby pressed a kiss to the temple of your forehead. “I love you, kid. Just rest that pretty mind of yours.” He cooed.

You listened to him breathe against the shell of your ear, his chest pushing against yours with each inhale. You could feel the thump of his heartbeat where your hand rested on his back, and eventually, your heart fell in sync. The more your mind became grounded again, the more reality began to seep in. After a few minutes, the tears began to rush down your cheeks. A sniffle drew Robby’s attention, and he looked up quickly to assess the situation.

Your eyes snapped to his, and you shook your head as the sobs began to wrack your body. “I’m s-sorry.” You whimpered.

Robby, still bearing his full weight on you, cradled your face in his hands. He kissed away each tear as they fell, nuzzling his nose against the warmth of your face. “Shhh, I’ve got you. ‘M right here, baby girl.” He soothed.

Then, he began to hum. The same tune he’d been whistling when he came home from work. His baritone voice was calming, and eventually your cries subsided while he serenaded you. No words were exchanged for the rest of the night. Just gentle bearded kisses, soft songs, and exhales of relief as the stress began to dissolve from your mind underneath his sturdy body.

[uousoupki]

everytime someone makes legend or wars a cunt in their fic an angel looses its wings & is slowly grinded into a paste

[moonstruckme]

hi!! can u write a fic with poly maurauders x shy reader where she looses like her comfort stuffed animal and freaks out? thanks!

Thanks for requesting @whotfisgiana <3

poly!marauders x shy!reader ♡ 1.4k words

You don’t think your bedroom has ever been so messy. Pillows on the floor, sheets and comforter all askew, most everything you own moved this way or that so you could see around or behind or underneath it. You’re halfway to a panic when a knock sounds on your door. 

You ignore it. It’s likely a postman leaving a package or someone who will leave a flyer taped to the door, and you have more pressing concerns to deal with. But the knock comes again, louder this time. 

You push out a sigh as you stand from where you’d been peering under your bed, trying to shake some of your unease out of your fingertips as you go to answer it. On the other side you find your roguishly handsome boyfriend, looking expectant. 

“Hey, beautiful,” says Sirius, grinning as he leans in. He takes your waist in hand, and you kiss him back somewhat slowly, caught offguard by his easy affection at the best of times but even more so when you weren’t anticipating it. 

“Hey,” you echo as he pulls back. 

“You look surprised to see me,” he observes. “Did you not remember our date?” 

You blink. Oh. Oh. God, you’re the worst. You’re supposed to be going to see a film with your boyfriends at noon—but in your frenzy, you’d completely forgotten. Is it really that late already?

“It’s alright.” Sirius seems to sense your nerves, giving you a kind squeeze. “We’ve got time, lovely, James is picking up Remus from across town and I told them we’d take the bus, is that alright? Do you need to do anything before we go?” 

Your first thought is that you can’t go—but that’s not very fair, is it? You had plans, you can’t just abandon your boyfriends because something else has come up. Something completely non-urgent, too. It will still be just as lost whether you’re at the cinema or not. You can keep looking when you get home. 

“Yeah,” you say, stepping back from the door. Sirius comes in, and you shut it behind him. “Sorry, I’m still in my pajamas. I can change fast.” 

“Don’t hurry,” he says easily. “You know how James drives. We’ll beat them there no matter what.” 

“Thanks.” You hurry into your room, Sirius trailing casually behind. “Sorry, just a second.” 

He tsks, teasing. “Stop that.” 

“Sorry,” you say instinctively, then feel your face heat when he shoots you a mock stern look. You grab some clothes and go into your bathroom, shutting the door to change. 

“Whoa,” says Sirius as he enters your room. “What happened in here?” 

You forcibly stifle another apology, laughing at yourself. “I know, it’s so bad.”

“Are you redecorating or something?” 

“No, just looking for something.” 

You step out of the bathroom in jeans and a jumper, and Sirius grins at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re ready for him this time. When he steps forward, you let him put his hands on your face and kiss him back sweetly. 

“What’s the matter?” he asks. 

“Hm?” 

“You seem upset. What is it?” 

“I’m not upset.” You want for it to be true. You wish this wasn’t something that rattled you so badly. 

“Liar.” Sirius says it in the same way he calls James pest, with a fond bent to his voice. He puts a couple of inches between you, keeping your face in his hands as he traps you beneath his stare. “What is it?” 

Your shoulders climb up towards your ears. “I’m okay,” you say meekly. Sirius only looks at you, as if to say go on. “I just can’t find my rabbit.” 

His brow furrows. “Your rabbit.” 

“My stuffed rabbit,” you clarify.

“Oh.” Sirius glances to your bed, the covers half torn off from where you’ve disheveled them in your search and now trailing onto the floor. He lets his grip slip down your arms. “How did I not know about this? Seems rather important to you.” 

“I don’t need to sleep with him every night or anything,” you say, embarrassed. “I’ve just always had him, so he’s sort of…sentimental. Anyway, it’s fine. I’ll find it later.” 

“I’m not going to drag you to the cinema when you’re upset about your rabbit,” Sirius says, like the mere idea is offensive. 

“You’re not dragging me,” you argue feebly, “and I’m not upset.” 

“I’m not escorting you while you’re worried, then.” He rolls his eyes, taking out his phone. 

“Sirius,” you plead, but he only shushes you. 

“Hi,” he says a moment later. “Hey, has James gotten to you yet?” 

Remus’ voice, too quiet to make out, crackles through the line. 

Sirius hums. “Well, I’m impressed by him. Actually, though, we may have a change of plans.” 

You cover your face with your hands, mortified. Sirius puts an arm around you, rubbing your shoulder like there, there. 

“It seems our girl has misplaced her stuffed rabbit.” 

You’re close enough now to hear James say, genuine alarm in his tone, “Moo Moo?” 

There’s a pause, and you peek through your fingers to find Sirius looking at you. You nod in confirmation. 

“It’s called Moo Moo?” he asks. 

You hum quietly. 

“Why would you name your rabbit after a sound a cow makes?” 

“I don’t know,” you say sheepishly. “I was a baby.” 

Sirius rolls his eyes, kissing you on your head. “You’re fucking precious, do you know that?” 

It’s decided quickly after that. James and Remus change course, heading for your apartment while you and Sirius recommence the search. None of them will hear your protests, least of all Sirius, who threatens to decommission you from the rescue party if you continue to spend your energy arguing rather than looking. 

With two of you, you clear the bedroom quickly, moving into the formerly unconsidered parts of your home. Sirius asks you questions like a police interrogator: Where did you last see him? How big is he? How many nights has it been since you’re sure you slept with him? Did he go on holiday with you last weekend?

Your laundry bin is upturned, couch cushions removed, mementos you’ve not seen for years discovered and then quickly lost again in the rubble. 

When your boyfriends arrive, Remus takes one look at you and shepherds you away while James joins the search. He makes you tea and gives you enough of his soft, compassionate looks to melt you down to the bone. 

“I didn’t mean to make us all miss the film,” you tell him, steam warming your chin as you sit on the kitchen counter. “I was going to go, but Sirius…” 

You realize you sound like you’re tattling and stop. Remus only smiles at you indulgently, his brown eyes flickering with humor. 

“We didn’t think it was you who made that call,” he says. “But, sweetheart, no one is upset that we’re here. We wouldn’t want you to have to sit through a film while you’re upset.” 

“I’m not upset.” Your voice has the quiet weariness of a broken record. 

Remus studies you. You sip your tea to avoid it, trying not to squirm under his gaze. “You seem like you might be upset,” he says, an almost missable hint of teasing in his tone. 

“It’s stupid,” you admit. “I know he has to be here somewhere, there’s no point in worrying.” 

“I’m sure he is.” Remus rubs your leg, soothing. “You’re right, lovely, he’s probably just somewhere we haven’t—” 

“Found him!” James cries. 

You gasp, and Remus grins at your reaction. 

“Where?” Sirius bounds in from the sitting room. 

James comes from the opposite direction, holding your rabbit above his head like a trophy. He passes it to you with a flourish as you hop down from the counter. “Angel, your Moo Moo.” 

“So this is Moo Moo,” Sirius says, grinning. 

You feel suddenly defensive, bringing the grayed, ratty plushie close to your chest. “Yes.” 

“I love him.” 

“I think he’s handsome,” says Remus, also looking at him interestedly. 

“Caused a lot of trouble today, though,” Sirius tuts, “hasn’t he?” 

“Where’d you find him?” you ask James, eager to be out of the spotlight.

“He was wedged between your mattress and the wall.” Your boyfriend pouts. “Poor thing.” 

You frown. “I looked there.” 

“He was sort of in the corner.” James shrugs. “Rather easy to miss, I’m sure Sirius checked there too.” 

“Well, thank you,” you say shyly. Still holding the toy to your chest. “I might not have looked there again on my own.” 

“Seems a good thing we came over, hm?” Remus asks complacently. 

Your face heats. “Yeah.” 

“One more time, sweetness?” Sirius cocks his ear. “Not sure I heard you there.” 

“Yes,” you say again, fighting a smile. “Thank you for coming.” 

He grins at you, wrestling you into his side. “I don’t ever want to hear you arguing one of my ideas again.” 

“That seems a bit premature—” James starts to say. 

“Nope! Never again.”

[gojosconsort]

need more olderbf toji good lord what u wrote just blessed my eyes and I need more GRAHHHHHH

OLDER BF!TOJI ♡ // HEADCANONS 02

⁀➷ CONTENT. you're toji’s problematic younger girlfriend.

♡ PAIRING. afab!reader x older bf!toji

♡ WARNINGS. mdni. oral sex (m and f receiving), age gap, size kink, spanking, degradation, restraint, public/semi-public sex, choking, hair pulling, deepthroating, degradation, possessiveness

♡ NAV. 01 // 02

OLDER BF!TOJI who’s broke as shit but spots a patch of wildflowers by some random roadside—picks a messy handful—dirt, roots, and all—and shoves them at you, “ain’t much, but they’re yours, doll.”

OLDER BF!TOJI who’s waiting outside your shitty apartment when your ex shows up, banging on the door—toji’s on him in seconds, pinning him to the wall, “she’s done with your sorry ass, punk,” and that fucker never shows his face again.

OLDER BF!TOJI who takes you on a late-night ride in his truck, pulling off to some empty lookout spot next thing you know, you’re straddling him in the driver’s seat, skirt shoved up, bouncing on his fat cock while the windows steam up.

OLDER BF!TOJI who’s half-asleep in bed when you crawl under the sheets, teasing him awake with your mouth. he groans, “fuckin’ brat,” grabs your hair, and rams himself deeper down your throat ‘til you’re choking on it, “can’t even sleep ‘round you.”

OLDER BF!TOJI who catches you shivering on the walk home from some shitty bar, grumbling, “told you to bring a damn jacket.” but shrugs off his worn leather one, draping it over your shoulders and pulling you close to his side, “c’mere, i’ll warm you up.”

OLDER BF!TOJI who crashes on your couch after a job, too tired to drive home—you find him sprawled out in the morning, abs peeking from under his shirt, and he wakes up to you staring, “what, never seen a guy sleep before? make me coffee, lazy ass.”

OLDER BF!TOJI who ties your wrists to the headboard with his belt when you won’t stop mouthing off. then he’s pounding you into the mattress, rough and hard, loving how you squirm under his bulk, “too big? cry about it, doll.”

OLDER BF!TOJI who sees you struggling with a heavy bag of groceries outside your apartment building. he grabs it from your hands without asking, smirking, “you’re too damn small for this,” and carries it up three flights of stairs with you trailing behind.

OLDER BF!TOJI who loves when you ride his face, sprawling back on the bed or couch, pulling you down by the hips ‘til you’re smothering him. “grind on me, doll,” he mumbles into you, licking sloppy and greedy, holding you there ‘til you’re shaking.

OLDER BF!TOJI who’s sloppy with prep but doesn’t need it—his cock’s so big it barely fits anyway. “relax, you’ll take it,” he mutters, sliding in slow, then slamming deep, and he loves when you yelp and scratch the shit outta his back.

OLDER BF!TOJI who shows up at your place unannounced with takeout because “you didn’t eat, did you.” eats half of it himself, sprawled on your couch, then pulls you into his chest, mumbling, “don’t squirm, i’m comfy.”

OLDER BF!TOJI who loves finishing inside you after a rough fuck, pinning you down and pumping you full, “gonna fill you up, doll—fuck, you feel that? make me cum so fuckin’ much,” and he’s loves watching it drip out.

OLDER BF!TOJI who gets off on skirts ‘cause he’s loves fucking you in public—drags you somewhere half-hidden, hikes it up, claps a hand over your mouth, and mutters, “shut it, don’t need ‘em hearing,” while he fucks you fast and dirty and loud like he hopes you get caught.

OLDER BF!TOJI who gets quite jealous when some young guy flirts with you—goes dead quiet, then later he’s got you face-down, ass-up, snarling, “that little shit think he’s got a shot? too old my ass—tell me who’s fuckin’ you.” but don't worry, your screams fix his mood.

OLDER BF!TOJI who’s always working out—push-ups in the living room, dripping sweat, and he’s like, “sit on me, doll, gimme a challenge.” and you perch there, while he grunts, “fuckin’ lightweight,” and powers through.

————— ୨୧ —————

⁀➷ masterlist

[tojigasm]

so in love with old man bf butcher. like u make fun of him for being an old man and he gets all huffy and rolls his eyes at u AHHH

"Y'so deep," you sob, words cut off by a pitched wine rolling up the back of your throat at an angled thrust.

"Yeah?" Butcher practically sneers from above you and you can hear the smirk in his voice. His bangs stick to his forehead and veins of his forearms bulge with ever movement he makes.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut.

"Yeah."

"Still think this old man can't give ya' what ya' need?"

Truthfully, you hadn't expected your own words to be thrown back at you – despite your obnoxious claim that 'he was too old to keep it up' was the whole reason the two of you were in this situation to begin with. You both knew there was no serious threat behind your words, you just wanted to rile him up.

His words send a shock of pleasure to your core and you instantly reach down to circle your clit only to have your wrist snatched away.

"Nuh uh." His eyes lid and he cocks his head to the side some, thrusting at a deeper angle.

You shake your head.

"Please–"

"Nope." He quiets you with a shake of his head, "you wanted to piss me off so yr'gonna take what I give you since you can't find it in yr'self to just tell daddy when y'miss him."

There's a layer of soft to his tone that makes your eyes tear up and legs go numb.

A whimper falls from your lips and Butcher moves to throw your leg over to rest in the crook of his elbow, opening you up.

You gasp at the sensation and the older man chuckles above you.

"Thaaats it. Right there, huh."

"Yes, daddy. Yes." You nod, lashes strewn together by the wet of your tears.

He gives you a particularly rough thrust that has your head falling back against his pillows and your toes curling.

"Hey," he's quick to slip a hand under the nape of your neck, tilting your head back forwards, "Eyes open, keep 'em on me."

The stretch of his cock rubbing against your gummy walls has your eyes fluttering closed and your legs shaking in Butcher's hold.

Butcher taps the plush of your thigh and you open your eyes in response, doing your best to make him proud under the intensity of it all.

"C'mon, love, ya'got it – There she is," he soothes, meeting your swollen lips in a gentle kiss as he ruts into you to the hilt.

The intimacy paired with the intensity of it all has you shivering and sobbing into his mouth, grabbing at any part of him that you can in hopes of grounding yourself.

"Butcher, please–" your voice breaks into a sob when he hikes your other leg over his shoulder and sinks his length to the base inside of you.

"Oh shit." Butcher groans, dropping his head to look at the way your cunt swallows his length whole.

Eyes rolling back and cunt quivering pathetically, you let out a broken gasp.

"I can't, oh my god."

Butcher doesn't shed any more time before he's thrusting into you so deep and at such a rough angle that you're nearly seeing stars.

"M'gonna cum," you manage, biting weakly at the skin of his forearm.

"Yr'okay, cum fr'me, dollface."

[judyvan]

No Hands - Chris Sturniolo Fanfic

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Summary: After picking on Chris for being an extremely touchy person, the two of you make a bet. Will Chris be able to control himself long enough to win?

Warnings: MDNI/ smut/ chrisxfem!reader/ bf!chris/ unprotected p n v (use a fucking rubber)/ oral (fem receiving)/ touchy! chris x needy! reader/ competitive! chris/ use of "you"/couldn't tell ya how many words

A/N: Time for a Chris fanfic! I am still new to writing, so bear with me. The song loosely relates to the fic. Interactions are appreciated! Pls don't steal my shit. Thx!💋

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"Keep your filthy fucking paws off of me," Nick says pushing his brother, Chris, away from him. Chris had wrapped his arm around Nick's shoulders as the two of them spoke.

Your boyfriend Chris is probably the most physically affectionate person that you know. He is always eager to touch those he cares about the most. Whenever it comes to you, Chris loses all self-control. He needs to be touching you in some way at all times; like he'll go insane without the feeling of your body against his in some way, shape, or form.

"You have got to be the touchiest motherfucker that I know, seriously," Nick continues, dusting the remanence of Chris' hands off of his shoulders.

"Shut up," Chris chuckles, pushing Nick backwards.

Nick looks up shocked. His eyes move back and forth from yours and Matt's, Nick and Chris' other brother. You and Matt begin to laugh uncontrollably.

"Please tell me you two fucking see this. I mean this is absurd! Even when I ask him not to touch me, he touches me. It's crazy!" Nick states completely dumbfounded.

Chris is laughing along with you and Matt. He begins to walk towards Matt, reaching out to grab his arm as he loses control of his body.

"Don't bring that shit over here," Matt says out of breath, wiping the tears from his eyes, failing to reel himself in.

Chris looks at you through squinted eyes. You simply open your arms as he walks towards you. He knew that you wouldn't turn down his touch. Chris stands in front of you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head in the crook of your neck, laughing profusely into your skin.

"Can we please talk about this?!" Nick begins, still completely shocked. "I have never seen anything like this. Like he actually needs to be studied. He has always been "touchy feely", but ever since he got a girlfriend, it has multiplied by a gabillion." The room is still filled with the laughter of Chris and Matt, yours no longer producing noise.

"I mean seriously, I feel so bad for you. I can guarantee that you never get a fucking second to just breathe!" Nick exclaims.

You somehow manage to catch your breath and gain composure.

"It doesn't bother me. I've gotten used to it," you reply, rubbing your hand up and down Chris' back, attempting to calm him down.

Nick releases a scoff, letting you know that he doesn't believe you.

"Anyways, back to what I was saying," Nick begins shaking his head. He's looking at you, the only one stable enough to understand him. "Me and Matt are going to the store; do you want us to get you guys anything; besides some fucking giggle juice?"

"No, I think that's all we need," you reply, letting out a small laugh. Your whole body is now shaking at the intensity of Chris' reaction to Nick's last statement.

"Alright, we will be back in a few hours," Nick says, practically dragging Matt out of the door, him and Chris continuing to crack up.

The door shuts and Chris is eventually able to control himself. He pulls his head out of your neck and looks in your eyes, a huge grin spread across his face.

"Let's go to my room and find something to do until they get back," Chris says, his fingers running up and down your sides. You meet his lips with a short peck.

"I've got something in mind," you say smirking at him.

The two of you walk to Chris' room, holding hands of course. You have been trying to convince Chris to watch all of your favorite movies and now is the perfect time to start. Chris turns on the movie, "Five Feet Apart," and the two of you lay in his bed. As the film goes on, you can't help but think about what Nick was saying earlier. You are now very observant of how often Chris asks for a kiss or squeezes you tighter. When he gets up out of bed to grab a drink, you begin to laugh out loud at your own thoughts. Chris comes back into the room as you're laughing uncontrollably, trying to think of any moment he has spent any amount of time without physical contact.

"What the fuck is so funny?" Chris asks, taking a sip of his Pepsi as he stands in his doorway.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed to face your boyfriend.

"I was just thinking about what Nick was saying. I genuinely cannot think of a time that you went 5 minutes without touching me," you say.

Chris smirks and shakes his head. He begins to walk closer to you.

"Do you really think that I touch you a lot?" he asks, taking another drink.

"What do you mean think? You can't keep your hands off of me," you let out a small laugh.

"Yes, I can," Chris states in a cocky manner. "You touch me just as much as I touch you." He sits his drink down and gives you a smug look, stepping closer to you.

"Fine then. Let's make a deal. Until Nick and Matt get back, we have to keep our hands to ourselves. You can't touch me, and I won't touch you," you flick your brow up as you propose the idea to Chris.

"And why would I do that?" he says, laughing at your playfulness.

“To prove a point.”

Chris looks around the room for a second, thinking about what you said.

“How about we make this a little bit harder, since Nick and Matt aren't here,” he says, an arrogant look on his face. Chris bends down to whisper in your ear. “How about I do some things that make it harder for both of us to keep our hands off of each other.”

He then places an open-mouthed kiss to the spot right behind your ear. He tugs lightly on the bottom of your earlobe before pulling away. The combination of his warm breath, wet kiss, and teeth pulling on your skin, sends a feeling of arousal throughout your body. Chris looks at you with a shit-eating grin on his face, clearly able to see what he's doing to you.

"And why would I that?" you say, mocking him. Chris' eyes trail up and down your body, not missing a single curve.

"If I win, I get to touch you anywhere I want, wherever I want, anytime I want for a week, and you don't get to say shit to me about it." Chris runs his tongue across his bottom lip as he finishes his sentence. Just the thought of having any part of you at his fingertips whenever he pleased made him grow hard.

"And if I win," you start, noticing the tent forming at the crotch of his pants, " I get to wear as little as I want, whenever I want, and you can look all you want, but you can't touch, for a week." You smile up at Chris, seeing him picture you in the smallest article of clothing in his head.

"I think you've got yourself a deal," Chris says, moving even closer to you.

You lift off of the bed slightly, sliding your hands underneath of your ass, pressing them into the bed. Chris places his hands on the bed, one on either side of your hips. Your lips connect almost immediately, the two of you aching to touch now that you can't. The kiss is deep and passionate, the both of you long for more. You remove your hands from underneath you, pulling off the shirt and pants you're wearing. Chris' lips leave yours and meet your collarbone without hesitation. His hungry kisses across your skin deepen your desire for him to touch you. Chris has seen you in a bra and underwear plenty of times. Removing your clothes doesn't seem to faze him much.

"This is too easy," you say, a smile spreading across your face. Your hands reach behind your back and unbuckle your bra. You drop it on the floor, scoot away from Chris, and lay down on the bed.

Chris stands up completely. His eyes roam over your entire body, lingering on your breasts. Lacking a good poker face, Chris' expression confirmed that you just made things 10 times harder for him, in multiple different ways. He tugs at his bottom lip as he soaks in the amount of skin you have exposed.

"That's not fair," he laughs, his eyes touching every part of your figure that his hands should be feeling.

Chris removes all of his clothes, only leaving his boxers. Your eyes trail over his body. Your eyes widen when you see the bulge in his underwear. A small chuckle escapes Chris' lips at your face. His eyes never leave yours as he removes his underwear seductively, his entire body now on display.

"Now we're even," he says. Chris moves across the room and climbs on top of you, careful to keep both of his hands on the bed.

The air chills your uncovered body. Chris' lips only momentarily heating the areas that they touch. It isn't enough. You need his hands on you. Messy kisses are placed all around your frame as he travels down you. After reaching the waist band of your underwear, Chris moves directly to your inner thighs, devouring them. Your hips begin to buck upwards, wanting his mouth on the place covered by soaked fabric.

"Take them off," Chris says placing a single gentle peck to the front of your underwear.

You shake your head while biting your lip. You earnestly wanted his hands on you and refused to help him out any longer.

"You do it," you said, your heart racing.

"I'm not losing this bet," he responds placing a gentle kiss to either side of your pelvic bone. Suddenly, his tongue slides under the left side wing of your underwear. He pinches the material between his teeth and slides one side of your underwear down to your thigh. He slowly moves to the right side of your body and performs the same motion. His intention is to draw this process out as long as he can, hoping you'll cave. Tongue, bite, pull, switch. Tongue, bite, pull, switch. As soon as one side reaches your ankle, you begin to shake them off yourself, flinging them into the floor.

"Someone's impatient," Chris smiles. He knows you won't last much longer.

His head dives between your legs, his tongue licking up the need that is dripping from you. You let out a whimper, gripping onto the bed sheets, miserably trying to keep your hands busy. Chris' tongue splits you in half as his nose applies pressure to your clit. He begins to speed up his motion, his tongue now forming small circles around your most sensitive area. Your legs begin to squeeze inward, Chris' head between them acting as a magnet. You can't help but squirm, the intense feeling of pleasure taking over your body. All of your movement is making it difficult for Chris. He is unable hold your legs down, forcing them to stay put.

"If you don't stop moving, I'm going to have to stop," he says, momentarily pulling his lips off of you.

Your moans get louder as Chris proceeds to eat you out. Your legs begin to shake as you attempt to keep from moving, not wanting him to quit. His tongue slips inside of your opening. Your back arches off of the bed. He begins to eat you as sloppily as he can, wanting more than just his tongue to be inside of you. Your toes start to curl. He begins to shake his head back and forth, his tongue flicking in all directions, only stopping to suck on your ball of nerves. You cling onto the sheets for dear life. You're starting to get close. Don't do it. Your hands lose their hold on the bedsheets and find themselves in Chris' hair as you practically levitate off of the bed.

"Oh fuck!" you scream, on the edge of release.

Chris pulls away from you. You did touch him after all. Suddenly his eyes meet yours from in between your legs. His thumb brushes over his lips, gathering all of your remnants before sucking them off of his skin.

"I win," he says with a cocky smirk.

In a swift motion, Chris grabs your leg and throws it over his shoulder, plunging himself inside of you, burying his dick as deep in your walls as possible. As he thrusts in and out of you frantically, his hands touch every part of your body, making up for lost time. The two of you moan loudly at the feeling of him touching you inside and out. It doesn't take long before your stomach clenches and you reach your orgasm, Chris' warm cum coating your insides at the same time. As the two of you ride out your high, your hands continue to feel every part of each other. Chris slumps on top of you, wrapping his arms around you, and burying his face in your chest. Your arms embrace him, pulling him closer. After a few moments of relishing the feeling of you both on top of one another, Chris leaves your body to grab a towel and pull on his clothes. As he cleans you up, he makes sure to touch you in every way he can. He throws the towel on the floor and grabs your clothes, insisting on dressing you as well. He starts with your underwear and pants, wanting to see you topless as long as possible. Before putting your bra back on, he takes your breasts in both of his hands and squeezes, kissing you tenderly.

"You better get used to that," he says, pulling away from your mouth and sliding your bra on. "I've got a whole 7 days to do that whenever I want."

For the next week, Chris took as much advantage of his prize as possible. When meeting up with his family he would hug you as long and hard as he could. When around his brothers at home, he would palm your ass with both hands, squeezing roughly and kissing you with passion. Even when hanging out in public settings with your friend group, you would find at least one of his hands wandering from your thigh and meeting the sweet spot in between your legs.

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

To see how Chris takes advantage of him reward in more detail, click here to read: 7 Days (“No Hands” Extension)

[hungharrington]

So I was reading your post about how Steve takes pride in having a scratched up back and it got me thinking about how he’d react to his girl being physically unable to stand/walk the morning after. Like he’d be so smug for at least a week all like >:) hehehe I did that >:). And the entire day he’d be all smirky like ‘does my baby need to be carried’ and then you tell him he’s banned from sex for a week lol.

FJDHSHSHS this ask made me actually cackle it was so golden thank u so much for sending it to me <3 it’s more goof than smut <3

There’s an ache between your thighs and you know exactly where you got it.

Well, you know precisely how you got it— from the culprit currently dozing beside you in early morning light. 

You have to blink heavily as you come to, drawn out of a deep, deep sleep by the morning dawn. It’s light enough outside for the room to have a soft glow. The curtains are still drawn and the sheets are fresh, though after last night, perhaps they’ll need changing again.

Shifting about to get comfortable, you feel that familiar tenderness between your legs — it’s a soreness that you only get from particularly passionate night.

You peek to the side, searching for your love.

Steve’s hair is sticking up at all angles, mussed up, and his mouth is open, snuffly snores getting pressed into his pillow.

You can’t see that with his back to you, but you can see that canvas of tan skin and moles.

And scratches. Lots and lots of scratches, pink against his skin and raised in some places. An undeniable mark of a good time.

At the sight, some flusters and something preens in you. It stems from something possessive, a purr hiding under your skin at the knowledge you’ll both be feeling little reminders this morning.

You shuffle closer and wake him with a kiss on the back of his neck.

Like your lips stir him, Steve gives a sleepy groan in response, making you smile. You kiss him again, this time further up along his shoulder, and then give him an affectionate little bite. Barely a nibble.

“Mm, hey,” Steve says, voice faux-stern and coated in sleep. It’s gravelly enough to make you consider a round two. You watch over his shoulder as his eyelashes scrunch open. “What’re doin’ back there?”

You soothe your tiny bite-mark with another kiss and push yourself up, sheets pooling around your waist. As much as you’d love to doze off in Steve’s arms all morning, there’s things on your to-do list.

“Nothing of consequence,” you say, looking down at Steve with a loving smile. You trace across between the moles of his back with an idle finger, until he rolls over toward you, forcing you to stop.

“Mhm,” He hums. His hazel eyes are warm like the morning, like the bed, like the softness between you.

“I think that means nothing important— to which I have to protest,” He captures your wandering hand and kisses it gently, eyes fixed on you. “Massively.” Another kiss. “Majorly. Everything you do is important.”

The next kiss is so feathersoft, on the delicate skin on the inside of your wrist, that your laugh is tickled out of you. Worming your hand out of his hold, you grin, even as you roll your eyes.

“Suck up.”

Steve laughs, his voice still rougher than usual. He wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Nuh uh.”

The warmth of his gaze glazes over you as you turn and shuffle to your edge of the bed, pushing on your hands to get to your feet.

It takes about half a second before the ache in your core sends out a hot throb of pain and pleasure, a very imaginable reminder of just how Steve had drilled the ache into you a mere few hours ago.

You push through it and stand, but your legs shake noticeably.

“Oho, baby,” Steve coos, noticing immediately. You turn to glare at him over your shoulder and find he’s perked up, his head held up in his hand. He looks divine — and far, far too happy about the quake in your legs.

“Rough night?”

“Shut up,” You say with no bite. “Like it isn’t your damn fault.”

Steve laughs, “That’s exactly why I’m smirking, honey.”

You take a step and your legs feel no less like jelly, a little bend in your knees you have to correct quickly.

The warm ache pulses and you can only think of—Steve pushing your thigh up against your chest, grinding his hips into you, each deep thrust pulling these desperate sounds from you as he lost himself in you—

You take another step and something buckles, making you stumble for a moment. Your face flames with heat.

“Woah, you alright?” There’s a tint of concern to Steve’s voice as he properly sits up in the bed and scoots over to sit closer to your side. Reaching out, he tenderly rubs your lower back, his brows pinched together as he checks you over.

“I’m okay,” You say over your shoulder to appease his genuine worry. Then you lean back into his hand with a dramatic huff, rolling your eyes again. “No thanks to you.”

“Mm, I fucked you good,” Steve hums casually, leaning forward to press a kiss to the hip he can reach. There’s a smugness to his tone that you actually can’t dispute because he’s absolutely correct.

“Does baby need to be carried?” He says, enjoying himself far too much.

You glare down at him, letting him simmer in his smugness for just a moment. Your hand reaches down, tangling in his hair, and you smile like you’re about to fall into his arms and say oh yes baby, please.

“I think,” You begin, casting your gaze to the ceiling as you think. “Mm, no sex for a week for that comment.”

Steve’s mouth pops open, an aghast expression on his face. “Baby!”

You wander backward, away from his wandering hand, focusing on making sure your legs keep you upright. There’s a goading grin on your face.

“You heard me.”

“That’s- you— I’m being punished for being good at my job!”

Your head tilts back in laughter as you reach the doorway. You eye him with a knowing smirk, shaking your head softly. “That’s not why you’re being punished and you know why…”

As you turn, heading for the kitchen, you don’t doubt the pout on Steve’s lips.

[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER THREE: LOVE'S DREAM

violet; 1,823 words; fluff, drama, smau-intermission, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, bff!mel, platonic gym soulmates!vijayce, vander doing his vander thing, fake dating, no "y/n"

summary: in which mel and jayce are trying their best to be supportive best friends.

a/n: this is a super short chapter compared to the others, i know buT ! we have some cute lil text interactions so i hope u guys enjoy those ;) FIRST DATE coming up next chapter so this is just setting up the stage for that ! <3

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ “— YOU HAVE TO GET LOWER in that sit spin — and the footwork after your Triple Sal needs work —”

You nod, frowning at the tiny little scribblings in Amara's notebook as you fidget with your gloves.

Amara sighs, reaching out to cup your cheek, “Speak to me, sweet girl. You’ve been so distracted.”

You purse your lips, blinking at her as the cold presses against your back, ever the reassuring friend.

“It’s nothing — I just… I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

Amara’s sharp eyes flicker over your face, and her lips thin into a terse line as you pull away, reaching for your water bottle.

“Hm. Well, let me know if you need anything prescribed — I know you don’t like them but sometimes, it really does help —”

“I’ll be fine, Amara. Let’s — let’s go through it again from the top.”

You push away from the barricade, your eyes catching on the hockey team as they file in from the doors, joking and jostling, huge sports bags slung across their shoulders.

The music starts, slow and sparkling, the piano notes working up in arpeggios, and through the fogged up plastic, your eyes meet Vi’s for a second before you slip into the routine.

On the other side, Vi’s breath catches as she watches you flow through the opening steps of your program. On the speakers, the piano music builds into a rising crescendo — someone behind her bumps her to get her moving again, and she stumbles forward, her eyes still caught on you as she lets the tide of her teammates carry her towards the lockers, her neck on a swivel as you fly across the ice.

“Good, isn’t she?”

Vi jumps at the sound of Vander’s voice, and he grins, watching her watch you with a knowing sort of smirk before his expression softens and he reaches out to pat her shoulder.

“So what’s this I hear about you dating Amara’s top girl?”

Vi balks, “I — uh — it’s —”

Vander lets out a booming laugh, “’S alright, you’ve always liked the pretty, talented ones, eh?” he ruffles her hair and she pushes at his large hand.

“Shut up,” Vi murmurs, rolling her shoulders as she turns back to watch you.

The music swells around you, gathering like sunlight, and you, buoyed up by the sheer magnetism of it all, spinning through the air in a flawless jump, landing with a smooth hiss of blades on ice. Your body lengthens as the music slows, and Vi finds herself once more gasping for a breath she doesn’t remember holding.

“The song’s nice,” she says, watching as you work through a complicated series of steps and spins, Amara tapping her hand against the barricade to each of your changes of edge. Vi feels her heart threading up her throat as Vander chuckles.

“It’s called Liebestraum. Know what it means?” He glances at her.

Vi shakes her head, not daring to take her eyes from you as you swirl into a spin so fast you’re nothing more than a blur of thin limbs and wispy hair. She can taste her heartbeat pulsing on her tongue as you spiral out of the spin, your cheeks red as you work through the final few steps of the routine and the music trails off into silence.

Your lashes flicker and again, your eyes find hers through the paneled plastic.

“Love’s dream,” Vander says, nudging her lightly before turning to herd the rest of the hockey team towards the lockers, leaving Vi standing there, dizzy as she stares at you and you stare right back.

On the ice, you’re chest is burning, your head spinning as you tear your eyes away from Vi and skate back towards Amara, who’s smiling just wide enough for you to know she’s pleased.

“Excellent,” she says, snapping her little notebook shut, her wine-red lips pressing in triumph, “good — whatever you were picturing then, darling, you’d best keep a hold on it. Because that’s what’ll get you to Olympics gold, my dear.”

You give her a faint nod, your heart thumping somewhere near your jugular as you chance a glance back at where Vi was standing.

But, she was already gone.

You waltz out of the rink, humming to yourself. A second later, a pair of arms loops through yours, and you’re accosted by the scent of lavender perfume.

“What’s got you in such a good mood, hm?” Mel asks as the pair of you turn into the parking lot, bracing yourselves against the mid-autumn chill.

“It was a good practice,” you say, not quite able to keep the skip out of your step as the pair of you make your way towards your car, pulling open the back door to toss your skating things inside.

“Yeah, so I saw,” Mel says, her voice low as she slips into the passenger’s seat, “Amara was nearly floating when you got off the ice.”

You smile, starting the engine, letting out a sigh of relief as warm air blasts out of the vents.

“So. Violet.”

You slam on your break halfway through pulling out of the parking space, sending the pair of you jolting in your seats, Mel yelping as her torso jerks forward.

“S-sorry —”

“What on earth was that?”

“Nothing!” you insist, easing your foot off the break and pulling out of the space to turn towards the main street. “You just… caught me off guard.”

Mel folds her arms, “Don’t waste your breath lying to me, darling.”

You sigh, pausing at stop sign before turning right onto campus.

“Fine. What about Violet?”

Mel glances at you, “Have you… spoken to her at all?”

“Yeah. A couple times.”

“And?”

“And, what?”

Mel scoffs, “Have you guys —” she motions vaguely with her fingers, “worked anything out?”

“We —” you lick your lips, “we’re going on a date this weekend.”

“A date? Are you — are you sure this is a good idea?”

You pull the car into student parking and sigh, switching off the engine.

“Mel, you were the one that set us up in the first place!”

“I — I just thought it’d be nice for you to get a little action, that’s all — I didn’t think you’d go and land yourself in a situationship with the hockey team’s most infamous bleeding heart!”

You gape at her for a solid three seconds before groaning and slumping back in your seat, tugging off your seatbelt.

“Yeah well — what’s done is done and —” you run a hand down your face, frowning at your phone screen as another text from Vi pops up on your notifications.

Mel has the base decency not to peer over your shoulder, though you don’t miss the way her eyes flash towards it.

“Fine,” Mel concedes, “where’re you going for this date, then?”

You shove your phone into your school bag and grab a scarf from the back seat.

“The boozy cupcake place.”

“Oh! That’s a good one. Me and Jayce went there a lot in the beginning —”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, grinning as the pair of you duck out of the car, the door slamming closed behind you.

The wind picks up and you both make for the main building, heads bent.

“Just —” Mel turns to you as the pair of you part ways at the foot of the stairs leading up to your separate lecture halls, her eyes flickering over your face, “be careful, alright? And…” her smile is warm as she reaches out to tap your cheek, “if she ever does anything to hurt you… you let Jayce and I know, hm?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes, “Thanks, Mel.”

She pulls you in for a quick hug before you turn down the hallway towards the Stats lecture hall, a tingling warmth spreading through your chest all the way out to your fingertips.

“— ninety-seven, ninety-eight — c’mon Lanes, I know you got a few more in you — ninety-nine — one-hundo —”

Vi huffs, grunting as she readjusts her grip on the pullup bars and hoists herself up again, her arms burning as she holds it for a three count before dropping down with a loud exhale.

“I thought we were takin’ it easy today, pretty boy.”

Jayce chuckles, lying back on the bench press even as Vi hovers over the bar, staring down at him.

“No such thing as easy on a pump day,” he says, even as Vi rolls her eyes, settling in to watch him grip the bar and push it off the rack with a grunt.

“S-so —” Jayce says, his voice slightly strained as he works through his sets, “how’ve things been going with —” he cuts off as he sucks in a breath and holds it.

“With little miss Olympics?” Vi supplies.

Jayce makes a grunting noise.

“We’re going on a date this weekend.”

Jayce nearly chokes as his grip slips on the bar and Vi’s hands shoot out to catch hold of it before it can crush his trachea.

“What? Where’re you taking her? Does Mel know?”

Vi snorts, “Probably, since Mel’s like her self-assigned den mother — uh, this… boozy cupcake place?” Vi frowns as she grabs her phone to try and pull it up.

“Oh! I know that place — on Centre street — Mel and I used to go there a lot when we started dating. The cupcakes are huge though.”

Vi stares, her thumb hovering over her phone screen as she stares at Jayce. Then, she breaks into a soft, exasperated laugh.

“Yeah… she said she’d been meaning to go but… she didn’t have anyone to share the cupcakes with.”

Jayce opens his mouth, but he pauses as Vi drops her eyes back to her phone, a faint smile playing at her lips as she scrolls through something on her screen.

“Careful there, Lanes,” Jayce says, reaching out to nudge her with a leg, “you’re starting to sound a little lovesick.”

“We haven’t even gone on a real date,” Vi says, looking up sharply.

Jayce nods, putting a solemn hand on her shoulder, “Yeah, I know.”

Vi’s mouth drops open as she gapes at him for a second before slamming her mouth shut again with a groan.

Jayce grins, “Hey, look on the bright side — at least half the campus is convinced you guys’ve been official for weeks. So even if someone does see you simping, it’s not that weird, right?”

“You better watch yourself, Talis. Next time, I’ll just let that bar drop on your fuckin’ throat,” Vi says, but she’s grinning as Jayce lays back down to start a new set.

taglist: @traiitorjoe@rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly@drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22@lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless@armins-slvt@lin-elizabeth @ryescapades @kingkamk @princesssmars @chobssss @mybelovedvi @bouqette @noietta @brooks-lin @ally-all-around @bunnyrose01 @stumpystump @lia-winther @folklore13lover @sawaagyapong @sevikas-whore @sunflowerwinds @taurtel @tourmalinetyrone @oidloid @marcylated @krisziepowlet @vikaswife @pa-co @devotedlyelectronicartisan @aliluvszs @elliecoochieeater

[urno1luv]

request: g!p yunjin x subby bratty 6th member reader + i kinda made you guys hate each other in this... what's better than enemies to lovers heh.. let me know if i missed something anon!!

i was gooning while writing this... i thought i should let yall know🥹

cw: degradation (bitch, slut), u give unnie a bj then she fucks you, she slaps you, she bites your shoulder wc: 2.06k

You’re halfway onto the dorm kitchen counter when Yunjin walks in.

Of courseeee, of course it’s her and she has to walk in that exact moment.

You hear the sigh before she even speaks, and you know exactly what face she’s making without turning around, that pinched expression, all jaw tension and narrowed eyes, like she’s two seconds away from filing a formal complaint to management. “You’re seriously doing this again?”

You hum, unbothered, letting your legs dangle off the edge. “Good evening to you too, unnie.”

“I’m not in the mood, Y/n.”

“You never are. That’s part of your charm.”

Yunjin walks past you, snatches a protein shake out of the fridge, and shuts the door with a little more force than necessary. You catch the way her shoulder tenses, and for some reason, it makes you smile.

“I need the almond milk,” you say sweetly.

She doesn’t even look at you. “Use your legs.”

“I’m short.”

“Well isn't that tragic.”

You tilt your head, faking innocence. “But you’re so tall and sooooo helpful!! Wouldn’t it just make your day to do something nice for your teammate?”

She finally turns then, slow, deliberate, and levels you with that look. That sharp, unimpressed, I’m this close to drop-kicking you look.

“Why do you always start with me?” she asks, tone flat.

“Because it’s fun.”

Yunjin laughs. It’s humorless, barely more than an exhale. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet, here you are, still talking to me.”

There’s a pause, just a second too long, where neither of you says anything. The air feels tight and charged, definitely not in a good way, not in a soft, flirty way either. It’s sharp, bristling.

You hop off the counter slowly, closing the gap between you with deliberate steps. Close enough that you can see the twitch in her jaw. “You’re not gonna get rid of me by pretending to hate me, y’know.”

She scoffs. “I’m not pretending.”

You smile, too wide to be sincere. “Sure, unnie.”

────୨ৎ────

You’ve been in LE SSERAFIM for just nearly a year, a late addition to the tight knit group, and already half the fandom thinks you and Yunjin want to kill each other.

The other half thinks you’re secretly hooking up behind closed doors.

You’re not, (unfortunately for the two of you.)

The reality is more complicated. She’s sharp, you’re sharp. She hates how loud you are, you hate how self-righteous she is. You poke, she snaps. It’s a cycle, an annoying routine.

It’s also weirdly addictive.

She’s the only one who doesn’t fold when you start acting up. The others laugh you off or play along. Yunjin just glares and tells you to shut up, and well, you kind of like it.

Not in a nice way… more in a grab her face mid-argument and see if she flinches kind of way.

────୨ৎ────

During practice, you “accidentally” switch your water bottle with hers.

She doesn’t notice until she takes a sip and gags, and you make a stank face while turned away because why is she gagging…?!

“Seriously, Y/n?” she glares.

“Oh no,” you deadpan. “Was that my bottle?”

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “You’re disgusting.”

You smile with teeth, cackling. “Want another sip, unnie?”

Chaewon calls a five-minute break before someone gets slapped.

────୨ৎ────

Later, after everyone’s gone quiet in the dorm, you creep into the kitchen again. It's 1:23 a.m. You’re not even hungry. You just like the silence.

Well, until she walks in, of course. Again.

“Let me guess,” you say, not even looking at her. “You sensed I was having a peaceful moment and came to ruin it.”

Yunjin doesn’t rise to the bait. Just grabs a glass and fills it from the sink.

“You’ve got issues,” she mutters.

You lean against the counter, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. “Takes one to know one, unnie.”

“You think everything’s a game.”

You push off the counter, slowly approaching her. “And you hate that you can’t stop playing.”

She turns toward you then. Her eyes are dark, unreadable. There’s a pause, again, that silence that stretches just a little too long.

“You’re lucky you’re in the group,” she says, voice low. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t deal with you.”

You raise a brow. “Funny. You deal with me an awful lot for someone who supposedly can’t stand me.”

Her jaw clenches. “You think I enjoy this?”

“I think you enjoy being mad at me,” you murmur, stepping just close enough that your shoulder brushes hers. “Feels better than admitting you don’t know what to do with me.”

Yunjin holds your gaze. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. “Don’t flatter yourself, Y/n,” she says coldly. And yet, she doesn’t move away.

You stare at each other in the dark kitchen for another beat, both too stubborn to look away first.

Eventually, you smile again, slow, dangerous smile. “Goodnight, unnie.”

You brush past her on your way out, deliberately letting your hand graze her waist as you go, leaving her quiet. She doesn’t say a word.

But you know she won’t stop thinking about it, so you decide to trigger her one last time, and you shouldn't have done that (you should’ve done it earlier if you knew she was gonna snap the way she did).

────୨ৎ────

You plan something fun, something that you believe Yunjin would get angry at. You lean just a little too close to the male stylist, laughing at some dumb joke he made, placing a hand on his arm as you giggle like you don’t see the way Yunjin is watching you from across the dressing room.

You definitely see it, heat rising in your lower stomach at the way she’s staring at you.

She’s pretending to scroll on her phone, one leg crossed over the other, but you know her too well now. That sharp flick of her eyes. The way her fingers are drumming on the armrest like she’s holding herself back from throwing the nearest object. Her jaw clenched so hard it’s practically carved from stone.

You press your tongue into your cheek to hide your grin.

A little more. Just a little more, and she would snap. You ask the stylist to fix your shirt, practically pushing your tits in his face when—

“Y/n,” she snaps, sharp as glass. You glance over innocently. “Yes, unnie?”

“Get over here.”

The tone makes the stylist step away like he’s just been caught doing something illegal. You take your time walking over, all slow steps and sugar-sweet smiles, because if she’s gonna yell, you at least want to earn it.

“What’s up?” you ask, blinking like you didn’t just flirt with someone in her line of sight for five minutes straight.

Yunjin stands. It's like her anger gave her another few inches, because she looked taller (and hotter). And right now? Pissed.

She grabs your wrist and yanks you down the hallway, past stylists and makeup artists and assistants who all look away politely, as if they didn’t just witness the sexual equivalent of a bomb ticking.

“Yunjin,” you sing under your breath, “people are gonna think we’re sneaking off to make out.”

She doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t have to, because the look in her eyes is louder than anything she could possibly say.

She pulls you into an empty dressing room and shuts the door with a slam. You have exactly two seconds to say something before she’s pushing you up against the wall, both hands braced on either side of your head.

The tension doesn’t crack. It shatters.

“Y/n? Really? Are you trying to piss me off?” she demands, voice low, shaking with something just under the surface.

You blink up at her, lips twitching. “Mmm. Maybe.”

Her eyes narrow. “You think it’s funny?”

“I think you being this mad over a stylist fixing my clothes and doing HIS JOB… is very funny.”

Her hands slam the wall. You flinch, but not in fear, but in thrill. “You don’t get it,” she says, voice rough. “You never get it.”

“Then explain it to me.” Yunjin stares you down, chest rising and falling too fast. Her hand moves, cups your jaw, roughly, like she’s thinking about shaking you. Or maybe kissing you. Or both.

“You walk around like everyone wants you,” she hisses. “You act like nothing touches you. Like none of this means anything.”

You smirk. “And yet here you are, pressed up against me, heavily breathing like you want to eat me or something.”

“I hate you, Y/n,” she spits, and you only laugh at that comment. “Liar.”

She freezes. You lean up, closing the last inch of space between you. Your voice drops to a whisper.

“So this is what it takes to make you touch me?” Her hand tightens on your jaw. “Yunjin—” And then she’s kissing you, hardly, messily and angrily.

It’s not romantic, it's not gentle. It’s the kind of kiss you’ve both been too proud to admit you wanted, all teeth and heat and months of shoved-down feelings exploding at once.

You gasp against her mouth, and she uses it to slide her tongue against yours like she’s punishing you for every smug smile, every flirtatious eye-roll, every whispered “unnie” that drove her insane.

“Get on your knees,” Yunjin commands. “Since your attitude is so fucking awful, you won't be able to walk straight for a week.”

She unzips her jeans while standing in front of you, her dick hard and throbbing. “Open wide,” she commands. You open your mouth, and she pushes your head down onto her shaft. She grabs your hair, holding you in place as she thrusts into your mouth.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” Yunjin groans. She pulls your head down further, fucking your throat. You gag and choke, saliva mixed with precum running down the side of your neck, but she doesn't let up. “That’s it, take it all,” she moans, “you were made for my cock.”

She pulls out and slaps your face hard. “Now it's your turn,” she says, running a hand through her hair. You got up, and Yunjin pushed you onto your tummy over the table, kicking your legs open.

You look up at her, tears running down the side of your face, squealing when she pushes her knee into your pussy, grinding against it, before replacing the sensation with her fingers. “Yunjin… a-ahh… unnie…”

The unnie in question only laughs, grabbing your hair and yanking your head back, to watch you as she fucked her fingers into you, dick getting harder as your moans spilled out of your mouth uncontrollably.

“You're such a dirty slut,” she said into your ear, her breath hitting you. “If you wanted to fuck me, you couldve just asked instead of trying to constantly make my life hell.”

Yunjin pushes your face into the dressing table, her dick rubbing against your ass. “I'm going to ruin your tight little pussy,” she groaned. “You're mine now.”

She thrusts into you from behind, her hips slapping against your ass. “Fuck, you're so tight,” she groans. “I could fuck you all day.” She pulls your hair harder, using it as a handle to fuck you deeper. “Take it, you little slut. Take my cock.”

Her hand reaches around to massage your clit roughly, the other hand leaving your hair to squeeze your nipple. The combined feelings made you throw your head back, arching into Yunjin further. “Cum for me, Y/n,” your older member gasps. “I want to… hah, feel you… fuck..” her thrusts are faster now, harder, and more sloppy. She leaned in closer to bite your shoulder, muffling her moans. “Now, bitch, cum now.”

You can't hold back any longer. You cum hard, your pussy clenching around her shaft. Yunjin follows soon after, emptying herself inside you. She pulls out and leans down, her lips meeting yours hungrily.

You break the kiss first, barely, forehead against hers, breathless and smiling. “Still hate me?” you whisper breathlessly, and “innocently”.

“Don’t push it,” she mutters. You reach for her hand and press it flat against your chest. “Too late.”

Yunjin curses under her breath, then pulls you in again, this time, slower.

────୨ৎ────

later that night, in your shared notes app draft:

> things that get yunjin to kiss/fuck you:

being a brat

talking to literally any man

calling her unnie in that voice

letting her lose control.

add more later (🤭)

[luveline]

hiya jadey! A hotchner!reader x spencer request for you <3 Maybe Spencer comes home a little tense/snappy from a case and reader misinterprets it as anger towards her so she starts clesning and catering to what she thinks Spencer needs so he isn’t angry at her anymore? (even thought he never was.)

She sort of regresses into what she did when her adoptive parents weren’t pleased with her :(

love you love you love you superstar!

i love u <3 | fem, 1k

cw past emotional abuse

The door to Spencer’s apartment closes with a distinct clunk. Certainly shut too hard. 

It sends a horrible feeling deep into the very pit of your stomach. Like you could cry, then and there. You frown at the odd feeling and stand to shake it off. 

Spencer’s home. 

“Hey,” you say, calling without seeing him, making your way into the living room from his kitchen to find him at the door. 

His bag looks heavier than usual on a slouched shoulder, his hair puffy. He must’ve showered before they flew back into Virginia and air-dried his short curls. He drops his bag on the floor, scrubbing his face, nose and eyes screwed up tightly as his glasses push up to his forehead.

“You okay?” you ask.

His face flickers. “Fine.” 

It’s not the greeting you’d wanted. Maybe you’re egotistical or something but you’d at least expected a hug. He’s the one who invited you over, surely he wants to see you?

The queasy feeling worsens. 

You give him a little kiss on the cheek to test the waters. “Missed you.” 

“Yeah, I missed you too.” 

You aren’t convinced. Spencer rubs his face again, trudging to the couch to lay down. 

You send yourself into a tailspin. Looking around the apartment, you can see why he’s unhappy. You left your cup on the coffee table, your handbag on the armrest, there’s so much to clean up and put away. 

His silence means you did something wrong. 

He asked you to be there. He left you the key. But maybe he didn’t really want you there after all. 

When you were younger, you’d get home from school, and a half hour later your father’s car would park in the driveway. You’d get this feeling, then, a tenseness, not necessarily fear but anticipation. Some days it wouldn’t matter, and most days he’d come through the door like a animal to be coaxed into softness. You’d convince him to be angry at something else. Enable his fury, agree with every word he said. 

Smiling, calmed, he’d walk into a spotless kitchen and find a pan soaking in the sink. I just wish you’d have some fucking consideration, he’d say. Or, Really? Or he’d sigh like he couldn’t believe it and slam a cabinet door. 

Nothing was right. You weren’t worth any patience.

“Dove?” 

You peek around the doorway again, your tidying having taken you to the kitchen to wash your cup. “Yeah?” you say. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Just– just cleaning up.” 

“It’s fine. It’s clean, don’t worry about it.” He frowns at you. “Are you okay?” 

“‘Course.” 

His frown deepens. Spencer only ever frowns when he’s confused. When he’s upset he tends to press his lips together in an accidental pout, and when he’s angry, he’s stony. Spencer’s good at profiling because it’s his job. You learned it at home. Seeing anger in things most of all. 

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” you ask, wiping your hands on your shirt. “Sorry, I should’ve asked how the case was. It was tough, right? It– I mean, they’re all tough.” You smile as you sit on the couch beside him, one leg tucked underneath you. 

He shakes his head. “I’ve missed something. I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong.” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“You’re not acting like yourself.” 

“Sorry.” You wince. “I thought you were having a bad day?” 

“I am. Or, I was.”

Spencer holds out his hand. When you take it, he pulls you toward him with the care of someone who knows what it’s like to be startled, shuffling toward one another to be knee to knee. He holds your arm like it’s all of you, pressing you to his chest. 

For a while, you just sit there. Quiet, almost silent, the apartment rests around you. Spencer frowns at your hand as he draws lines up and down your arm, but slowly his frown softens, and you realise your stress has faded with it. Spencer isn’t angry. And if he were, it’s not with you. 

“Sorry I shut the door hard when I came in,” he says. 

You feel caught. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. Today was really bad, I got into it with Emily and the case… I don’t know. But coming home to you…” 

Spencer curls your fingers over his hand and presses them to the underside of his chin. 

“Thank you for coming over,” he says. “Did you eat?” 

You can’t help smiling, turning your hand slowly to cup his cheek, to hold him still. “I was waiting for you.” 

“Well, you decide and I’ll go pick it up.” 

“I can’t come with you?” 

“Do you want to?” He turns into your touch, glasses pushed against his eye, his lashes on the lense. 

You take back your hand. “Sure.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, we’ll walk. It’ll be nice, the weather’s not too bad.” 

“You feel okay?” he asks. 

“Worried about me?” 

“What your brother might do to me,” he says, nodding into the joke. Then he cracks just as quickly and tugs you in to hug you sideways. “Worried about how I made you feel.” 

It wasn’t Spencer’s fault, but you don’t want to talk about it anymore. You push up taller than him to encircle his head and neck, pressing your nose into the soft crop of his hair. He squeezes the small of your back with similar gusto. “Got my wires crossed,” you mumble. 

”Want me to uncross them?” 

You say, Please, and Spencer pushes you away from him to put your arms firmly on the right sides of you, uncrossing you, and kissing you on the nose. 

[paucubarsisimp]

heyy since kimi got his first podium, maybe you could write kimi celebrating with reader?? maybe it could be in private(in hotel room or driver room) after everything while the adrenaline and excitement are still there. just some fluff, lots of hugs and kisses, and overall reader being very proud.

btww I love ur fics and how u write them!!🫶

podium, baby!

pairing: kimi antonelli x reader

summary: in which you and kimi celebrate his first podium together

warnings: none!

a/n: tysm angel!! i hope you like this one too <33

the car comes to a stop in parc fermé, and for a second, it’s like kimi doesn’t move. just sits there, hands still tight around the wheel, the world muffled by the sound of his own breath and the thudding of his heart in his chest. everything’s loud — the crowd, the team on the radio, his pulse — but somehow it all fades the moment the engine shuts off.

he just did it. first formula 1 podium. p3. in canada.

a marshal waves him on, and he climbs out of the cockpit, pulling off his gloves and helmet with shaking hands. the cameras are already there, the flashes, the cheers — but his eyes are searching for something else.

and then he sees you. just beyond the barrier. pressed up against the fence, grinning so wide he’s almost sure his heart might give out entirely.

he doesn’t think. he doesn’t even register the team patting him on the back or calling his name.

he just moves — ducks under the barrier, crosses the distance in seconds.

you barely have time to speak before he’s there, arms around your waist, pulling you in like he might lose you if he waits another second.

and then he kisses you.

hard. fast. full of everything — the laps, the fight, the disbelief, the relief. it’s not a careful kiss, not a soft one. it’s raw and real and entirely in the moment. his hands are still trembling, your heart’s racing against his chest, and when you pull back to breathe, he’s looking at you like you hung the stars.

“you did it,” you whisper, hands on either side of his face.

he laughs — a breathless, giddy sound. “i couldn’t think of anything else but getting out of the car and finding you.”

you press your forehead to his. “i’m so proud of you, kimi.”

he kisses you again, quick and smiling this time, before the crew finally drags him away for the podium.

the door clicks shut behind him. the hallway noise fades, and suddenly it’s just you and kimi in the quiet hotel room. stillness after the chaos. champagne, cheers, cameras. now this.

he stands there for a second, like he doesn’t quite know what to do next — like his body’s still running on race mode. his fireproof undershirt clings to him, the sleeves of his race suit hanging around his waist. his curls are messy, eyes wide, face a little dazed.

you smile. “you gonna come over here or just stand there looking like you can’t believe it?”

he blinks, and then you’re in his arms before either of you can say anything else. he holds you like he needs to feel that you’re real, too. your feet lift off the floor slightly as his arms wrap tight around you. his breath is warm against your shoulder.

“p3,” you whisper, grinning against his neck. “kimi, you actually did it.”

he laughs — soft and breathy, like he hasn’t quite processed it yet. “i don’t even know how.”

you lean back just enough to see his face. his eyes are shining, cheeks still a little flushed. you brush a bit of hair away from his forehead and kiss the spot gently.

“because you’re good,” you say. “because you drove your heart out.”

he kisses you before he can reply. a little messy, a little desperate — all adrenaline and emotion and warmth. his hands slide into your hair, then down to your waist, and you melt into him like you were waiting all day for this.

“i wanted you there so bad,” he mumbles against your lips. “when i was on the podium. all i could think about was getting back here. to you.”

“i was screaming so loud,” you say, laughing a little. “i think half the grandstand heard me.”

he smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like everything in the world is right. “i think i heard you.”

you tug him over to the bed and sit down, pulling him with you. he lets out a sigh as he drops onto the mattress, head falling to your shoulder. his hand finds yours, fingers weaving together like it’s second nature.

“my legs are still shaking,” he murmurs.

“you just drove the race of your life. i think you’re allowed to shake a little.”

“my knees almost gave out when they handed me the trophy.”

you laugh. “you looked cool, though. i swear. all serious and focused.”

“i was trying not to cry.”

you look over at him. “did you?”

he shrugs, but there’s the tiniest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “maybe a little.”

you lean in and kiss his temple. “you deserve every bit of this.”

he turns to look at you, like he’s trying to take in your whole face at once. “i don’t think any of it would’ve felt the same without you.”

you squeeze his hand. “kimi antonelli, i’m so stupidly proud of you.”

“you always say that.”

“and i’ll keep saying it. every time you do something insane like this.”

he kisses you again — slower this time. you feel the weight of the day in it, but also the weightlessness. like he’s still floating, still not quite believing it.

“everyone’s calling you the next big thing already,” you say when you pull away. “but to me you’ll always be just… kimi.”

“your kimi,” he says quietly.

you nod. “my kimi.”

he lets out a breath and rests his forehead against yours. “can we stay like this forever?”

you smile. “at least for tonight.”

later, after a shower (with you sitting on the counter making fun of his champagne-slick hair), and after he changes into soft sweats and one of those old t-shirts from his karting days, you’re curled up together in bed. it’s quiet now — no noise from the streets, no team radios, no cameras.

just the slow rhythm of his breathing and your fingers drawing lazy shapes on his chest.

“think it’ll ever feel like this again?” he asks.

“like what?”

“this full. this… much.”

you look at him. he’s on his side, one arm slung over your waist, curls flopping over his forehead again. his eyes are tired but calm now, like the last rush of adrenaline is finally fading.

“i don’t know,” you say honestly. “but even if it doesn’t… i’ll still be right here. whether you’re on the podium or p18.”

he watches you for a second, quiet, then pulls you closer. “i don’t know how i got so lucky.”

“you say that,” you murmur, “but i’m the one who gets to fall asleep next to a future world champion.”

he laughs, low and warm, and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “i love you.”

you smile into the dark. “i love you more.”

you fall asleep with his hand still holding yours. the trophy might be downstairs with the team, the celebrations might be playing out on tv screens across the world, but up here, in this quiet room with tangled sheets and soft words, kimi antonelli is just a boy in love, a boy who made it, a boy who got his first podium — and came home to you.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @linnygirl09, @spidybaby, @freyathehuntress, @dakotapaigelove,@beathreat,@dessashippr lmk if you want to be added or removed!

[connorsui]

In Your Arms

Zayne x reader

Genre/warnings: pure fluff, boyfriend zayne wanting peace and you give it, manz wanna make u a wife, no warnings we don't die around here...

Synopsis: Zayne finds solace in the warmth of your presence amidst the chaos of his demanding career, and silently, he cherishes every moment, hoping one day to make your bond official

Note: I wanted doctor zayne to cure my heart ....so I made doctor zayne want to make me a wife ...

w.c: 1,070

Zayne’s footsteps echoed softly in the sterile, dimly lit hospital corridor, his mind still entangled in the complexities of the latest surgery he’d performed. His shoulders were tense, a slight frown creasing his usually composed expression as he made his way out of the building. It had been another long day, filled with the kind of high-stakes decisions that most people couldn’t fathom. But as soon as he saw you waiting for him by the entrance, your face lighting up at the sight of him, something in him softened.

The sight of you there, with your soft smile and eyes that sparkled just for him, made the world tilt back into place. The weight of the day fell away, and for a moment, he allowed himself to simply bask in the warmth of your presence. He didn’t need to say anything; the way his eyes lingered on you, tracing the curve of your lips and the gentle slope of your shoulders, spoke volumes.

“Hi, Love! ” you greeted him, your voice a gentle balm to his frayed nerves.

“Hello, Sweetheart” he replied, his tone low and warm, the single word carrying a weight of unspoken affection. His hands itched to reach out, to pull you into his arms right there in front of everyone, but Zayne had always been careful with his emotions, especially in public. Instead, he settled for a small, almost imperceptible smile that you had come to recognize as his version of a bear hug.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the soft rustle of your clothing the only sound in the quiet night air. It wasn’t until you were inside his car, the doors closed, and the world shut out, that he allowed himself the luxury of touch. His hand reached out, fingers lightly grazing yours before he intertwined them, the simple gesture grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“I would like to first apologize to you …” he murmured after a few minutes, his voice laced with the kind of guilt that came from too many late nights and missed dinners.

Surprised; you questioned. “What for exactly?”

“I just know I haven’t been around much.”

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, offering him a soft, understanding smile. “Zayne, It's alright… I know you’re doing everything you can…But…let's focus on the now.. is there anything I can do to make your night better?”

He turned his head to look at you, his gaze searching your face for any sign of fatigue or frustration. Instead, he found only warmth and concern, your eyes silently urging him to let you take care of him for once. The tension in his chest eased a fraction, and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Just being with you makes everything better,” he admitted, his voice rough with the weight of the day. “I don’t need anything else… just you.”

The ride to his apartment was filled with quiet conversation, the kind that flowed easily between two people who were entirely comfortable with each other. When you arrived, Zayne wasted no time pulling you close as soon as the door clicked shut behind you. His arms wrapped around you, his head resting on your chest as he exhaled deeply, finally allowing himself to relax.

“You’re so tense,” you murmured, your fingers instinctively threading through his hair, the familiar motion soothing both of you. “Why don’t you let me run you a bath? Or make you some tea?”

He tightened his hold on you, shaking his head slightly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “No, just… this is what I need. You’re what I need.”

The way he clung to you, as if letting go would mean losing the one thing keeping him grounded, made your heart ache with a mix of love and concern. He was always so strong, so capable, but even Zayne had his limits, and you could see that he’d reached them tonight.

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” you suggested softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “You deserve to rest.”

He nodded against you, and you led him to his bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light over the room. Zayne moved with a quiet grace, his every action deliberate as he turned to face you, his hands settling on your waist.

“I’m sorry I’m not more… put together tonight,” he murmured, his eyes heavy with exhaustion as he leaned in to rest his forehead against yours.

“You don’t have to be anything other than yourself with me,” you whispered back, your hands coming up to cup his face. “I love you just as you are, Zayne.”

His breath hitched slightly at your words, and he pressed his lips to yours in a slow, lingering kiss that made your heart swell with emotion. There was no rush, no urgency—just the deep, abiding love that had grown between you over time, steady and unshakable.

When he pulled back, his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, his eyes meeting yours in silent question. You nodded, and he carefully lifted your shirt over your head, his hands warm against your skin as he undressed you with the same precision he used in surgery.

Once you were both stripped down; Zayne pulled you into bed, his arms wrapping around you as he settled you against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, a comforting rhythm beneath your ear as you laid together in the quiet.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“It’s perfect,” you whispered back, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin.

Zayne smiled against your hair, his hold on you tightening slightly as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. In that moment, with you wrapped up in his arms, he felt complete, as if all the pieces of his life had finally fallen into place.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “ — to be here with you… it’s all I need.”

You nestled closer, your heart swelling with love for the man who had given so much of himself to others, yet asked for so little in return. “I’m here, Zayne. I’m always here.”

As you drifted off to sleep, Zayne couldn’t help but think about how much he wanted this—wanted you—every day for the rest of his life. And one day, he would make that dream a reality. But for now, he was content to hold you close, savoring the warmth of your body against his as he followed you into sleep.

Doctor zayne with a need for you is the only man I will ever need

[freshbakedbreadstick]

Of Traits and Closets - Stack x F! POC coded! Reader x Smoke

Elias "Stack" Moore x F! POC CODED! Reader x Elijah "Smoke" Moore

Summary: Stack was a bad influence on you, for sure. But you can't forget that Smoke was cut from the same exact cloth.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Reader uses she/her pronouns and is described to have a vagina. Reader's appearance is not mentioned, HOWEVER, I wrote this with women of color in mind!! NO SPOILERS! Starts revolving around Reader and Stack, Smoke joins in at the end. Mentions of vaginal fingering, dirty talk, probably out of character because I STILL haven't seen the movie yet, reader wears a dress, lots of dirty talk, THREESOME, no incest between twins just sharing, usage of pet names (baby, angel, girl, etc.), breast and nipple play, groping, some religious mentions (in a comical way), Stack definitely likes to bite, unprotected semi PIV, sorry if I miss anything, brothers will be brothers.

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Imma be honest with u all . . . IM NOT SUPER PROUD OF THIS 1 idk what happened i just . . . 😭 I've been editing it for 3 days n redoing it n it just feel it's weak but idkkkk I might be ovethinking it . STILL HAVENT SEEN THE MOVIE i need to REAL bad i just don't have the timeee ! ! Anyways need both of them❗️as always ENJOY BESTIES

(Pretend this gif includes them both bc there aren't that many with them I can find w/o spoilers 😭)

You loved your boys, you really did. Both of them had traits that you just absolutely adored. You could list them all... but it would take ages to get through all of them.

But, as an example... Smoke was the leader, calm and collected but so sweet. He was the one to kiss your tears away, cooing as his hands trailed over your skin in the candlelight.

But Stack, oh sweet Stack, he was the troublemaker... and fuck did you love him for this.

He was the one to tease you, pinching your sides, trailing his hands up to cup your breasts for the most brief second before rushing off snickering, grinning like a fool. He was the one to drip cool ice cream over your skin on purpose accident during a warm summer's day, cooing that he would clean it up for you only to run his tongue over each droplet, letting himself wander a little too far. He was the one to pull you away with a mischievous smirk, sneaking you off under his twin's nose... like right now.

"Come on baby, come on," he whispered, hand gripping your wrist as he tugged you along with him, feet light as he moved toward the closet.

You whipped your head around, halfheartedly looking through the shadows for a pair of eyes, ones that you know would click their tongue and shake their head at your actions. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth when you saw nobody around.

"Stack," you whispered, voice whiny, "I don't know if-"

He pulled you into the darkness of the closet, making you gasp as you stumbled into the back wall, eyesight enveloped in darkness as he pulled the door shut. It clicked so softly closed, despite his rough pull, indicating to nobody that your bodies were sneaking away into it.

"Shhh, it's okay, it's just me," his smooth voice said, lifting at the end.

Your eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, but you could hear the sly grin he was, for sure, sporting in his voice.

His hands moved quickly, large and warm as they gripped your hips, pulling you flush against the solid bulge underneath his linen pants. You could only gasp and moan at the feeling, "Jesus."

"Don't take the lord's name in vain, now" he murmured with a small laugh at your audible eyeroll, hands sliding up your sides to the straps of your flimsy linen dress. Was it improper for a lady to wear such an item? Maybe, but it had been so hot lately that it was all you could bare to wear.

He touched it ever so gently, letting it fall slowly, almost comically slowly, down your shoulder. He chuckled, the sound rolling deep from his chest, as he watched your chest rise and fall through the cracks of light peeking in through the door.

"I'll be quick, baby, I promise. Smoke won't even notice..." he murmured, leaning in to lick at the saltiness of your skin from your bare shoulder blade to the junction of your neck, pressing a kiss there.

You took a shaky breath, skin erupting in goosebumps. With wide eyes and a bit back grin you gave in, moving your own hands to grip his button down, wrinkling the fabric between your fingers.

"You sure?" You whispered, voice slowly becoming slurred with need. He hummed softly, hearing the way your neediness matched his own.

Your fingernail gently flicked the buttons at the front, the sound of each click inaudible between your pants, his hums, and the wrinkling of fabric. Your action didn't go unnoticed, however... it only added fuel to his fire.

He brushed his tongue over his bottom lip, suppressing the shudder at your voice. He loved it when your humored him, matching his energy of trouble in your own way. It only made his cock throb almost painfully. He swore to himself that if he could die from a lack of stimulation, he would've died right here and now.

"Oh sweet angel," he rasped out, yanking the strap further down, finger trailing to pull the top down to reveal one of your breasts, "Grant me salvation..."

"Stack-" you murmured, cutting yourself off with a choked moan as his warm mouth suddenly enveloped your nipple, feeling it pebble against his wet tongue.

You flinched as he suckled harshly, humming eagerly at the way your body arched into his mouth, head falling back against the wall and hips inadvertently grinding into him. He bit gently, tongue coming to soothe the pleasurable sting.

"Thought you were so worried about my brother finding out," he purred as he pulled back, blowing air onto your abused nipple.

You jerked at the feeling, "Well if your gonna be like this, might as well give in..."

You both let out breathy chuckles, his hand moving down your hip to the hem of your dress. He took a second to toy with it, twisting it in his fingers, letting you feel the heat of his skin through the fabric, before sliding his hand underneath.

"I know you can't say no to me," he cooed, leaning in to kiss you. You could only hum, eyes shutting, hand coming to cup his cheek, brushing against his stubble.

His hand trailed up, fingertips grazing ever so slightly over your skin as he moved to hook his finger over your underwear, ready to slide them down in the painstakingly slow way he loved to do. It made your body shiver, pussy aching in anticipation.

But his hand... found nothing there, no little cotton strap, nothing. He felt his pulse quicken, knees nearly giving out as he suppressed the urge to fall to his knees and pray, burying his gratitude over having a girl like you in his life into your bare cunt.

But instead, he yanked himself away to look at you with wide eyes,"Dirty, dirty girl... no panties, no bloomers, nothing?"

You felt your cheeks flush. Despite planning this, you couldn't help but have a moment of brief shyness. Your teeth chewed your bottom lip, looking at him through your lashes while trying, and failing, to look innocent, "It's too hot for all that nonsense, baby..."

A partial truth. You couldn't help but think Smoke was right when he would tease, saying his brother was a bad influence on you, influencing you to do things like wearing low cut tops so that could lean over in front of each twin, giving them a quick eye full.

Or in this case, foregoing panties when the day slowed down and it got cool enough to bare skin to skin contact with one another.

His grin made his cheeks hurt, but he didnt care, he only cared about the way your voice rasped, making his cock twitch in his briefs, "You minx... you're just as bad as me..."

Eyes narrowing, free hand coming down to toy with the button on his fly, you whispered, "Oh no... I could never be..."

This made him shiver and growl, rushing in to kiss you again, teeth gnashing and tongue intertwining with your own, swallowing your moans.

It was a blur of heavy breaths and furious movements from here to the moment you were both pushing your clothes to the side, desperate to relieve the aching of your cores with one other.

Your fingers yanked his fly open so hard that the button flew off, clattering and rolling onto the floor. Meanwhile, his own hand bunched your dress, pulling it up over your chest to reveal your body to him.

He groaned at the sight, tongue swiping over his bottom lip and dark eyes trailing over every inch of you, "So pretty... and all for me..."

His free hand then came to roughly grip your thigh, yanking it apart just in time to see a small drip fall to floor between you. It glistened, almost taunting you both, on the wooden floor, somehow managing to be one of the only things to catch the light from the cracks of the door, nearly illuminating the embarrassing sight for both of you to see.

He let out a low whistle as your cheeks burned, "Have I been neglecting you, baby? Have I been ignoring this honeypot so badly that she makes a mess of our floors when she sees me?"

You suddenly cried out, feeling his hand let go of your thigh, rough fingertips brushing through your folds, from your slit to your clit, gathering the wetness onto his fingers.

"Need a taste," he whispered, voice rough and low, eyeing the wetness coating his fingers.

The look in his eyes was almost animal, the wild feeling coursing through his veins as his brain told him he needed to devour you right then and there. He needed to taste you, smell you, needed to have you imprinted in his mind and soul right then and there, it was unbearable!

But you on the other hand, you couldnt take it anymore. Youhad enough at this point, you were tired of the foreplay and the teasing touches and all the waiting. You were tired to the glances across the room, of the innuendos over the dining table, and of the practiced reluctance, you wanted, no, needed him now.

You let your hand snake under his briefs to grip his cock, hearing him hiss as his hand quickly moved to grip your thigh again. His other hand let go of your dress, moving to grip your hip, pulling you flush against him again as he rubbed circles into your skin.

"Take it out baby," he said lowly, "I know you can't wait. My girl isn't very patient, isn't she?"

You could only stare at him, chest heaving as your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, using your other hand to pull his clothes away, finally freeing him to the warm air of the dark closet. His bottom lip quivered, shiny with the saliva that coated it, parting as he groaned, heavy, aching cock no longer constricted in his pants. It felt so good for him, finally able to feel your hand around him, instead of his own palming himself in the bathroom as he waited for you to alone to pounce.

"Ohhhh see that baby?" He cooed, forehead pressing to your own, "Look at it, look at my cock. See how wet my tip is? You did that babydoll... all you. Make me so hard, want you so bad..."

His eyes shifted from your face down as you carefully ran your hand over his shaft, fingers tracing the bulging vein on the underside all the way to the leaking tip. He jerked his hips into your hand, letting you inadvertently jerk him off a small bit, the proximity allowing him to breathe in your scent.

"Need it," you whispered, voice thick and pupils blown wide despite the darkness, watching the desperation in his body.

"I know baby, I know..." he cooed, "Gonna fuck that pussy until your crying out my name."

His knee knocked your leg open, letting you slowly jerk his cock as he shifted your hips. Then... the head of his cock nudged right up against your clit. You both groaned, so loud at this point, but too drunk in the feeling of one another to even care about your little hiding game.

"That's right..." he panted, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit, "Juuuust like that. Needed my baby, needed her sweet pussy real bad too. My cock missed you, you know, missed his pussy real bad while i was out workin' for you..."

He was always so mouthy, one of your favorite attributes too. While Smoke was also quite talkative when it came to you, he preferred to whisper sweet nothings as you two made love, the slow deep rolling of his hips accompanied with his coos of how pretty you looked taking him pushing you over the edge every time. But when it came to Stack, he was brash and unashamed, telling you exactly how you made him feel in the dirtiest of ways. How he got that dirty mouth, you didn't know, but you at least knew which brother got their mouth washed out with soap more often in childhood.

You let him hook one of your legs over his hip, jerking your hips to match his movements are you ground against his cock. It was hot and muggy in the closet now, making your skin feel sticky but the sensation feel so much more intense. It made you lightheaded as your senses were overwhelmed by his touch, his voice, his scent, and everything him.

Your nose buried itself into the crook of his neck, listening to him coo to you as he pressed the head right up against your entrance, pushing it teasingly in and out.

You let out a choked gasp, feeling the way he would push the tip in for a moment, barely letting you feel the pleasure of being stretched over him, before pulling back out.

"Want it that bad?" He babbled, "My girl needs it so bad that she can't even handle getting just the tip? My brother neglecting you too?"

It was just you and Smoke home today, Stack was out running his errands and doing his work. And while it was not true that Smoke neglected you, he did have a tendency to get caught up in taking care of his buisness at home, focused on getting his work done before coming to press kisses to your neck from behind as you washed the dishes, bending you over the sink to say his thank yous for being so patient and hardworking around the house.

But of course, they were brothers and they were twins, a little friendly competition definitely happened between the two.

"This why you got me here?" You slurred, hips moving to chase him, but he only pulled away and grinned, "This an ego boost for you?"

"No baby, this is me showin' you that my brother makes love while I fuck-"

The door swung open.

You both gasped, scrambling for a second. It resulted in you jerking your head back and hitting your head on the wall, Stack tripping over his pants, which you didn't even notice had fallen to his ankles, as he stumbled away from you. He slammed his back against the other wall with a loud groan, the two of you flushed, mouths agape to see Smoke standing there, looking unamused.

His eyes raked from his brother, brow twitching as he saw him clamber to stand up, cock out and dripping. He then turned to you, legs shaking and breasts peeking out from where Stack had pulled the collar of your shirt down, chest heaving and skin shiny with a film of sweat.

The corners of his mouth twitched as his eyes locked onto the few droplets that managed to make their way down to the floor between your legs, staining the floor proudly.

"Taking too long," he said, drawling out the last letter as his eyes narrowing slightly.

Neither of you said anything or even looked away from the hulking frame in the doorway, air filled with the sound of pants and racing hearts.

Smoke shifted, hand moving to cup your cheek. It made you soften, feeling his gentle hold cradle your face so sweetly, skin smelling like the outside air he was in moments ago. His hand was cool to the touch, the temperature change against your cheek compared to the stuffy air of the closet making you sigh softly.

"You think I can't fuck her?" He said, not even bothering to look at Stack as his hand shifted to grip your jaw, tight. He maneuvered both of you around, pulling your back to his chest and making it so that his back was pressed against the wall you were just against.

You eyes made contact with Stack's seeing the way his cock twitched at the sight of your exposed breast and stunned face. He groaned softly as Smoke gripped the bottom hem of your dress, tugging it up to your neck.

You watched Stack's hand shake, arm twitching to inch toward his cock, eyes raking down your body. Then, the familiar jingle of a belt filled the air, making you still.

Smoke just snickered, eyes looking up and over your shoulder to see that his brother started putting a show for you, hand locked around his cock, lazily jerking himself off.

"Brother," Smoke said, making Stack jerk his head up, "I'll show you that I know how to fuck her."

And he sure did. Both did, actually. God, you really did love your boys.

[aneertawrites]

LADS Guys and Their Love Languages ˎˊ˗

spicy!

fluff ver

a/n : this is a quick one to keep u guys fed while i write up some drafts on prideandprejudice!Xavier 😝 pls feel free to request some ideas you’d like me to do while i work on creating a master list 😭

Xavier - Quality Time

You’re lying in bed, barely under the sheets, wearing one of his shirts—oversized, half-off your shoulder. You didn’t even hear him come in, but you felt him the second he stepped into the room. That low, steady presence that always made the air tighten.

Xavier doesn’t say anything. He just comes over, slips in beside you, and pulls you into his chest—fully clothed, boots off, tension still in his shoulders.

But then… his hand slides under the hem of your shirt. Cold fingers. Warm skin.

“You wore this on purpose,” he mutters against your neck. “Didn’t you?”

You don’t answer.

So he answers for you—with teeth. His mouth latches onto your throat, his hand curling around your thigh, dragging it over his hip. And when you press into him, you feel how hard he is.

“You always make me wait,” he growls, voice deeper now. “But when I get you like this—quiet, soft, in my arms—you’re already mine.” He groans, fingers latching onto your breast and kneading it with a slow, steady and firm grasp.

He doesn’t rush. He takes his time dragging your panties down, spreading your legs with the same calm he uses when dismantling a threat. His fingers stroke you slow, lazy. His lips don’t leave your skin.

And when he finally pushes in—deep, with one hard roll of his hips—he doesn’t let you move.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight.”

Zayne - Acts of Service

Zayne’s got you in the bath first. You were exhausted, overworked, and didn’t even ask—but he was already there. Stripping you, holding you under warm water, washing every part of you with his gentle, caring hands.

And then he carries you to bed, like he needs to. As if he couldn’t resist. He wrapped you in a blanket. Massaged your legs. Rubbed lotion into your thighs like he’s memorizing every inch.

“You don’t let yourself rest,” he says, voice rough. “But I know how to shut that mind off.”

He kisses you slow. And when he spreads your legs, he stays there—tongue, lips, fingers, worshipping you like the answer to every question he’s ever had.

“You’re so good to me,” he whispers into your skin. “Let me be good to you.” And he delves in, but not rough, animalistic—no. He’s gentle with it, kissing your cunt softly, whispering soft praises against it, giving your lips small licks and alternating between suckling and kissing, bringing you a slow, steady stream of pleasure.

And when he finally takes you, it’s with the kind of controlled hunger that has his arms shaking from holding back. He holds your face the entire time. Kisses your nose when you whimper. Calls you beautiful with every thrust.

And afterward, he holds you like porcelain, wipes you down with a warm cloth, and whispers, “You never have to take care of yourself alone again. I’ve got you. Always.”

Rafayel - Physical Touch

He doesn’t wait.

The second you’re alone, Rafayel pushes you against the kitchen counter, both hands on your hips, his mouth already on your neck.

“You tease me all day and expect me to behave?” he whispers. “That’s cruel, baby.”

His hands are everywhere—under your shirt, up your thighs, tugging at your underwear like it personally offended him. His teeth graze your collarbone. And his fingers? Already deep inside you before you can blink.

“You’re so wet,” he groans. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

He turns you around, bends you over the counter, and enters you with a single, devastating thrust. One hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he’s anchoring himself to reality.

He talks the whole time.

Filthy, filthy things in that silk voice. Praise, filth, love—blended into every breath.

“Look at you—so full of me, moaning like you need me to ruin you.”

He finishes with a growl in your ear and doesn’t pull out—just kisses the back of your neck and whispers, “I’ll clean up, dove. You just stay bent over like that for a minute. I like the view.” And finishes it off with a kiss to your shoulder.

Sylus - Words of Affirmation

He’s on top of you. Not rushed. Not rough. Just intent. One hand behind your head, the other gripping your thigh. His eyes locked on yours like he can’t look away.

“I think about you,” he says, voice dark with need, “way more than I should.”

His hips start slow, deep. He grinds against you like he’s sculpting his name into your bones.

And the whole time, he’s talking.

“You make me crazy.”

“You don’t even know how perfect you are.”

“No one’s ever touched me like this. No one’s been this to me.”

“You’re the only thing that calms me down.”

He watches your every reaction—every moan, twitch, gasp—and drinks it in like oxygen.

When you start to fall apart, he grabs your face, kisses you hard, and murmurs against your lips, “Give it to me, sweetie. All of it. I’ll take every piece.”

He finishes by burying his face in your neck, breathing you in like it’s the last time. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

And afterward, he doesn’t move. Just whispers your name over and over, stroking your hair gently as if he was holding glass.

Caleb - Gift Giving

Caleb burst through the apartment door with a grin and tossed his gym bag down. “Baby, I swear, one more push-up and my arms were gonna fall off.”

You smirked from the couch, and his eyes locked on you instantly. You were wearing his hoodie—and nothing else.

“Oh, nope.” He crossed the room in seconds, tossing you backward into the cushions and climbing over you like a man starved.

“You think I wouldn’t notice what you’re doing?”

You laughed, but it caught in your throat when his hands gripped your thighs, spreading you just enough.“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he said, voice gone low, reverent. “That was such a nice gift to come home to, pipsqueak.”

Caleb buried his nose in your neck, humming with contentment as he ground himself against you slightly. “Want me to give you a better one?”

Then he lifts your hips and guides you down onto him—one hand on your ass, the other behind your back. “That’s right. Take it. You can handle it, pretty thing.”

He’s rough, absolutely, but he’s so careful underneath it—checking in with every movement, holding your hand while he thrusts up into you, groaning against your shoulder. “You’re so good to me, baby. Tell me you like this, too.”

masterlist

Taglist : @etsuniiru @kyokoyya @i-messed-up-big-time @firefly1103 @gracekerzzz @mcdepressed290 @sylusgirlie7 @plzdonutpercieveme

[parfaitblogs]

painkillers ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you've developed emotional dependence on spencer reid, and he discovers how he can get you to open up. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut (18+ mdni) tags: cedar universe. p in v. no protection mentioned but imagine what you will. soft dom!spencer? situationship/fwbs. drug addiction as a metaphor. asshole spencer reid.  word count: 1.8k a/n: surprise 😁 there's more of them coming!!! these two are also seen in cedar. yay!!! lmk what u thinkkkkkk.

cedar’s masterlist ✿

"in the dream i don't tell anyone, you put your head in my lap." (richard silken)

You have a headache.

So, you take naproxen — Aleve. It eases the pain, and you are able to continue with your day like nothing ever happened. You'll wake up the next day with the same headache, so you take another dose of naproxen. It dulls the pain this time, so you take another one, and you still continue on with your day like it is not there. You'll wake up a third day with that same headache, and this time two doses of naproxen do nothing for you. So you take three doses, which is too much, and your body shuts down. 

Which is ridiculous, and you should have enough conscience not to let a dependence on an over the counter drug kill you to get rid of a headache. 

And yet, you are at Spencer Reid's apartment for the fourth time in one week. 

A whispered, "Hey," accompanies hands sliding up the sides of your thighs, and your eyes flicker to his brown ones, wide and concerned, as they study your face. 

Visibly absent, or he was just incredibly good at reading your body language, you're not sure. 

"Hi," you murmur, fingers twitching as he lets his own rest at the fabric of your shorts, fidgeting with the hems. 

"Are you okay?" he asks. A question he had asked you the night before, and the night before that. He was catching on, and a small part of you wants him to take the bait of your emotional avoidance; to pressure you into telling him things. 

A larger part of you knows you won't get the happy ending you want. So, you shake hair out of your eyes, nod your head, and give him a smile. "Yeah."

"You can talk to me, you know," his hands don't go anywhere, but you can feel the energy coming off of them. He wants to touch you.

"And you can touch me, you know," you reply.

He says your name, chidingly, but you ignore his disapproval. Your hands find his, and you slowly drag them up your body, finding his eyes as you do.

You win this silent battle, because he ducks his head down and presses his lips against yours. You let the kiss distract you from the way your brain runs rampant, and he lets you deepen it. 

He breaks away from your lips, though you've barely any time to complain, for he's kissing down the hollow of your neck, moving the sleeve of your shirt to expose more of your shoulder. He knows too much of what you need to be going this slowly, though, and there's something else occupying his mind other than touching you.

"Spencer," you quip, and he lifts his head to look at you. "Go faster."

"Tell me what's wrong," he bargains, and your chest deflates. 

"Nothing's wrong—"

"—Give me something, or you go home."

You blink a few times, taking his face in and out of focus in your eyes as you process his words, and then process them again. What?

"I'm just not having a very good day," you settle on saying, looping your arms around his neck, tugging him down to your face. "And I'd really like a distraction."

"Can you talk to me about it?" 

You don't get a chance to deny him, because he's kissing your jaw, his hands are gently parting your thighs, and your brain is short circuiting. 

"I'm just... overthinking some things," you tell him, and his eyebrows knit together, fingers hooking in the waistband of your shorts to pull them down. 

"What things?"

You have less than half your mind properly working, and so you breathe out, "Us," before you can stop yourself. 

"You're overthinking us," he says, slipping your underwear to the side and dragging a finger through your folds. 

"Mmhm," you nod, the sound a mix of your agreement, and a mewl.

"Why?" his finger stops, and then traces a circle around your clit, and your breathing picks up.

You push your hips back into his hand subconsciously, while simultaneously mumbling, "I've been here a lot this week."

His hair tickles your forehead as he nods. "I've needed you a lot this week."

Ice floods your blood for a second, and your stomach flips uncomfortably, but you push back the anxiety that begins to spike. 

Instead, you smile, and let his words resonate for more than what he actually means. You'll let him make you feel good, wanted, needed, now, and face the wreckage of your own emotions afterwards. 

Though, he's trying to pry you open one fervent touch at a time, and you're fearful of him succeeding. 

So, you combat his attempt of getting beneath all of your layers with a hushed, "Can you just fuck me?"

He pauses, stares at you for a beat, then nods. 

He goes through the motions of ridding the two of you of your clothes, and you borderline blackout for it. It's such a standardised routine now, you don't even think you need to be fully present to help him when he needs it. You lift your upper body when he tugs your shirt off, and raise your hips when he pulls your underwear down. 

"Please tell me what you're overthinking about," he says, breath warm against your lips, hips in line with your own. 

"It doesn't matter," you reply, dismissively. "Just hurry up."

He says your name, a warning tone that makes you uncomfortable, but then he's pressing into you, and you're forcing yourself to forget all about it.  

He stills, and his head drops to your shoulder, the familiarity of this position not preventing the slight sting in the beginning, nor the way he breathes out a quiet, "Fuck," into your skin. 

Your fingers delve into his hair, and he takes your tugging at the locks as his signal to move. Slowly, he draws his hips back, and its guttural when he moans, causing your stomach to flip. 

"Spencer," you whimper, just as he sinks back into you, and his response is to kiss your neck. You wonder if he's holding back an otherwise embarrassing reaction to you. 

You figure there's a psychological reason why he keeps coming back to you. He's attractive. You're sure if he wanted to have sex with someone else, he could find them. But he doesn't, he chooses you. Over and over again. A thought you shouldn't entertain, but do, because maybe you mean more to him than just being a body he can use. 

"Always so good for me," he whispers, his thrusts slow and steady, but so drawn out you think you could cum from them anyways. "I wish you could see yourself like this. You're so beautiful."

You don't say anything. An embarrassing love confession manifests on the tip of your tongue, and you have enough mind to not let it out. Still, your head reels from how kind his words are, and you savour this moment all the same. 

You whine when his fingers find your clit, and he swallows your moans with his lips. Your hands fly to wrap around his wrist, but he's stronger than you, and your grip does barely anything to prevent his ministrations. 

"Please," your voice cracks as the tip of his cock brushes against that spot, and he's nodding his head. 

"I know, sweet girl," he murmurs, pulling back so he can look at you the second your walls clench around him. "Always so good for me, you know?"

He pries your hands off his wrist and firmly holds them against the pillows beneath your head, a knowing look that gets you to leave them there. Even when that hand drops to still your hips, that were beginning to desperately rut against him, seeking release from the pressure in your abdomen. 

You have barely any voice left in you as you come, nails digging into the palms of your hands as your eyes flutter shut, and he's coaxing you through your orgasm with a hand on your clit and his lips on yours. 

He barely made a sound as he came, but by the time you regain your awareness, you can hear his heavy breathing that indicates he had. 

Then comes the hated cleaning crew, that has a sick feeling pool in your stomach, and his hands delicately wiping over your skin with so much love and care, you almost succumb to how nice it feels. 

"You need to go to the bathroom," he says with a kiss to your forehead, and you wonder if he knows how intimate such an act is. 

Probably.

"I will when I get home," you say, mustering all the courage there is to have in the world, and standing up from his bed to find your clothes. 

"It's safer to now," he replies, watching you with an uneasy amount of intent. "Fifteen to thirty minutes after sex is the safe window."

"Good thing I don't live thirty-one minutes away from you," you quip, tugging your clothes back onto your body.

"Why are you being so difficult all of a sudden? What's changed?"

"Nothing."

The silence in the room allows for you to hear his sharp exhale of breath. "Stop."

You freeze, turn, and meet his gaze. 

"What has happened?" his voice is frustratingly level as he asks you, a voice you're sure he uses all the time for his job. You hate that he's using it on you. 

"Nothing's happened. I just want to get home. We had sex. Great. Now I'm going to go home, because I got what I came here for, and you got what you called me for. Then you will call me again next week, or maybe tomorrow, and I will come back, and we will have sex again, and then I will leave again. Because that's what we do."

His gaze pulls you apart limb by limb, and you want to shrink down beneath it. 

"You're upset because we had sex?"

"You're acting oblivious on purpose. Oh my fucking God," you shake your head, picking up your phone from his dresser and pocketing it. "Goodbye, Spencer."

"I'm trying to understand—"

"—I'll see you next week!" you call. 

The last thing you hear is your name, before his front door slams shut, and he's left to the silence of his apartment, and you're left to the silence of his hallway. 

Like a drug addict, you let him pick you apart and administer all the good things there is in life. You bask in the praise and the intimacy of his hands on your body for as long as it lasts. And then you let him go, and you crash, and you desperately scrape at it all happening again, hoping it'll be just as good as the last time. 

The more you let Spencer Reid in, the less of yourself you have left to give. 

You're beginning to resent the problem you have.

your reblogs and replies are always welcome ♡

[lushaletta]

miss potions expert (two) / theodore nott x reader

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, mischievous!reader, theo being annoying

summary: the slytherin boys require your potions expertise once again, and they find themselves intrigued. most especially a certain theodore nott.

a/n: part two to thisssss! hope u guys like :p

read part one here!

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

You don’t expect to see them again so soon.

But Slytherins are as unpredictable as they are arrogant, and you feel their presence hovering at the back of the library like vultures. You know their eyes are on you before you even look up. You don’t need to. Your sixth sense is never wrong.

Theodore approaches first, because of course he does. The others hang back, gossiping as if this is some event.

“You fucked up the potion,” he says flatly, glancing at Lorenzo, who’s making obnoxious kissing sounds, with that unmistakable glare.

“Did I?” You blink, innocently.

“You know you did.”

You shake off the façade. “Maybe, but I fixed it first. That’s what you call balance,” you click your tongue, grinning. “You’re welcome, by the way. Again.”

Theo opens his mouth like he’s about to argue, but Enzo steps forward, smoothly cutting in first. “Listen, we need help. Real help.”

Now that piques your interest. Theo’s arms are crossed, tapping his feet impatiently like this is the last thing he wants to be doing. “Oh, princes asking help from a peasant, huh? This is a first.”

“If you’re the peasant, then I’m seriously rethinking the monarchy,” Enzo quips, not missing a beat as he sizes you up. It earns him a low whistle from Mattheo behind him and a glare from Theo. You try not to smirk. He’s quick. You like that.

“We need another Confusing Draught. A working one. Snape’s threatening to get us banned from Quidditch if we don’t get it to him,” Enzo continues, his smug grin making way for puppy dog eyes. He’s good at it, you’ll give him that.

“And we’re not about to let that happen,” Theo says, begrudgingly.

You sigh dramatically, shutting your book as you lean against the chair lazily. “Fine, but I have conditions.”

“Of course you do,” Theo mutters lowly.

“One: I’m in charge. Two: I pick the meeting place,” you start, rattling them off. You lean in, lips brushing Theo’s ear. “Three: You owe me.” Your last condition is said with so much mischief it sends chills running down his spine as the boys watch intently.

Your smile is wicked. “Deal!” Lorenzo says easily, before Theo can protest.

“Great! Third floor, second door to the right tomorrow at noon.”

Mattheo frowns. “But that place is forbidden.”

“Exactly,” you wink.

And then you’re gone, leaving everyone bewildered and bested, the only trace of you being the flush on Theo’s cheeks.

Enzo hardly registers you disappear behind the shelves, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m scared of her.”

Theo exhales slowly, eyes still on the space you just occupied. “Good,” he breathes.

Mattheo claps him on the shoulder, chuckling. “You are so screwed, mate.”

You’re already waiting when they arrive, once again leaning against the stone wall like it’s yours, wand spinning lazily between your fingers. You don’t even glance up as they come around the corner.

Theo steps in first, expression taut and unreadable. As always. Lorenzo trails behind, his hands in his pockets, followed by the rest. You grin at their entrance.

“Took you long enough,” you say, flicking your wand to shut the door behind them with a soft click. “Hope no one saw you.”

“We had to bribe Peeves. Kept singing songs about Enzo’s love life. Git cost me ten pounds,” Mattheo says exasperatedly, dusting cobwebs off his sleeve.

You snicker. “What’s he gonna do with ten pounds?”

“Worth it!” Lorenzo says, looking around the dusty classroom. Or what used to be a classroom. “What’s all this?”

He struts across the room, grazing his hands over the lovingly dented cauldron and the worn desk. Blaise follows, narrowing his eyes at what seems to be just another day to you. “Done this before?” he asks.

“Here and there,” you say vaguely, preparing the ingredients.

“Are you gonna teach us something or what?” Theo mumbles impatiently, crossing his arms.

“Touchy,” you say. And then, more quietly, “As if you have places to be.” You know Theo hears that, because he rolls his eyes and steps forward to be closer to the desk.

The potion begins with reluctant cooperation. Mattheo does what he can, being mildly helpful along with Blaise and Draco bar for when he almost sets his sleeve on fire. Enzo proves annoyingly competent, following you around like a lost puppy, awaiting your direction. Theo… watches. A lot. Not just the potion, but you. Your hands, your frown when Mattheo adds too much scurvy grass, the tiny upturn of your lips when Enzo actually stirs at the correct speed.

You notice, of course. And you let him.

“You’re not going to help?” you ask him finally, once you feel he’s stolen enough glances. “You can wash your hands, you know,” you say, acting like you’re mistaking him for being posh.

“I’m observing.”

You hum, a high sound that all but knocks the wind out of his chest. “Right. Observing,” you say with too much emphasis. “That’s what we’re calling it.

Draco and Enzo exchange funny looks and Mattheo ribs Blaise. Theo goes quiet, like he isn’t already. He mutters something about checking the book, but he doesn’t stop staring.

Once the potion is an acceptable shade of emerald green, you hop up, loosening your tie with a smile. “Congratulations! A passable Confusing Draught. I’m shocked. Truly,” you deadpan.

“Are you going to sabotage it again?” Theo says incredulously.

You peer into the cauldron. “Tempting.” You smile.

“You owe us a working one.”

“And you owe me,” you counter, stepping closer. It makes his breath hitch.

“I know,” he whispers, forgetting the room around him. Enzo clears his throat before Theo can respond and tosses something your way— a wrapped box. Small, square, and suspiciously rattling.

“Fret not, Miss Potions Expert. We held up our end of the bargain.”

You raise a brow and unwrap it slowly. Inside was a vial holder, adorned with a small bottle of familiarly orange substance. Felix Felicis, you realise, scoffing at the thought. Then you see the note.

“For your next adventure,” it reads, written in expensive cursive.

Your smile falters for a second. Then you recover.

“Sentimental,” you say, slipping the vial into your pocket. “Dangerous. I like it.”

Theo finally speaks. “You never gave me your name.”

You flash him another grin. “That still depends.”

“On?”

“The same old thing— whether you’re going to thank me or not.”

He inhales. Takes a step forward, almost as if he’s challenging you. “Thank you,” he whispers, like it costs him something.

You freeze. Then you smirk. “Well, damn. Now I actually have to tell you.”