#to be human is to be messy. no one will ever be perfect and to strive for perfection is just as damaging as to believe you are unfixable | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bluemerakis · 4 months ago

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────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ cream pie ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ munch .ᐟ dean winchester x fem .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ cussing, reader somewhat oblivious to the obscene meaning of munch, tooth-rotting fluff, mentions of a sexual!cream pie, mild food play, finger-sucking, oral f receiving, pet names. pls lmk if i forgot any!

synopsis ─ dean’s always poked at you for being a slow-eater. likewise, you’ve always poked at him for being a fast-eater—going so far as to accuse him of an early death should he continue at that pace. so, on the night of his birthday, he decides to make a change to his eating habits, becoming deliberately slow in his meal’s devouring. only, that meal is you.

word count ~ 5.4k

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The doors to the diner announced the next newcomer with a shrill tinkle of bells, and by the nature of human curiosity—or a hunter’s paranoia—you found yourself glancing past Dean to witness a little girl ushered inside by an older woman.

You circulated a mouthful of fries as you watched the child bound over to the front counter, short, stubby finger outstretched to prod at a large print of the most obnoxiously decorated milkshake you’d ever seen—a mound of cream, candy and sprinkles that must’ve accounted for half the drink’s weight.

“Scoutin’ out for Sammy?” Dean asked suddenly—the words muffled by the burger he’d taken to devouring almost instantly after it’d arrived. Not even five minutes ago.

You forsook the view of the little girl to tune into the booth’s space, where the Winchester sat across from you with cheeks that had grown comically round. You couldn’t help but briefly stutter on your ground fries, perplexed by the plate that he’d wasted no time in clearing out. All that was left was the half-eaten burger currently clutched between his talons, where his lips closed in on to wrap around the bread-cocooned glory. The fries that had previously formed the burger’s first line of defence had not stood a damn chance.

With a thick swallow of your morsel, you cleared your throat to voice your concern—Dean’s question hurled out the current window of care. “Where the hell did all your food go, Dean? It literally just got here!” You reached across the table to take up your glass of water, downing a much needed sip that moistened the walls of your throat after the fries had brushed it dry on their downward journey.

Observing Dean, you almost felt like you were intruding on some intimate moment between himself and his burger, which he currently ogled from every angle in search of his next, perfect bite—yet to swallow down the last bite he’d taken. The appetite on this man was astounding. And so was the seemingly unlimited mouth space that he seemed to cram full squirrel-style, given any and every chance.

At your perplexed pry, the Winchester strayed from his guilty pleasure to grace you with a stupidly triumphant look, his vigorous chewing coming to a halt. “Just gave it a tour o’ my insides,” he mumbled grossly, eyes narrowing with smug amusement while he went out of his way to part his lips in a messy, food-kissed smile—just to get a rise out of you.

“Stop that!” You groaned, hand coming up in a defensive spread to shield yourself against the view of the chunky stew plastered along his teeth. “You’re disgusting,” you added with a meek giggle, chin perking slightly as you attempted to peer at him over the jagged horizon of your fingers.

You caught his Adam’s Apple bopping with a hefty swallow, the lump striding down the lean length of his neck, and it was a sight that made you feel safe enough to lower your hand once more. You watched him pass his tongue across both oil-kissed lips, savouring the essence with a pleasurable hum and smack of his mouth—like he’d never known the first thing about table manners. He passed the remainder of his burger to one hand, the other now freed to gesture in your direction.

“Hey!” he began—a clearer, more sophisticated sound. “I get my hands on somethin’ as delicious as this, I show her a good time,” he explained with a laughable seriousness. “You, of all people, should know this.”

You’d taken to plopping another fry into your mouth while he spoke, but at that last sentence, you dusted the lingering salt grains from your hands and made a hasty swallow before answering. “That you’re a munch?” You established innocently.

Dean perked at the observation you’d made many dinings prior—wore the title like a badge of honour. “Damn right I am, baby—and this was a damn preview,” he said with a charming wink, one that entertained his own, mental scheme.

“A preview of what?” You tested with a confused grin.

Dean’s glare turned the type of determined he usually reserved for an exhilarating hunt, his lips quirking with the utmost pleasure that you’d asked. “You, me, and your good friend down south—later tonight—” he began enlightening, but neglected to finish the sentence as he brought the last of his burger to his lips. Then, they crashed down onto the buns in an obnoxious motion—gluttonously garnering every inch into the compartment of his cheeks.

He began chewing with difficulty, at first, but no look of panic flashed across his features, despite your own worry that he might’ve started choking at any instant. Then, he rolled the empty burger wrapper between his palms, eyes droning into you with an unvoiced expectancy while his jaw circulated like a cow’s. You returned his stare with a cluelessness, taking a second to mull over his incomplete sentence—and it was then that his insinuation clicked into place.

Your cheeks flushed hot at that, the hands you’d nestled at either side of your plate drawing into fists. “I was talking about the food!” You said accusingly, his innuendo drawing a disbelieved laugh from your lips.

“Yeah, no, that ain’t what munch means, sweetheart,” Dean said smoothly, rocketing the crushed wrapper into the air before catching it and plopping it down onto his plate. His palms then came together in a scheming rub, eyes lowering to the menu beside his emptied plate. “Speakin’ of food,” he hummed thoughtfully, and you lifted your chin to get a better view of the options he was scanning through. Light meals.

You shook your head lightly, turning your attention back to your own plate. “You’re going to implode,” you remarked.

“Hey—drop the freakin’ fuss,” he grumbled indignantly. “‘Cause it just so happens that shit’s on the house for this birthday dude,” he added, hands coming up to gesture to himself almost proudly. “And I’ll be damed if I don’t do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

You flashed him a hopeless smile, but didn’t push him on his appetite any further. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen Dean so unbothered and chirpy. As of now, life had been good—great, even. Bobby had offered to take care of this week’s hunts in order to free up Dean’s schedule, giving him the time to celebrate an event he hadn’t deemed worthy of a celebration for a long, long time. And Sam—ever the content third-wheel to you both—had taken the afternoon to kill time in his own Sam ways.

The deal you’d struck with the younger Winchester was that he get the morning to entertain Dean’s birthday, and you get the afternoon. The brothers were up at the crack of dawn to motor it over to some shooting range, where they’d completely obliterated the targets—earning dubious glances from the other, inexperienced hobbyists. You’d thought about asking why they’d opted for picking up a gun on their off-days, but Dean had returned with such a beaming smile that you’d swallowed the question entirely.

The only thing that mattered was that he was happy. Enjoying himself.

Eventually, Dean let out a decided exclamation, index finger coming down on the table to single out an option amongst the menu.

Your head lifted curiously. “What you got there?” You asked, plopping a fry into your mouth.

“The best thing to exist after cars,” he answered vaguely and with a playful waggle of his brows, his head then averting to do a sweep of the diner.

“With how easily amused you are, that could be narrowed down to an endless amount of shit,” you scoffed lightly.

“T-t-t,” he silenced with a finger in your direction, eyes still doing an intent scan of the space. When he managed to spot a waitress, it almost looked like his eyes could’ve slipped the keep of his sockets. His lips pierced to execute a perfect whistle, hand waving through the air to beckon her over—which she made haste on.

You turned your attention to the waitress as she pranced on over, fluster heavy in her rosy cheeks and sheepish smile as she glanced between yourself and Dean. “What can I get for you both?”

“One o’ these bad babies, please,” Dean requested with a show to the menu, hands then coming up in a thankful clasp as the waitress nodded lightly in response. “Sweet,” he murmured contently, his attention turning back to you. “Anythin’ for you?” He asked politely, but the hitch of his singular brow as he glanced between you and your stacked plate told you that he knew the answer.

“I’m good, thanks,” you told the waitress, who gave a small nod before scampering off. You turned back to Dean with a light shake of your head. “Oh, I know your heart hates you. You’re going to die an early death at this pace,” you scoffed, glancing down to where you began picking through your cooled fries in search of the crispy pieces.

“Yeah, whatever, happy deaths,” he answered lightly. “You gonna eat any o’ that?”

You glanced up to Dean’s famished eyes hounding the pot of edible gold still crowning your plate. “Yes, I’m gonna eat it!” You answered almost instantly. “I’m starving!”

“Well, you don’t look it,” he scoffed with a dramatic widening of his eyes—like he couldn’t believe you’d fault him for asking when your plate currently housed twice the calories of his. “Man, if my heart hates me, then your stomach hates you—teasin’ it like this with the one bite an hour ritual you’ve got goin’. You’re playin’ hard to get with the damn thing,” he huffed amusedly.

“It’s called savouring it,” you retorted with a light shake of your head. “You should try it some time.”

“Hey—I savour plenty, alright?” His brows perked pointedly, eyes lowering down your figure and straying to some view below the tabletop, where they lingered with a mischievous tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

You caught on immediately, apples of your cheeks rounding with a grin. “I can’t even with you,” you sighed dramatically; warmly.

Dean’s eyes lifted back to you, forming a wink that he’d come to reserve just for you. “And yet you do, anyways,” he chuckled, then straightened in his seat with some new resolve. “Alright, c’mon—start stuffin’ up on fries. For every bite you don’t finish, your ankle’s gettin’ ganked—” he paused to reinforce the threat by nudging the toe of his boot against yours, “—and then I’m eatin’ whatever’s left.”

“What are you—five?” You giggled, and then his boot came forward to deliver the first of its taps against your ankle. You let out a squeal despite its gentle nature, hand flying forward to scoop up a handful of fries with a grin heavy on your lips.

Dean’s arms crossed as he watched you with equal amusement. “It’s called buildin’ character,” he said. “Consider this your motivation to eat faster.”

“Maybe you should try eating slower!”

He tsked in response to that, then offered a tiny nod. “Yeah, alright, alright, I’ll try it sometime,” he entertained, jerking his chin at you. “C’mon, wrap it up and we’ll go half on that apple pie I ordered.”

⋆ .˚⋆ ≐ ⋆ ˚.⋆

On the drive back to the motel, Dean had rattled Baby’s entire infrastructure with some deafening rock, his jaws testing out new heights as he accentuated every tune with utmost enthusiasm. He’d glanced your way a couple of times to enlist you into his self-hosted concert, still blaring along to the music, but you’d only managed to pick up on a few phrases here and there through your time spent as an audience to his hunting playlists.

Whenever a song came on that you recognised, you’d chime in to harmonise with Dean in a word or two before dropping off and taking to watching him ensue into musical madness, a grin heavy on your lips. God, you loved him. You loved him so much. And you loved seeing him recognise how much of his free-will he could cash toward buying his own happiness, instead of worrying about everything and everybody else—especially on a day like today.

The drive back to the motel was a cheery one you’d mentally documented as a day to remember. When you’d eventually pulled up at the motel, Dean had laid the engine to rest with an intense glance in your direction—one that you’d come to recognise as something to question. Because if you didn’t, there was no telling what was on a mind as carefully guarded as his.

You met his gaze with light confusion, acknowledging the silence he’d coupled with his dramatic shift in demeanour. “Is everything okay?”

Much to your relief, Dean’s features grew soft, his lips spreading with a thankful smile. “Everythin’s perfect,” he soothed quickly, but no less gentle. “Just. . . thinkin’ ‘bout today—how you and Sammy went outta your way to make this day so freakin’ awesome. I appreciate it—I do,” he added with a light chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he drank you in with love-struck eyes.

You shifted across the seat until your leg was flush against Dean’s, your hand coming up to gently cradle his jaw. “First off,” you began, thumb stroking gentle lines over the apple of his cheek, and you felt the unbridled weight of him melting into your hold—because he’d always felt safe enough to entrust all of him to all of you. “When it comes to you, nothing will ever be out of the way. You’re worth the time—worth taking that moment to think about how we can celebrate the man who tries so hard to keep us all together. You’re always jumping at the opportunity to do things for everybody else, but tonight—on your night—I’m going to honour everything that you are. And reflect on how blessed the world is to have its very own Dean Winchester. How blessed I am.”

Dean’s eyes twinkled at that—like a starstruck fanboy—and you felt honoured to be the recipient of his admiration. His love.

“Secondly,” you continued. “This day is all about you—officially, and everything—there’s a birth certificate out there to prove it. But I want you to know that you’re the type of person worth celebrating every single day. And I do, quietly—with every glance I steal of you because I’m just so thankful that we exist at the same time. And even in a life that gets as shitty as ours, I’m glad that it’s you I get to share the small breaths of a break with—you that I’m laughing it up with over a burger and beer, you that I get to share a cuddle with each night that feels like it could fend off every worry, and you, in all that you are, reminding me every single day of what good looks like—and why this world is worth saving. You’re the face of all things precious and scare in this world, Dean.”

At those words, Dean cracked with a twitch of his lip, giving rise to a smile that was simultaneously hurt and healed. As he gazed into your eyes, you saw their beautiful, green depths begin to glimmer at the borders. At the first comprehension of his growing tears, he was quick to dip his head into concealment, jaw turning an inch to catch his lips onto the hand you’d cradled his cheek within.

There, in thick silence, he pressed a long and tender kiss to your palm—as though trying to brand himself with the taste, touch and scent of you. A gesture to remind you just how much of himself he’d devoted to loving you, living for you, and embracing everything that you meant to him in ways that didn’t always embody words.

You sat there for a few seconds, watching as he became one with you—choosing you as his safety confines while he worked to sort through the feelings he’d never been apt at acknowledging this gently; vulnerably. Eventually, he stirred from your hold, but not to forsake it entirely, his hands outstretching to frame you tenderly at the neck.

“God, I love you,” he whispered with a shuddered breath, the tears he’d tried to quell with a moment of silence proving to be stubborn. But they came as gentle streams, providing just enough moisture to cast a soft sheen amongst his cheeks. “I love you so damn much,” he reinforced—the sound gruff, raw and passionate—and then his lips were pressed against yours with a hunger that felt desperately pushy and shy all at once.

You reciprocated the kiss with equal devotion, hands coming up to wrap around his wrists as you steadied yourself within his passionate grip. His thumbs rubbed gentle lines down the ledge of your jaw as his kiss continued to deepen—not particularly lustful, but just a very physical, passionate vow of loyalty. A show that he was yours, and all yours.

For a while, your lips remained entangled in a fervent dance, the world all around you dissolving into nothingness. What was out there didn’t matter, anyway, not when your whole world was right here, right beside you.

⋆ .˚⋆ ≐ ⋆ ˚.⋆

Back in the motel, you and Dean had slunk inside with the intent to not wake up Sam—only to find that when you’d flicked on the lights, the younger brother was nowhere in sight. For a second, you both stood in dumbfounded silence, heads swinging to scan the modest space that he couldn’t have possibly been hidden away in—not with the height on him.

Then Dean let out a soft noise of realisation as he left your side to stroll into the kitchen, hand outstretched to pluck a note from the fridge’s barren door. He brought it toward him with a focused furrow of his brows, eyes scanning over the information before he let slip a smug chuckle.

You wandered over to Dean curiously, and just then, he turned to you with the note waving about. “Sammy’s slipped out for the night—called a cab and said us naughty teens could have the place to ourselves,” he explained with a heavy, cheeky undertone as he glanced you over.

You drew up beside him with a smile to entertain his implications, arms coming up in a cross. “Oh, yeah? Guess we better make the most of it, then,” you murmured, leaning yourself against the counter bordering the fridge.

Dean wandered close enough for the fabric of his jacket to graze your arms, head lowering to yours in a painfully slow manner. “Hm. . . what’d ya have in mind?” He asked before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then to the bridge of your nose.

Your nose scrunched playfully beneath his lips, eyes screwing shut at his very welcomed trespass. “I think—” you began, but were quickly silenced by the press of his lips against yours. After a few, greedy kisses with a point to prove, he pulled away to let you finish. “I think,” you repeated with a breathless laugh, eyes falling open once more. “You get the gist of it.”

“Think I damn well do,” he grinned, coming in for round two, but you stopped him with a finger to the lips.

“Not so fast, Casanova,” you steadied with a smile, making a point to tap his lips before pulling away. “I’ve got a little surprise for you, first.”

“What—it ain’t this?” Dean said ruefully, gesturing to all of you. “C’mon, man, quit teasin’ me.”

“I’m not teasing you,” you giggled before pushing yourself off the counter to round him in favour of the fridge. “I made you something.”

He hummed interestedly. “Well, colour me intrigued,” he drawled, turning to face you as he leaned himself against the counter to watch after your every move.

You opened the fridge and briefly ducked inside, rounding onto the point of your toes to grab the mystery meal off the top shelf. Beside you, Dean uttered a whistle of admiration, and you scoffed at his apparent leering. You lowered yourself with the prize in hand, shifting it to a one-sided grip as your free hand moved closed the door.

Dean studied the dish with interest as you strode over to him and placed it onto the counter. A part of you felt a sense of annoyance as you reflected back to the diner, where he’d gone and ordered himself two slices of pie despite your protest. You hadn’t wanted him to have his fill of it before tonight, where the dessert pie you’d baked him had been waiting for its time to shine.

Slowly, you pulled back the wrapping to reveal the dish—a dainty cream pie.

Dean took a moment to flutter his lashes, his lips forming a thoughtful pout—like he was trying to find the right words to decline your offer. You’d been afraid of this very reaction after he’d eaten enough pie for the next month. “More pie?” he remarked with an almost pained expression.

You let out a loose scoff, tossing the wrapping onto the counter. “I told you not to order another slice of pie at the diner!” You exclaimed, head shaking lightly.

“Yeah, but I just thought you were hasslin’ me over the eatin’ thing—not because you went and baked an entire one,” Dean laughed before moving to take a swipe at the topped cream. You watched as he crowned the pad of his index finger with a considerable cluster, then brought it up to his lips for a taste. After swallowing the smooth sweetness, he smacked his lips appreciatively. “But this tastes freakin’ amazing,” he praised with a warm grin. “Thanks, baby, I’ll savour it as much as the diner’s pie.”

“You’ll do that and more,” you shot back with a pretence of annoyance, but you couldn’t fend off the grin peaking through. “Cause it was hard work making this thing!”

He cocked a brow smugly. “Really? ‘Cause when last we hit the sheets, I seem to remember doin’ it in five minutes,” he said pointedly, teeth flashing a lewd grin as he gave an obnoxious wink.

Your jaw dangled at his shameless obscenity—alluding to a few nights ago where you’d begged him for a quickie, and had him finish inside of you. “Dean!” You exclaimed, hand coming forward to swat his arm lightly. “Think you’re a funny man, yeah?”

“I think I’m hilarious,” he replied charmingly, hand diving down to take another swipe at the cream. Just then, he brought it up to your face to slather the side of your cheek, which made your mouth curl around a gasp as you seized up on the spot.

“Asshole!” You sniped with no real anger, hand coming up to wipe some of the cream from your face, but Dean caught you at the wrist before you could eradicate the stickiness entirely.

“Fun-ass,” he corrected cheekily, gaze holding yours as he leaned himself down to wrap his lips around your index finger. You felt his tongue swirl around it to gather the cream, and even once he’d sucked it clean of all tangible sweetness, he kept up the wet whirlpool.

“Dean,” you laughed weakly. “Stop.”

Eventually, he freed your finger from his lips with a jarring pop, his chin wagging subtly with the pride of his action. “What?” He asked innocently, releasing your hand. “I’m just findin’ ways to make eatin’ this pie more excitin’.”

“Very innovative,” you giggled. “And messy.”

“Darlin’, don’t you worry—when I make a mess, I clean it up right after,” he remarked.

Suddenly, you became keenly aware of the cream still slathering your cheek. “Oh, is that so?” You retorted. “Because the records aren’t exactly reflecting right now.”

Dean’s hands came up in a gesture of his defence. “Hey, give me a chance,” he chuckled, then moved to wrap a hand around the nape of your neck. There, his fingers fanned the hair draping your neck, and he pulled you into his frame as his jaw made a dive toward your face.

You felt the warmth of his tongue drag a gentle trail up the curve of your cheek before drawing back to repeat the motion. You squirmed against the humid wetness, hands coming up to his chest as you let out a strained giggle. “That tickles, you weirdo!”

Eventually, he pulled back to face you, and the view of him was silly enough to send you into another giddy fit. The bridge of his nose was dotted with cream, and the trail dissipated along the curve of his glistening lips only to reappear within the divot of his chin.

“You look ridiculous!” You remarked with a warm laugh, finger lifting to wipe some of the cream off the button of his nose and present it to him.

“Yeah, well, you taste delicious,” he mocked childishly, linking his finger with yours to wipe the cream from the tip before plopping it into his mouth. He jerked his chin to the counter behind you, wiping his hands together. “Could ya pass me a paper towel, please? Behind you.”

Just then, an idea sparked to mind—shameless, and a little dirty, but fun. “Don’t bother,” you replied, and Dean’s brows shot up in surprise. Just then, you turned toward the pie, hand coming forward to scoop up an impressive amount of cream.

Behind you, Dean let out a soft huff, like he’d had an idea of what game you were about to play. Turning back to him, you hovered your cream-laden hand out in front of you, your other chaste one slipping beneath the hem of your tank to lift it up the expanse of your stomach. You terminated the stripping beneath the curve of your breasts, revealing enough of your abdomen to spur the Winchester on.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he breathed, his eyes unashamedly lowering down your exposed stomach before darting back to the cream cradled within your palm.

Without a word to spare, you began spreading a slow and messy trail across your stomach—starting at the divot between the curves of your breasts.

“Oh, I think I like where this is goin’,” Dean chuckled absentmindedly, lower lip drawn into a bite as he watched you paint the sticky trail down the length of your stomach—where you stopped just shy of your short’s hem.

Once you’d planted a generous path of cream, you brought your hand up to your lips to lick the last of it from existence, other hand still anchoring your shirt in its unobstructive place. “Rules of the game,” you began with a grin, Dean reciprocating one far more exhilarated. “Leave no mess behind—should be easy for you, he who always cleans up after himself,” you poked lightly.

“Easy?” He tutted cockily. “I’m gonna nail this out the freakin’ park. And then nail somethin’ else,” he added with a wink.

“Okay, mr. Big Talk, enough of the chitchat,” you laughed, free hand beckoning him forward.

Dean obliged with an eager, yes, ma’am, before inching his way toward you, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead, then at the crook of your neck before he pulled back to gaze you in the eye.

“Happy birthday,” you murmured with an adoring smile.

“Happy freakin’ birthday to me, indeed,” Dean breathed in astonishment, taking a moment to lower his eyes along the candy trail that paved way to his personal jackpot down under before glancing back up at you. Then, with a determined smirk playing at his lips, he ducked from your view.

His hands took up firm grip at your waist, anchoring himself there as his lips took to your cream-kissed skin like the famished jaws of a zombie. Your head lolled back at the sensation of his tongue swirling along your skin, your free hand coming forward to plant itself within the jagged field of his hair. There, your fingers curled around unruly wisps—as if needing to ground yourself against the skilled tongue currently deconstructing your every sense—and your lips parted with a soft moan.

Dean, as if spurred on by that singular, sweet sound, added teeth into the mix, nipping lightly at the surfaces he’d licked clean before continuing to lower himself down your stomach. His grip at your waist became firmer—more desperate—and as if he couldn’t restrain himself any longer, his fingers grazed down your sides to slip beneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear. There, he tugged ruthlessly, successfully managing to pull the items down and over the curves of your hips and thighs.

You aided his efforts to strip you with a shimmy of your legs, allowing the clothing to plop to the ground. Shortly after, Dean’s fingers made a return to your waist, his tongue doing one, last greedy sweep of your navel to terminate the creamy line. He pulled back to gaze up at you—nose, mouth and chin slathered with the remnants of your game—but his pupils were blown wide with arousal, his teeth bared in a grin that told you he wanted to taste more of you.

“Jesus, baby, you’re gonna ruin me,” he uttered gruffly, breathlessly, and then without waiting for your input, he dipped into the yearning warmth nestled in the nook of your thighs, where his nose struck your clit with all the right force.

Like a starved and thirsty man deprived of everything essential to life, his tongue swept through your folds with the intent to garner every last inch of you. You let out a loud moan at that, hip collapsing slightly into the support of the counter, but Dean’s hands—anchored at your hips—tightened to remind you of his reliability, pulling you back onto the support of his mouth. There, his grip lowered to your thighs, squeezing lightly before they tightened mercilessly with the intent to grind himself deeper into your warmth.

Tears began to well at your eyes as the stimulation consumed you, head snapping back and eyes screwing shut to get lost in the abyss of Dean’s making. You felt, and heard, every flick and swirl of his tongue around your clit—the sound obscenely audible as wet fluttering—and it was enough to deduce you to a stew of mindless praises.

“Fuck, Dean, fuck,” you breathed—whimpered, tightening your hold within his hair until you were tugging meanly at his scalp. But he didn’t mind it—if anything, it elicited his own grunts of pleasure, which reverberated into your folds and added to the tension you felt building within your core.

He drew your swollen clit into a whirlpool, spinning it round and round his exploitative tongue with a moan of enjoyment. You could have listened to him utter that sound a hundred times over, and it jabbed at your core to know that Dean would never fail to find joy in pleasuring you.

“Fuck, baby, so wet, ‘nd so fuckin’ good,” he murmured against you, the words slurred by his discontent to disrupt the contact—and pace. He made a dive toward your dripping entrance, gathering the amalgamation of saliva and arousal attempting to slip away unnoticed, before he briefly slipped into your entrance.

You let out a broken gasp at that foul move, hips stuttering further into his jaw, but he steadied you upright with an accomplished chuckle to rattle you from within. His tongue retreated to drag back up your folds, re-establishing its rightful place running laps around your clit.

“S’alright, baby, I got you,” he murmured into you, adding fuel to the fire you felt about to erupt within you.

“I’m gonna come,” you muttered breathlessly, thighs clamping around his hold.

Dean gave a hum of approval at that, but kept up his slow and steady pace, only intensifying the stimulation with the pressure of his tongue.

The bundle within you began to grow and grow at your centre, tightening into an inexplicable mass that you craved to let go of. “Fuck,” you spat, eyes clamping shut as you chased your high. “Dean—don’t stop,” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

“Ain’t ever stoppin’, baby,” he mumbled, hands squeezing your thigh pointedly.

“Can you. . . go faster,” you stuttered out, eyes faltering open and chin dipping to glance at him. “Please, I need it,” you whined softly.

Dean didn’t stray from his work to glance at you, and his pace didn’t budge, either. “Can’t,” he declined. “Gotta eat slower, remember?” There was a teasing flick across your clit, and you couldn’t help but let out a disbelieved laugh, eyes falling shut once more as you melted into his controlled pace.

“Asshole.”

“Fun-ass.”

──────────────────────

a/n ─ happy birthday to pookie!!! and this is a birthday gift bc dean’s a simple man—he’s a munch. fuck birthday presents & fuck birthday cake, this fucker just wants to devour you. best birthday song? the filth outta your mouth when his tongue’s surfing your clit. said who? me. dean told me. in my wet dreams last night. as a bonus for shits & giggles

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @titsout4jackles @ultravi0lence14 @angelicjackles @starzify @honeyryewhiskey @deansbeer @figthoughts @floralscented @walkslikesummeractslikerain @deansbbyx @whisperingdaze @maddie0101 @lieutenantchaos @spn-reader @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @misatxox

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other works ─ supernatural masterlist

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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Yandere! Demon x Gloomy! Reader

As much as you'd like to spend the rest of your life secluded away from the world, you need money. Conveniently enough, a new detective agency in town is hiring, and the salary is ridiculously good. The catch? Oh, you'll see once you sign the contract right...here. Congratulations! You've sealed a lifetime bond with their one and only employee, a demon from the depths of Hell!

Content: female reader, monster romance, dark humor, perverted goat demon yandere, based on ‘Yondemasuyo, Azazel-San’

[Part 2] [Monster masterlist]

There’s still enough time to go back, you think. It’s loud and crowded and you’d rather be home. The temptation is beginning to creep its tendrils over your mind, so you quickly pull out your phone and check your bank account. The numbers remind you why you’re here in the first place: if you don’t get a job soon, you’ll run out of savings.

Come on, it can’t be that bad. In fact, it’s the best offer you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Minimal interaction with humans, short hours, and absurdly good pay. A new detective agency opened in your town and they’re looking for an assistant. A regular person would most likely be put off by such shady circumstances. There must be a catch, but you couldn’t care less either way. What are they going to do, kill you? Sell your organs on the black market? They’d spare you the time to plan your own demise.

You climb the stairs and knock on the door. A deep voice tells you to enter, and you sheepishly make your entrance. The office is rather small and somewhat cramped, with stacks of papers scattered over the floor. Behind the desk sits a man – maybe in his thirties? – with messy black hair, sunken eyes, and an irked expression. Is this the detective? He looks like an angry thug. Not that you’re one to judge, given your overall gloomy aura that deters passersby with ease.

“Yes?” he asks curtly, not even looking up from his book.

“I’m here for the job offer. The assistant role?”

“Ah, yeah. Completely forgot about that.” He rummages through his drawer and pulls out a sheet of paper, slapping it on the desk. “Here’s the details. Same as in the ad. Here’s where you sign. Do you have questions?”

“Hmm, I guess not.” You hum, indifferent, and scribble your name.

The man finally glances at you, faint intrigue on his face.

“This went unexpectedly smoothly. What if it was a scam?”

“Then what?” You stare him in the eye with a flaccid smile. “There’s nothing to take from me. If it is a scam indeed, you’ll be the one disappointed in the end.”

His eyes narrow in an eerie grin, and he stands up.

“Perfect match.”

“Excuse me?”

He walks towards a secondary room and waits for you to follow him. Once you’ve joined, he turns on the lights, and you immediately notice a strange seal painted on the floor: Geometric symbols resembling a pentagram, surrounded by words in a language you don’t understand. You’re carefully observing the strange sight, so entranced that you don’t sense the detective lifting your hand and casually piercing your finger with a small scalpel.

Before you can react to the sudden attack, he presses your hand onto the contract you’d signed earlier. You wince in pain and swiftly pull your hand away, glaring at the man.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you demand angrily.

“I thought I’d already introduce you to the main tool we use to solve our cases.”

The sigil on the ground begins to glow and the edges move in a circular motion. A black ooze erupts from the center, rapidly expanding outwards. You glue yourself to the wall for safety, unsure of what is happening.

A clawed hand emerges from the cursed muck, grabbing onto the edges for support. Within seconds, a creature crawls its way out. A humanoid figure with curled horns and long locks, its body ending with goat hooves instead of legs, stands up and stretches before your terrified self. You tighten your jaw in anticipation.

“You always summon me during my best naps, damn it!” the demon barks.

The detective approaches the monster, completely unconcerned, and slaps its horns nonchalantly, earning a groan from the demon.

“Skip the unnecessary whining. This is our new assistant and your owner as of now.” He explains, dangling the contract before the horned creature and pointing a finger in your direction.

“The fuck? You said you’d end the deal if I completed that mission. You lied to me, you-!” the beast finally notices your presence and abruptly stops. “Well then, what do we have here?”

A wide, perverted smile replaces his frown, sharp fangs glistening with malice.

“Aren’t you a miserable one! You reek of apathy”, the demon exclaims, clacking his hooves in your direction. “Boy oh boy, I could just eat you up! Tell me your name.”

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. You wonder if this is some bizarre dream after all. The demon clamps your lips back shut.

“Tempting offer, but I don’t need head right now. Save the gesture for later, alright? Let’s try again: Name!”

Your brows furrow in disbelief at his crass insolence.

“I-it’s (Y/N).” you finally manage to blurt out.

He strokes your head lovingly, as if he’s praising some house pet.

“Good girl. You can call me Zzy.”

For a moment, you completely forgot about the detective being in the same room. He places the demon under a firm hold and shoves him away from you, then hands you a thick, leathered book.

“This is his grimoire. Read it once you’re home. First day is tomorrow unless you need more time.”

“Tomorrow is fine”, you answer in a daze, fumbling to find the exit and ignoring the horned monster waving at you enthusiastically.

You’re lying in bed, still a little shaken from the events you witnessed earlier today. A detective agency that uses a demon to solve matters, and you’ve just been coerced into selling your soul for a lifetime bond with him. You sigh in exhaustion. At least the pay is good, you tell yourself as you trace your fingers over the old text of the grimoire:

“Great President of Hell, ruling three legions of demons. Brings insanity or great sorrow to any person the conjurer wishes. Feeds on sadness and fear. Causes people to end their life.”

Hard to believe that depraved buffoon holds such power. Although it does explain, at least, why the detective was eager to use you as a replacement. Or why the demon showed such intense interest.

“Who’s a buffoon?”

The voice is so close that you feel its hot breath on your ear. You scream and jump back in panic, tumbling out of the bed and scrambling onto the floor. You rub your eyes just to make sure: the half-goat creature is lounging under your sheets, gazing at you with a bored expression.

“Christ! I thought you’re not allowed to leave the office?” you inquire, baffled.

“That’s why I snuck this in your pocket!” he says as he procures a small coin. “I can track down cursed items. Hehe~”

As if remembering a vital detail, he throws himself up and joins you on the ground:

“Oh, but don’t tell Mr. Detective about it, or he’ll feed me to the dogs. It’s our secret.” he pleads, hands put together in a praying gesture.

“What are you even doing here?”

“I figured it’d be useful if we got to know each other as soon as possible, seeing as we’ll be working together from now on.”

“And it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Well…I also got really horny thinking of you and decided to just visit instead. How about a quick fuck?”

“Absolutely not. Eat a raw potato or something.”

“Don’t be like that! At least let me touch your boobs. Help a partner out, eh?”

Perhaps being scammed was not the worst-case scenario. You slap the demon’s groping fingers away and return to your previous spot in bed. It will be a long night.

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whereserpentswalk · 3 months ago

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Reblog to meet your date! Like to give them a little gift! Tag your freinds to make sure that every monster has somebody to love them! Look under the cut to see what meeting them for the first time is like!

The fallen angel: You see them for the first time, a sexless humanoid with a muscular physique with eyes that reflect broken stars, and wings permanently stained with blood. They wear all black, clothing that looks like they could barely manage to place upon themself. They seem shy at first, like they're worried they'll hurt you just by being there, slowly you extend a hand for them to hold, and cautiously they gently take it, for what's probably the first time in a long time their face shows a smile.

Computer: Slowly the creature is wheeled out by an attendant in a gas mask, an ancient looking monitor surrounded by wires, placed in a wheelchair to make up for the fact that such a creature lacks any limbs. For a few momments you wonder if the stories are true, and if such a being could truly be alive. Then the screen lights up and displays a single red eye, and you understand...

Cyborg: You see them sitting there, nothing to eat, nothing to drink, they didn't even bother wearing clothing. You can see their old flesh and hair on their upper face but everything else looks so very skeletal, even the lower part of their face is like a gas mask, with no mouth or nose. You sit next to them, looking at the parts that hold together their silver body, looking almost like restraints more then they do body parts. You're about to ask them something but a noise reminds them of something and they start to break down, you hold them and tell them they're safe, and you can feel their oddly warm body start to become calm.

Sun and Moon: Two glowing shapes stand before you, each floating and ethereal. One is in the shape of a crescent moon, while the other is in the shape of a sun with rays. You're not sure if it's alive or not or one being or two. Slowly both of them start saying things, wondering what you are and what they're supposed to do to you, sounding more like someone talking tho themself then two beings arguing. Eventually they decide that you're theirs.

Werewolf: for a moment they look entirely human, a slightly chubby grad student with glasses and messy hair looking at you with eyes that aren't a color that human eyes ever are. They looked for a moment to see if you're safe to let their form shift in front of. You can see them change for a moment, cycling through forms, first a humanoid with a few lupine features on their body, then a creature that could pass entirely for an actual wolf, then a mess of fur and claws and jaws and sharp teeth, then a bipedal creature with a wolflike head and fur all over their body. The final form seems to be the one they're most comfortable with, at least around you, at least for this moment.

Fae: They look over you, sitting on the back of their chair instead of sitting on its seat. Their body looks almost human but there is something off about it, like they possess a beauty so perfect its entirely inhuman, almost creepy. They flash you a quick smile, the molecules in the air around their body seemingly terrified by their presence. For a few moments they shift your body, changing your age, your sex, your species, and then putting you back as they were before. They magically remove the worn denims and leathers they were wearing, for a split second showing their naked salmacian body, then they drape themself in a costume of opulent gold and blood red rubies, as they prepare to hold court with you.

Alien: They're massive, like a mantis, with an exoskeleton that shimmers with a thousand colors like bismuth or like starling's feathers. Their crested head looks down at your big golden eyes, that seem weirdly happy. They extend a scythe like arm to touch you with, and you think they're going to attack you, but all they do is gently pet your head. You're very aware of how easily they could hurt you, but they don't, and with them next to you, you feel so safe.

Goblin: The creature walks around you in circles, a blood-stained hoodie on their body, they're far shorter than you but you're very sure that they're stronger, their body skinny not slender but still looking like it could pounce so quickly, like a serpent stalking its prey. Their eyes are so red, like a mouse's, their fangs so sharp, their skin pale white but with thick black veins throughout it. They sniff you for a moment, and then identify you as something safe, and hug you, holding you very tight, as something that's theirs.

Vampire: They're just sitting there, looking at you with their big golden eyes, their inhumanly pale skin contrasted with their long black hair, their completely sexless body wrapped in fancy clothing from hundreds of years prior. Their most inhuman feature is their mouth, massive, snake like, with exposed fangs, and mandibles to help them latch on to prey. You'd expect the sounds they'd make to be like screeches, but they're singing the most beautiful song that you've ever heard, like the sirens of the Odessey. You let them gently pet your head for a few moments, as you do the same for them, then you take out a knife to draw blood from the palm of your hand, and they lap it up so very gently, like a creature eating treats out of your naked hand.

Demon lord: they stand before you, tall and proud, their head many horned and covered in shimmering red scales, their arms muscular and their belly fat, their bottom half quadrupled and reptilian. They look down at you and places something into your hand, it's a food of some sort but it doesn't match the profile of anything you've ever eaten or even seen before in your life, each ingredient entirely alien to your senses. When you take a bite of it they smile and ask if you like it. It tastes better then anything that you've ever eaten before, your tongue filling with eldirch and unknowable things, as your ambitions begin to completely melt away.

Ghost: slowly you walk closer to the spirt, ignoring the others warnings, knowing that you're walking into danger. Eventually you can see them, contrasted with the night, their bloodied form ethereal yet very very present. You can see the broken windows around you, you know that it would be very easy for them to take your life if they wanted to. But they don't, at least not for now, and slowly you extend a hand, and watch them slowly come down twords you to take it.

Dragon: You watch as the sea slowly boils with your spell. You wonder if they can really be summoned like this, you worry that you did something wrong, or that you're not far enough out at sea. Then you see the start of their head rise up from the water, larger then any natural beast, they rush up, rearing their head and neck alone as high up as a skyscraper, their body covered in black-green scales as solid as steel but as light as a feather, their neck serpentine but their massive jaws like that of a crocodile, bright red eyes shining agaisnt the sky as bioluminescent patches glow across their body. They look down at you and smile...

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nereidprinc3ss · 1 year ago

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do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him.

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye.

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign.

You look at it.

And then you set your phone down.

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness.

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder.

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside.

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes.

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment.

He looks good. Almost too good.

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek.

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head.

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him.

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully.

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.”

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek.

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best.

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body.

You cover his hand with your own.

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion.

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies.

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks.

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense.

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this.

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy.

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel.

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm.

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him.

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you.

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly.

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds.

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no.

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful.

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly.

“Yes, please.”

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting.

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine.

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for.

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings.

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present.

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing.

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster.

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem.

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest.

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place.

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand.

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair.

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful.

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again.

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you.

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame.

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you.

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?”

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin.

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential.

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands.

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind.

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK.

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake.

He knows.

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity.

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like.

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before.

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it?

Maybe you have it all wrong.

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you.

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick.

24 hours go by.

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up.

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure.

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off.

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking.

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep.

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed.

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone.

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said.

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room.

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while.

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs.

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones.

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble.

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no.

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly.

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence.

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans.

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure. After a pause, he sighs in defeat.

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown.

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless.

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up.

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones. It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic.

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand.

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket.

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter.

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges.

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it.

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer.

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing.

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?”

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you.

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?”

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that.

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before.

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft.

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest.

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows.

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts.

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning.

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration.

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous.

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them.

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit.

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice.

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making.

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now.

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that.

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers.

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute.

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base.

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut.

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock.

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.”

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk.

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump.

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment.

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry.

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!”

He knows.

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist.

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding.

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease.

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more.

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone.

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide.

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else.

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you.

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here.

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength.

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?”

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous.

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue.

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared.

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out.

“You regret your first time?”

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does.

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when�� when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash.

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins.

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same.

You want to scream bloody murder.

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse.

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence.

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back.

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me.

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later.

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was.

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help.

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does.

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound.

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more.

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right.

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here.

“Goodnight.”

part five

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

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mcondance · 9 months ago

Text

knowing better, twisted pleasure ☆ spencer reid

MDNI 18+ oral yay!!!, i love thinking about spencer with his head between my legs so here we are, overstim so “stop” is said once so keep that in mind ☆ title from killshot by magdalena bay, listen as you read if you want! spencer i can’t get enough of you please.

☆ ☆

it’s too much, you can’t. you can’t.

“spence— spence stop,” you plead as you squirm and your legs draw up in an attempt to get away from him. but he just won’t stop. unaffected, he slips his hands under your thighs and pulls you closer to his mouth, to where he wants you.

soft locks are enveloped in your hands as you card your fingers through them because even in your delirium, giving him affection is like breathing. your objections skate right over that pretty head of his and he keeps going, because he knows you don’t mean it. he knows that if he stops and rises back up to his knees, you’ll be begging him to “come back, please,” like you did that one time he felt really evil.

you gasp when you feel two fingers enter you, and you groan painedly when they begin to move, stroking maddeningly.

spencer’s too good at this, his fingers are too caring and precise inside you and his tongue is too soft and sweet as it laves over you. jesus, what the fuck.

it’s all so much, so much. a tortured, groveled moan rips from your chest as another sickly-sweet pang of feeling rocks through you. spencer’s commanding fingers tighten around your thighs, stacking yet another sensation on your already overwhelmed nervous system. human evolution, no matter how developed and perfected, was not made for this. it balks in the face of what spencer’s doing to you.

“oh my god— spence,” you whine, locking in on him through your blurry, teary eyes. between your legs, he looks unfortunately perfect, even as he shuts you down and lights you up all at the same time. you’ve got enough going on under your skin to power your whole block.

it’s lewd, how he looks so pretty eating you out. his messy brown hair and those melting golden eyes, and most disgustingly, his mouth hidden where his tongue flicks against your absolutely soaked center. the visual is art, though, the plane of his shoulders and his ever-expressive liquid hazel eyes flitting between closed and taking you in, in your beautiful ruin.

it’s in moments like these where spencer feels good. you’re explicitly, obscenely beautiful to him, and your pleasure is something he takes great pride in giving to you. as you lose yourself in it, sinking into the sticky pool of feeling, he gets to bear witness to it all.

“oh, baby,” you moan so warmly as he flattens his tongue and licks right over your clit. before, his tongue was quick and precise, but now he’s taken to loving you slowly, licking in a way that could only be called sensual. he hums as he runs his tongue over you again, so salacious, open-mouthed and he looks so dirty that you can’t fucking take it any more. again, your body does its best to protect you from feelings you can’t compute, but spencer does his best to make you take what you need more than air.

then, his fingers inside you focus on their goal, and he’s curling them familiarly and kissing that spot, rubbing it softly.

“yeah, fuck—,” is all you can scramble out before what’s been building up in you since he first settled between your legs explodes. if you didn’t know better, you’d think you’re exploding with how fucking much you feel. it should be humanly impossible to feel this way, but it’s not, because you’re feeling it here and now as your ears pop and your vision goes black and spencer just keeps fucking consuming you. he has the nerves to moan from between your legs, sending shockwaves through your already ravaged being.

eons pass. you travel through a thousand universes and sit upon a thousand suns before you come back to your Earth, with your spencer looking softly up at you, his head laying on one of your glossy thighs. as your senses slowly return to you, it seems he’s wiped his hand off on the sheets because the hand that’s rubbing the outside of your thigh is relatively dry, considering its previous position.

“you okay?” he asks warmly.

“fuck you,” you drag, croaky and unpolished.

he snorts.

“yeah, you’re okay,” he says through his laughing, unhooking his hand from under your trembling thigh as he rises up to hover over you. he kisses you, and just barely begrudgingly, you kiss him back.

“good?” he whispers over your lips. you wrap your arms over his neck as you both settle with each other.

“yeah,” you acquiesce lightly with a shrug and a tilt of your head, before you bring him down for another kiss.

#yay!!!!!!#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x black reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #mcondance 2024 #— 🪽

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theskywithin · 2 months ago

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Birth Chart Breakdown: ☾ Chiron Through the Houses — A Wound You Were Meant to Heal ☾ (and a light you were born to carry)

We all carry a wound that doesn’t quite bleed but still aches in silence. Chiron shows us where that ache lives, where we feel broken, unseen, not enough. But it also reveals the place where our pain becomes our gift.

Chiron doesn’t just mark a wound, it marks your wisdom. The place where you cracked open is the place light gets in. And one day… you’ll thank your wound for becoming your why.

Let’s begin, house by house.

Chiron in the First House You wear your wound like a second skin. It’s in your smile, your posture, the way you hesitate before saying “this is who I am.” You may have learned early that being yourself wasn’t quite enough, or perhaps, too much. But your healing begins the moment you stop trying to be palatable. Scars don’t make you less beautiful. They make you real. And your presence? It’s medicine for anyone who’s ever been afraid to take up space.

Chiron in the Second House This is the wound of worth. You were taught that value had a number, a title, a price tag. That love must be earned. That safety lives in the external. But eventually, you’ll tire of negotiating your value. And when you do, you’ll find the gold was never in the bank. It was buried in your bones. You are already enough. Not because you did something. But because you are.

Chiron in the Third House They may have silenced you, misunderstood you, interrupted your thoughts before they could bloom. So you turned your voice into a locked room. But even quiet things echo. You were never too much, you were just ahead of your time. Your healing lives in words, raw, trembling, true. Speak them. Write them. Because your story is the bridge someone else has been praying to find.

Chiron in the Fourth House The ache of this placement sits in the bones of your childhood. A home that didn’t hold you, a love that felt conditional. You may still carry the echo of doors that never opened when you knocked. But healing is not about rewriting the past. It’s about becoming the sanctuary you never had. Build it, brick by brick. And one day, you’ll sit in your own warmth and realize you were always your own home.

Chiron in the Fifth House They laughed when you were serious. Dismissed you when you were vulnerable. Taught you to hide your light so you wouldn’t be burned. But joy is not a luxury. Creativity is not frivolous. This is your birthright: to feel, to create, to love without apology. Your art is the rebellion. Your love is the revolution. Keep creating. Even when your hands shake. Especially then.

Chiron in the Sixth House You’ve tried to be perfect, haven’t you? To fix the cracks before anyone sees them. You measure yourself in tasks completed, bodies managed, emotions controlled. But healing isn’t neat, it’s messy and cyclical and human. You are not a machine. You are a rhythm. A breath. A being. Let yourself rest. Not because you’ve earned it. But because you deserve it.

Chiron in the Seventh House You gave too much. Or maybe never dared to give at all. Love wounded you. Connection confused you. You keep meeting mirrors that don’t reflect you back. But here’s the secret: your worth was never dependent on another’s recognition. You are whole, even when standing alone. And when you finally meet someone who sees your soul instead of their own shadow, you’ll know the difference. You’ll choose love without losing yourself.

Chiron in the Eighth House This is the wound that hides in locked drawers and dreams you don’t speak of. Loss. Betrayal. The kind of pain that changes your shape. You’ve walked through the underworld more than once. But you came back each time, didn’t you? That’s your power: to die and be reborn. Your healing isn’t about avoiding the dark. It’s about remembering that you are the light that knows its way through it.

Chiron in the Ninth House You searched for truth and found contradictions. You believed, then doubted, then disbelieved entirely. Faith became a wound. But life isn’t meant to be figured out. It’s meant to be lived. Let go of needing answers. Let yourself be the question. And one day, you’ll realize: you weren’t lost. You were just walking a path no one else dared to take.

Chiron in the Tenth House You’ve been climbing mountains just to prove you’re worthy of the summit. Authority figures may have broken your spirit, or expected you to be more than human. But your soul didn’t come here to impress. It came here to impact. Success isn’t found in applause. It’s in the quiet knowing that you stayed true to your essence. Leave your mark, not on the world’s expectations, but on its heart.

Chiron in the Eleventh House You’ve always felt like the outsider. The misfit in the room full of masks. You wanted to belong, but not at the cost of your truth. And so, you kept your magic hidden. But the world doesn’t need more fitting in. It needs more you. Your weird is your wisdom. Your edge is your offering. Find your people, or build your own constellation.

Chiron in the Twelfth House You feel everything. Pain that isn’t yours. Sorrow without a name. It’s like you’re carrying something ancestral, karmic, invisible. And maybe you are. But within that fog lives your deepest gift: compassion that could flood galaxies. Your healing is quiet. Subtle. Spiritual. You may never get closure from the world. But you will find peace within. And in doing so, you’ll become the kind of presence that heals without even speaking.

🪐 Every placement has a purpose. 📖 My book helps you uncover it with clarity and depth.

#astrology #astro community #astro observations #astro notes #birth chart #natal chart #natal astrology #natal aspects #chiron

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the-modern-typewriter · 2 months ago

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Hello, I've always been a huge fan of your writing and especially how you write heroes and villains! If it's not too much trouble, I was wondering if you could write the villain putting the hero into an enchanted sleep rather than fight them, sort of an 'it's for your own good' sort of thing.

Thank you if you do, and even if you do, thank you for all the wonderful writing over the years!

"The world is a harsh place, my doveling," said the evil queen. "It will hurt you and break you and ruin you. I would spare you that."

"That's not the world," the princess said. "That's just you."

"But the world is mine, and so it is the same thing." The queen lowered the princess's body gently to the lush meadow, cradling her close, for once despite the dirt coating her fine skirts. "And my world is not a fit place for the likes of you. You have proven that time and time again, with your tears and your sorrow and your ever bleeding heart. You should have stayed away."

"No. No!"

It already sounded embarrassing when it left her mouth. Slurred, so quickly, as the remaining strength drained from her. It was nothing like what she had planned. Nothing like how the world being too cruel for the tender-hearted should mean making the world a gentler place, not a colder one. Nothing about how they could be better.

Didn't the queen see? Why couldn't she ever seem to see?

How could someone who spent all their time looking at mirrors be so blind?

"You're wrong," the princess managed. "You've always been wrong."

"Oh, shh." The queen brushed a tear away from the princess's cheek, cupping her cheek, tilting the princess's lolling head to the light like she was examining something precious. "Just rest, now. You do not want to fight me, and you could never have won, so let me give you some peace. You are a sweet little thing, so go sweetly."

The princess wanted to say that just because she didn't want to hurt the queen didn't mean that she didn't want to fight. Of course she wanted to fight. They both knew she wanted to fight. That, at least, the queen could see. The knowledge gleamed in her diamond-hard eyes.

The princess glared.

The queen huffed. In an instant, her touch turned clawed, one set of nails piercing into unmarked skin like she could brand it.

"You know, you really should be grateful," she said. "Honestly. A less benevolent queen might have killed you. Plucked the flower of your youth just blooming in jealousy! This is for your own good. I will have you just as you are, perfect and sleeping and untouched by life's hardships. You have no idea how lucky you are."

The princess's breath hitched in pain.

The queen's temper died as quickly as it always came. She released a breath. Her touch turned back to a caress, stroking the princess's hair back perfect from her face.

"You know I can appreciate lovely things," the queen continued. "I always have. And you...oh you..."

The princess wanted to flinch away from the queen's cool and possessive touch, but her body would no longer move and her eyes felt unbearably heavy. Every second was a greater struggle to keep them open. The spell that bound her was not a soft, pretty thing like the queen had pretended to be. It was as firm as the hold of any self-respecting snake about to devour its prey.

Still, the princess fought it. As hard as she'd ever fought anything.

A strand of hair slipped free of the queen's grasp, curling messy over her face. Her cheeks flushed with the strain.

"Don't do this," the princess whispered. "Don't do this to me, please."

For a heartbeat, the queen looked almost human, almost like she meant it, and regretted that it all had to turn out how it had. Then, the moment was gone, and the queen's face was smooth because - as she always told the princess - emotions gave one frown lines.

"Don't be silly. Rest," the queen said, her voice brooking no more argument. She tucked the hair back behind the princess's ear. "I will not destroy you. And you are not so unkind as to make me do that. So, there. It is done, my doveling. I have saved you."

You are destroying me.

It came out a broken little wheeze. It sounded too peaceful, by far, compared to the maelstrom in the princess's chest.

"You always were stubborn."

The queen leaned down to bestow a kiss to the princess's forehead. She dragged her fingers over the princess's eyes while she was still glaring. Her magic tugged at the rest; mind and body and soul.

The world was black.

The queen's hands were everywhere.

There was only her, her, her.

Then, there was only dreaming.

#snow white #fairytale inspired #hero x villain #villain x hero #heroes #villains #fantasy #enchanted sleep #writing #my writing #writeblr #writing snippet #writers on tumblr #fairytales

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gojoest · 7 months ago

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BOUNDARIES — gojo satoru

roommate!satoru, expanding on this post here, he’s obsessed and perverted, but you’re not exactly a saint either — i call it a perfect match

MDNI, f!reader, roommates/housemates au, not as explicit per se but he jerks off to your pictures and when given the chance he peeps at you, wants to fuck you so bad, not proofread, tenses might be messy i typed and hit post, dividers by @/saradika-graphics, wc: 1.3k

satoru never really thought that a roommate could complicate his life this much.

at first it was a minor problem.

maybe he was sexually frustrated — was what he thought — this must be what’s causing his body to react to you the way it does.

this must be why he would get hard around you all the time — watching you dash around the house in your shorts that barely covered your ass, a loose t-shirt tossed on top, no bra under it — he could tell, because he always watched really carefully, almost anticipating the moment your nipples would get hard and poke the fabric from beneath. he’d often wonder what they actually looked like, and how sensitive they were.

this must also be why he would often get hard because of you — stepping into the bathroom right after you were done showering, the sweet scent of your shampoo and shower gel wafting through the air still would pick at his senses. he’d close his eyes and try to picture you.

he would think of himself as a shameless man, getting off to the image of you in his mind, or the remnants of your scent around the house. but his desires would quickly deafen that shame as he oozed his seed out and onto the bathroom tiles. the thought of your feet touching that very ground he just unloaded on did it for him. like he was secretly marking you.

see, without realizing, the minor problem had already gotten out of hand. it was not as minor anymore.

he didn’t remember when exactly he had tossed the porn aside and started scrolling through your instagram instead whenever he jerked off. there was one picture of you in a crop top that he really loved. it was his favorite in fact. he’d put his finger on the screen, right where your belly button showed, and he’d bite his lips with lust. “here— when i put it in, it would reach up to here, right?”

he was down bad at this point, he knew it. and it was only getting worse. unsure whether it was his sick, perverted thoughts that played a trick on his mind, but he would often wonder if you were testing him sometimes, tempting him on purpose. to see when he’d break.

live with someone for long enough and sometimes you see things that you shouldn’t. a bit more flesh here and there. topless, bottomless, or fully naked when doors are left ajar. after all, you share the same space and accidents like these are bound to happen. you turn around and you walk away. and you don’t ever speak of it, out of courtesy and to avoid the awkwardness.

but satoru couldn’t quite do that. he had reached his breaking point.

were you just being careless now? or were you a temptress in disguise? why would you leave the door to your room open when freshly out of the shower? when you knew well that he was at home too? that he could walk by and see?

it’s not as much of a curiosity as it is a human reflex to look what’s inside when you see an opening, right? naturally, his gaze would drift through the crack in the door, right? — satoru kept convincing himself that it was okay to just take a quick peek.

the towel unwrapping itself and sliding down a freshly bathed body, damp with droplets of the shower water still on your skin, as you reached your hands up to dry your hair with a smaller cloth. “tch”, you clicked your tongue, glancing at the towel on your feet. bending down — the crack of your ass spreading as your body curled, divulging the way to your lips and what lied between them — you picked it back up and put it around your body again.

live with someone long enough and sometimes you see things that you shouldn’t. but when you do, you turn around and you walk away.

yet,

satoru’s feet did not move. what did though was the thing attached between them. his cock, now hard and copiously leaking as the quick peeking turned into a long staring.

call it lust clouding his rational thinking or a moment of weakness — or perhaps even both — he pushed the door wide open and barged in, with a full erection on display.

“are you testing me or are you forgetting that you live with a man?”

you turned around to look at him. a nonchalant smile on your lips, you crossed your arms over your waist and shrugged. not even slightly bit startled or taken aback by his sudden intrusion — as if you were expecting him. “i was wondering when that man would be man enough to actually make a move on me instead of fisting himself to my pictures every night. how does this answer your question, roomie?”

satoru chuckled as he charged towards you in a slow pace. “it’s a relief to know i am not the only pervert in this house”

busted, huh?

you knew. of course, you did. he wasn’t as quiet as he thought he was. even if he tried his best not to moan, his breathing was rash and loud, the way his hand slapped against his flesh was frantic and loud too, and the walls — the walls were thin enough to hear it all.

after a while, considering how regular he was with these activities, the curiosity got the best of you. you kept wondering — what kind of porn was a man like him watching? what was the thing that made him, gojo satoru, crumble so desperately while fucking his hand? was it just the porn, or was there something more? could that something be a someone, perhaps?

if you peeked into his room, would you find any clue?

many times you tried to reason with yourself, that it was none of your business what your roommate did behind closed doors. yet your feet ended up taking you to his room while he was out, and you found yourself rummaging through his things like an obsessed psycho ex.

nothing.

no trace to hint at the existence of someone in his life causing him to lose his mind every night. no pictures on the walls nor on his desk, not even inside the drawers. nothing.

but then again, you came here to find the porn, and his laptop was conveniently open and accessible. do not stray from your path, you told yourself, just check the browser history and go away.

funny enough, it did not lead to any porn sites. but even funnier, it was filled with multiple visits to your instagram account. every night, around the time he would take care of himself.

so— there was someone, huh? and that someone happened to be you. a sense of satisfaction swelled inside of you, your lips curled into a triumphant grin now that you knew, that it was you all along.

should you perhaps tease him a little, and see when he breaks?

“don’t lump me in with the likes of you — you are the pervert, i was simply curious”, you huff.

“that curiosity of yours is violating my privacy though”, satoru smugly remarked, although he knew he was not one to talk.

his bulge was visible from afar but now that he was close enough, your eyes picked on the huge, wet stain on his crotch as well. he leaked at the sight of you, huh? how cute. truth be told, the state of him right now was making the slick gathered in the opening of your cunt slowly roll down the inner of your thigh. you wondered if he could smell it.

“because peeping at me through the door isn’t a violation of mine”

“you don’t seem to mind it though”, he scanned your lower half, and smirked.

damn, he could smell it.

he continued, “but let’s set some boundaries, all right?”

you raised an eyebrow, questioning, while your eyes followed the movement of his hand as it reached for your belly, thumbing over your navel in slow circular motions.

“how about, up to here?”, his thumb pressed against your belly button. “i’ll stop once i get right here, okay?”

#ઈઉ — ai writes #[ ♡ ] — satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut

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priisprii · 3 months ago

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Gentleman - Joshua

Summary: Your gentleman boyfriend is freak in the sheets.

Warnings: dom!Joshua x fem reader, unprotected sex, fingering, spit kink, penetrative sex, edging, pure filth.

Word count: 1.7 k

Minors don't interact.

Gentleman

That's what your boyfriend pretends to be infront of everyone; an innocent, kind and sweet ball of sunshine, he indeed is gentleman. He's the most considerate and warm human you ever met. Joshua was painfully perfect. But not a single soul would have thought that this sweet-natured honey boy was a whole different person with you in the bedroom. A cruel sadist . His comforting voice somehow becomes more deeper and sexier while he uses it to whisper the dirtiest words possible that leaves you a broken mess in his hold. His long fingers were able to reach the most sensitive corners of your pussy. He was everything you wished for, a caring boyfriend and also a strict dominant to overstimulate you till you beg him to stop. It didn't mean that you didn't feel safe or loved, he had a way of words that made both your heart and pussy skip a beat. It was true that there's a wild side to every innocent face.

" I am not going to touch you unless, you beg sweetheart" Joshua snickered , this was the third time he edged you this night , the sweet torture was beyond your limits, you wanted him to put his glistening fingers back to where they were. He knew you were a little hesitant while voicing out your needs so he always made you cry out what you wanted him to do the most. A literal tease. Your face was a complete mess. Tears falling from your eyes and mouth covered with spit and cum from the recent blowjob you gave your boyfriend.

" Please put —your cock inside me, please daddy", you pleaded him , voice so desperate and shameless, it made Joshua's cock twitch a little.

" Your wish is my command doll", Joshua said as he positioned his one arm on side of your head, his eyes heavy with lust and adoration piercing your soul . He entered his two fingers inside of you to stretch you out a little for his thick dick. Even the slightest touch turned you on, the previous ruined orgasms made your mind mushy, the only thing you were focusing on was how good his fingers rubbed you down there, he curled his them up for a last time before removing them from your needy cunt and cleaning them on your breast and pinching one nipple not to hard, you were blabbering incoherent words. He just gave you a wicked smile before entering his cock inside you, stretching you out in best way possible. Joshua felt he's in heaven, your walls squeezing his cock damn perfectly, he didn't waste any more time before thrusting in and out of in a ferocious speed. That's how he was fast and rough. Skin slapping and filthy moans sound filled the room.

" open your mouth"

"Wider slut" He said as his hand reached against your tear drenched cheek slapping you not in a hard way, the action making your abused pussy throb around him .You opened your mouth as wide as possible. Joshua removed his cock from your pussy and entered his fingers inside you , twisting, curling and scissoring them in the most brutal yet pleasurable way possible. You knew what exactly he was doing. He collected both of yours as much as wetness and precum possible before he placed his fingers inside his mouth and then went down on you passing down the spit and precum from his mouth to yours. The mixture directly went on your tongue, it felt so filthy yet good. So fucking messy, This was Hong Joshua. He could have also done this after Cumming inside you but he preferred to look at the best view while he fucked your brains out . he always somehow finds new way to make the sex sinful and dirty as much as possible. He enjoyed watching his girlfriend being like a actress straight from porn so vulnerable and fucked out.

" Swallow", Joshua said while he admired you, watching the mixture of liquid pooling inside your mouth. You swallowed eagerly after his command. You looked at him with Blurry doe eyes admiring every detail of him.

" Good girl", he said and moved his hand on top of your head patting you softly before entering himself inside your fluttering cunt again. His pace again the same fast and deep. You whimpered below him, feeling so full and cloudy.

" Who owns you ?" Joshua rasped out in your ears dangerously, the possessive side of him coming out.

" you, you--" you said breathlessly as you grabbed his shoulders for support. Upon hearing you Joshua was beyond satisfied. You were his and he was yours that's what that mattered. His hands roamed on your body hips, thighs breast neck everywhere , he was really touching like he owned every single part of you, that made you feel some type of way, butterflies exploding inside your stomach. Your orgasm was close, Joshua felt you tightening around him , your toes curling due to indescribable heavenly pleasure.

" I want to cum", you said, your words coming out broken and weak. He was close to his high too.

" my pathetic slut, can't even beg properly." Joshua mocked your broken state with full pride, knowing that only he was able to see you so fucked out and vulnerable and only he can make you feel so good. He grabbed you by hair and let you in a passionate hungry kiss, pushing his tongue further down your mouth, saliva leaking from the corner of your lips from his force, his kisses were dangerous for you . He wrapped your left leg around his waist while while he gave you the permission to cum around him.

With a high pitched moan you let your orgasm ripped through you, you felt like being on cloud nine. Squeaky sounds becaming more audible as Joshua was still fucking you out while you ride down your high, the overstimulation making you dizzy. With few final thrusts he cummed inside you, his warm cum painting your walls, the feeling was amazing, after fully empting himself while being still inside you, he slowly moved his hips trying to shove the liquid as deep as possible his hand reached yours , intervening and kissing each other with now just pure love. He looked down at your both connecting sexes feeling proud and simply happy.

He plopped down beside you and embraced you so lovingly moving his hands on your head and stomach, he snuggled in your neck and left soft kisses behind.

" you okay baby? " , Joshua asked you softly while playing with your hair.

"I am", you said voice weak due to screaming and moaning so much.

"you're breathtaking" Joshua whispered preping your cheeks with kisses.

" let's quickly have a shower baby, tomorrow I need to make red velvet cake for you , Joshua said in an enthusiastic tone, sounding just like a child. My sweet cinnamon boyfriend.

A/N : I miss my shua guys

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen drabbles #seventeen #seventeen smut #joshua smut #hong joshua smut #joshua seventeen #joshua x reader #hong jisoo #joshua drabbles #joshua fluff #hong joshua #seventeen x reader

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vividxpages · 12 days ago

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"endure it (you drive me crazy)"

pairing: John Walker x fem!reader

words: 5.1k

summary: although John has tried his best to stop you, you might've had one or two drinks too many last night. luckily, your man is there to take care of you in the morning, but what will he do once you recover and he thinks you need to be taught a lesson?

content warnings: alcohol use/drinking, hangover, spanking/sexual punishment, dom/sub dynamics, soft & mean dom!John, vaginal fingering, aftercare

a/n: he makes me crazy, that's all I have to say for myself. but maybe he makes you crazy too and you like this story <3 special thanks to @bucksplum who goes feral with me over this guy! (i'm always up to chat about my stories or these characters too, so my ask box is open, don't be shy, loves!)

ao3 version

-'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧

John Walker’s morning had started kinda awesome.

His level of the tower had been uncharacteristically quiet when he woke up, a circumstance he didn’t know he appreciated this much. He had enjoyed the empty gym all for himself, relishing the pleasant burn in his muscles and then prepared himself a hearty breakfast without any interruptions by Ava sneaking up on him or Alexei waltzing through the kitchen like he was a human vacuum cleaner.

Then, he had watched a soccer match on TV until eventually, the first of the other residents of the tower shuffled into the kitchen, in search of some milk and cornflakes. He wasn’t surprised about seeing Bob – they were the only ones who hadn't gotten at least a little wasted last night.

They nodded to each other, a silent acknowledgement of their self-control.

“Is she up yet?” Bob asked with a twitch to the corner of his mouth.

It was close to being afternoon. The only indicator that someone else was awake was the sound of dumbbells getting placed on metal at the gym downstairs. John knew it was Bucky, most likely. There was no way Alexei had gotten out of bed yet.

“Nope.” John said, turning off the TV and rising. “Still in dreamland. She had some soup earlier though, so at least that soaked up all that remaining booze, I guess.” It barely had been an interaction between two functioning humans. You had been out of it and John fed you most of the time before you had kissed his cheek – he didn’t mind morning breath as long as it came from you – and passed out again.

Bob nodded in agreement, then paused. “Hold on…you made soup?”

John scoffed and grabbed a fresh pitcher of water from the countertop. “Yeah? It’s not that hard.”

“No, I know, it just surprises me that you…I don’t know.” He fumbled with the sleeves of his sweatshirt, awkwardly shifting in place. “You’re very different around her. S-softer.”

He took a moment to process Bob’s words, letting them sink in. Softer…God, he tried to be.

John cleared his throat, nodding to himself despite the plan in his mind that had been forming into shape all morning long. “Right. I’ll look after her. Do me a favor; if those children aren’t awake until dinner time, I’ll order pizza just for her and myself.”

“What about me?!” Bob called after him.

“Wake them and you’ll get a pizza too!” John called over his shoulder and began the short walk to his rooms.

A peaceful silence greeted him as he closed the door behind him.

Instantly, his eyes searched across the room for her and landed on the bed placed right in front of the big window front. It had a perfect panorama view into the city, ideal to come down from the day or to passionately fuck the love of his life into the mattress like she deserved. And ever since you had moved into his quarters, there had been a lot of that.

John willed his steps to quieten as he made his way over, his treacherous heart skipping a beat at the sight of you tangled in his sheets. You were just like he had left you earlier, asleep and sprawled out under the blankets. Your messy bedhead peeked out from underneath them and your soft mouth was slightly agape. It was fucking adorable.

He set down the water on the nightstand, the surface messy with each of your belongings. John spotted your earrings and bra – he had taken those off for you last night when you hadn’t been able to do it yourself anymore – and one of the few books he owned and actually read. His watch, his stack of condoms hidden in a small box behind the lamp, your favorite lip balm.

He smiled to himself, knowing that Bob was right.

He was softer around you and you were one of the very few people he fully let in. He worshipped the ground you walked on and he was protective of you, possessive even.

Which was exactly why he simply couldn’t let go of what had happened last night.

And as he slowly sat down at the edge of the bed, he knew he was going to make sure you didn’t forget either…

All morning – although your state had been an unconscious one for most of it – your boyfriend had been nothing but kind and caring to you. To be fair, despite his snarky streak and cockiness, John was sweet to you, always.

Before knowing him, really knowing him, you could’ve never imagined this man was going to make you feel so happy and special, but since day one of your relationship, he had been perfect.

Sure, last night had escalated a little, but you didn’t remember much and John had been fluffing your pillows, keeping you hydrated all morning and letting you sleep in later.

It was almost a little too good to be true.

(You should’ve known better.)

You awoke to a soft touch to your cheek and a rough thumb drawing circles over your sleep-warm skin. Your throat clicked as you tried to swallow and you heard the rippling of water on glass as the caress continued soothingly.

Blinking against the dim sunlight outside the tower, you murmured your favorite name: “John?”

“’morning, honey.” He was sitting down beside you, a lazy smile on his pretty face as you rolled onto your side and laid your hand on top of his, unwilling to let him go. “You feeling better?”

You did. To be fair, it hadn’t been exactly ideal to wake up with a raging headache this morning, but since then John had done everything to ease the hangover away and by now, you felt like a princess in her castle. “Mhmmm…”

The corner of John’s mouth curled upwards. “Yeah? That soup was good for your tummy, hm? You needed your strength back, didn’t you”?

“That soup was delicious.” You sighed dreamily. The fresh vegetables and clear broth had been heavenly on your stomach and by now, all unease had vanished, replaced by the intense need to cuddle with your boyfriend and waste the rest of the day away. “Thank you.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. I’m glad.” John’s eyes sparkled as you smiled at each other. “Can you sit up for me? I want you to have a whole glass of water, okay? Gotta keep my girl hydrated. It’s cool too.”

You shuffled towards him and let him help you sit up, the headache from earlier fully gone and out of your mind. He held on to the glass for now as you drank, watching him watch you over the edge of the rim.

Despite his watercolor eyes, you could always see the fire in them and when you were done, you couldn’t help but kick the blankets away from your legs, his silent gaze on you calm and intrigued.

You gasped at something behind him, quick to climb out of bed and pick up your disheveled dress from the floor. It must’ve landed there at some point last night when John had helped you undress and got you to bed. (In John’s versions, he needed to chase you through the entirety of the room before you had finally given up and collapsed against his chest, offering your laced up back to him while he had the boner of his life and couldn’t fucking act on it. In your version, you only remembered finally being enveloped by his scent on his shirt on your much smaller form.)

Suddenly, you were very aware of the fact that you were dressed in only a shirt, which you had stolen from him some months ago, and panties while John was fully dressed in a shirt that showed off a hint of his muscular stomach and some gray joggers that complimented his thighs. He sat on the bed in front of you, legs spread a little, the outline of his cock visible through the fabric.

“You looked so damn hot last night…” John mumbled, licking his lips as his eyes wandered over your naked thighs, up to the hem of his shirt on you, too big and yet not big enough to hide the baby pink lace panties you wore. “In that little black number of a dress? Fuck, you wanted to kill me, hm?”

His hand brushed down your arm, over your wrist until he rested it on your waist.

You bit down on your lip. “You liked it?”

He hummed non committedly, tugging you forward until you stood between his legs.

His inviting, predatory smile lured you closer, perhaps beckoning you into a kiss. But just as you wanted to sink down into his lap, he pulled and your breath hitched as you were suddenly draped across his lap over the bed, ass up and perfectly presented to him.

“John, what-“

“You truly didn’t think I’d forget, did you?” He wanted to know from you in a low tone. A sense of danger tingled in your stomach, a feeling you usually only got out on the battlefield.

You tried to look at him over your shoulder, the strain uncomfortable but quickly forgotten as his large hands ghosted over the back of your thighs. Up, up… “F-forget what?”

“Oh honey.” John chuckled darkly and to your embarrassment, the deep sound paired with one of his hands slowly lifting up your shirt was enough to get you wet for him. Your cheeks heated as you felt his eyes on your bum. “Don’t play stupid now. I know you’re not. Although last night, you could’ve fooled me.”

You gasped in protest, trying to wiggle around in his lap to face him, but he was having none of it. His hand on your waist held you in place, the other now travelling to brush through your hair, nails scratching seductively against your skull.

“C’mon, it’s not hard to remember, is it?” He encouraged you mockingly. “Use that pretty brain of yours. How many drinks did you have last night?”

Something in you went very still.

Oh fuck.

You were fucking screwed.

“It wasn’t that much.” You eventually said quietly.

When you heard his tongue clicking, you knew you had given him the wrong answer.

“Not much, huh?” John seemed to think about your words, all the while absently drawing circles into your skin, just barely underneath the delicate seam of your panties. “Seems like the night got a little away from you, love. Because I haven’t had a single drink and I remember you having ten.”

“What?!” You protested, shaking your head immediately. “No. It for sure wasn’t ten, John. I only had a beer with Yelena and a c-“

“Cocktail with Ava?” He completed for you, his famous know-it-all grin now on full display for you. And shit, you were still caught like this in his lap and it was starting to drive you mad- “Don’t move. Don’t make this any more complicated than it has to be, honey. So, you had a beer, a cocktail and at that point of the night, those sickeningly sweet shots had come out, remember? You said mint and berry was your favorite. Of course you could only come to such an insightful conclusion after tasting every single one in the box. That would make six. In total, eight. And as the cherry on top, Alexei had gotten some clear booze without a label on the flask from his room and you had ended the night with those.”

Your cheeks burned and for a moment, you opted to just bury your face in the sheets and die.

Is that what happened?

You certainly remembered having fun, but did you really escalate like this last night?

“Are you sorry?”

You gaped at him. “For what?”

Something in John’s eyes softened and hardened at once. “Wrong answer.”

In the next second, he had ripped your (his) shirt open and you gasped as the cool air hit your naked back. Your panties went up your body a notch, so the fabric barely covering your backside was now squeezed in your ass crack, the sudden friction against your sensitive center a shock.

As if he couldn’t help himself, John smoothed his hand down your back once more, your body a blank canvas right in front of him. You let out a surprised moan as you felt him harden against your side, his hips adjusting with you on the bed until he held you in the perfect position for what had been going through his mind all morning.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, honey.” He explained calmly, your nerves fluttering as he rested his palm on your ass. “I’m going to give you ten spanks. One for every drink you’ve had yesterday. And you’re going to take them like the good girl I know you can be and if you behave, you might get a reward, alright?”

Okay.

You knew two things for certain.

Your boyfriend was the hottest guy on the planet.

And: if this was the mood he was in, you were unsure if you were going to make it through those ten spanks. You stared up at him, wide-eyed and more than turned on, yet something in his face shifted as you didn’t give him a verbal reply.

“Is this okay?” John swallowed, his hands ever so present on your body, not abandoning you.

“Yes.” You nodded at him, probably a little too enthusiastic. “Fuck, yeah, I mean- yes, John. I want this.”

John let out a deep breath and bent down, softly brushing your hair aside as he slid a pillow underneath your head and kissed your nape. Your mind drifted off a little further at his gentleness, preparing you for what was about to occur.

“Good. Count them for me, honey.” He whispered into your ear one last time, a violent shiver spreading down your spine right before he-

You gasped wetly into the pillow. The noise still echoed in your ear before your brain even processed the sting. It felt for a moment as if this hadn’t even happened to you. “One.”

You tilted your head back and laughed carefreely at Yelena’s story. The door of the elevator slid open just as you briefly dropped your forehead onto her shoulder, revealing your boyfriend as he entered with a sour expression on his face. The girls and you had been listening to some music before the other members had truly trickled into the broad living room after their day. Your beer bottle was on a good way to be empty soon and the night was still young.

“What’s going on here?” John asked briskly, setting down his shield as his gaze flickered over you. You were exquisite, wearing a new slim black dress you had gotten recently, a pretty little thing you knew he’d love.

“It’s a party, Walker.” Ava announced nonchalantly, lifting your legs to rest in her lap. He’d never admit it, but the sight of his girl between those two women did something very interesting to his mind…

John let out a shuddering breath above you as he instantly rubbed over the flesh he just hit, careful to take in every little micro reaction of your body. “Good, honey. The first one is always so surprising, isn’t it?”

Before the last word even left his mouth, his palm made contact again.

You jumped, your fingernails digging into the plush pillow as the sting now made itself known, slowly spreading through your flesh and doubling the first one. Did he just hit you harder the second time?

“Two…”

About half an hour later, John emerged from a much-needed shower, the crazed thoughts in his mind having led him to jerk off in the bathroom like he was a fucking teenager. By the time he got back to the living room, Ava and you had moved on to the fancy bar.

He grabbed himself a taco from the makeshift buffet on the counter, silently brooding and mad at himself. There was a beautiful woman that also miraculously happened to love him back and he was pouting.

“Baby, do you want a drink too?” Your sweet, addicting perfume enveloped his senses as you slid your arms around him and breathed a kiss on his neck. He caught Ava’s smirk as he shifted on the bar stool to face you. When he did, you purposefully popped a cocktail cherry between your red lips, your tongue chasing the sugar coating them seductively.

John swallowed hard as he noticed the glazed shimmer in your eyes. Unfocused, a little out of it. “No, thank you.”

You sighed dramatically, your embrace disappearing as you accepted the elegant glass Ava held up to you. “Fiiine…”

“I think you were trying to rile me up a little, am I right?” John considered thoughtfully as if your pussy wasn’t currently drooling onto his joggers, as if his hard length wasn’t poking your hip, as if it wasn’t becoming hard for you to stay still, needing any kind of friction besides the harsh impact soon before you’d lose it. “Making a show, being all cuddly with the girls. But that’s not even the worst part…”

“I don’t know what you mean.” You breathed, almost a sigh and he made a pitiful sound in the back of his throat as the next blow followed.

“Fuck! Three!”

“Hi guys!” You waved cheerfully as Alexei and Bucky came back from their nightly training sessions at the gym. Your expensive earrings were sparkling in the low lights behind the bar and John stiffened as he saw Bucky’s eyes briefly travelling over your body. “Look what we found, we got shots!”

A blinding jealousy suddenly surged through him and he couldn’t help the grunt that left him when he spanked you again.

“F-four.” You whispered, short of breath as the sting under your skin intensified, your body too hot, too loaded with whatever spell John was holding you under.

“Aaah, look at our printsessa.” Alexei beamed as you gave him a twirl, a few empty shot glasses splayed out on the counter between the four of you. John was staying on the sidelines, passive-aggressively biting his lip as someone else praised his girl. His! “Johnny, you are a lucky, lucky man.”

“I know.” He gritted out, white hot anger flashing through his veins as you giggled. “I’m the luckiest guy on the planet.”

At your next little kiss against his ear, he could smell a whiff of peppermint.

“Five!” You nearly shouted, sounding as if you had been underwater and were now longing for fresh air in your lungs. Your naked feet brushed over John’s legs, your own needing stimulation or soothing or any thought as the pain of his spanks finally got to you.

“God, look at you.” He smoothed his palm over your burning ass and you whimpered, burying your face in the mattress as a few tears escaped before his other hand squeezed your neck gently. I’m here. “Gotta even you out now, hm? You’re halfway there, but still so far to go, sweetie. Don’t worry. Daddy’s going to help you with the next ones.”

He rubbed your abused ass, adoring how red the skin had become through him before he slowly moved on to your other cheek. You were dragging in a wet breath, trying to steady yourself, but not quite succeeding.

“Sh sh, it’s alright.” John hushed you softly, leaning down once more and letting his lips and beard travel over your rippling back muscles as you laid there and took it, awaiting it. “Daddy’s gonna count now, okay?”

“Six.” His steady voice echoed through the bedroom and the first blow to your untouched cheek hit you full-force.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight, honey.” John said underneath his breath, his smile undeniably tense as you stumbled over your own feet. The team had moved to the comfortable lounge by the windows, sharing stories and laughs and you just had wanted to get yourself something else to drink.

“Noo, I’m okay.” You freed yourself from his grip, pouting at him as his hand dropped lamely from your wrist. “We’re just having a little fun, John. I’m a Thunderbolt too, remember? A little alcohol won’t kill me!”

That was rewarded by a cheer from the two girls and an encouraging roar from Alexei. Bucky, John noticed, was staying quiet for the most part, giving him an understanding nod as John felt his eyes on him. (Bob had gone to bed right after he finished his plate of tacos, if anyone was wondering.)

You tried to adjust your position on John’s lap, the heat in your core liquid and overwhelming. The need to rub against him, against anything was becoming so strong, you were trying to grind against the material of his joggers – to no use.

When John realized what you were doing, he quickly grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them together behind your back, a frustrated groan leaving your lungs as he held you captive.

“Don’t make me tie you up.” He growled darkly. “I will fucking do it and then you won’t get to come at all-“

“No…” You whined, feeling your soaked core clench around nothing at the threat, the wet fabric of your pretty panties now ruined with your slick. “Please, I need to come, I need-“

Smack!

“Seven.”

John was sure by the time this night was over, he was going to have grinded his teeth so badly he needed a bite splint. The music had been turned up and there was a pretty bad liquor stain on the fluffy carpet beneath his feet, not that it mattered.

What mattered was that his girl was fucking wasted and currently dancing on top of the table.

He moved to grab you, haul you against his chest and carry you out if he’d have to, but just then, Yelena’s arm was suddenly on his shoulder, holding him back without force as Ava and Alexei cheered you on.

“Walker, come on…she’s just having fun.”

“She’s not in control anymore.” He spat out.

“So what?” She shrugged. “She’s with us, she’s safe. I can’t think of any better environment for her to lose control. Would you like her to be at some club instead right now?”

“Fuck no.”

“There, you got your answer.”

He looked down on his girl, your bottom writhing against his hand. Your abused skin was the same shade as your cheeks, rosy and devastated and so fucking beautiful. “Come on, sweetheart. Almost done. Eight.”

“Oh no.” John growled, having turned his back once and instantly regretting it at the sight greeting him when he walked back from the messy bar. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Bucky Barnes was dancing with his girl. Or rather, you were trying to dance with him, Bucky’s awkward stance half holding you upwards, half keeping you at a safe distance. There wasn’t anything sexual about it – earlier you had also danced with the girls and John had wanted to splash some cold water in his face – and he was not worried about losing your heart to Bucky.

But…he was supposed to be there for you like that.

Only him.

Flames roared in his chest as he marched forward and swiftly lifted you up and over his shoulder. You let out a squeal, not realizing what was happening for a second as he determinedly walked away with you, followed by the awws and booos! of his team members.

“Are you kidnapping me now, sir?” You giggled behind his back, drawing an upside-down heart on his spine. Shit, he was so ridiculously hard.

“Good fucking girl.” He purred, a dark obsession at your pitiful state in his eyes. You hiccupped, rubbing your wet thighs together, your nails digging little half moons into your palms. He smoothed his hands over you repeatedly, making sure to touch every inch of you, assuring you that you were doing good. “I think you earned those last two to be over quickly, don’t you think?”

“Mhmmm…”

“Aww, my pretty baby. Come on now, I’m here with you. Nine.”

That damn chase through his own bedroom, your drunk giggles echoing off the walls as you kept slipping through his fingers.

“Ten.”

The delirious kisses you had pressed against his jaw, his neck and cheek as he had helped undress you despite his frustration knowing he for sure was not going to act on these desires.

John instantly released your wrists and hoisted you up against his chest, careful of your raw flesh as he manhandled you into a comfortable position where you could lean your head on his shoulder and rely with your whole body on him.

The last two blows had followed in quick succession and you were breathing harshly into his ear, your limp arms wrapping themselves around his neck as you sniffled into his neck. His arms were not letting go of you, keeping you two pressed close as he mumbled soothing words into your ear.

“Shit…” You panted after a while, still getting his pants wet as you leaned heavily against him.

“You did so good, baby girl.” John cooed, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear as he tilted your head up to make you look him in the eyes. “You deserve a reward, don’t you agree?”

“I didn’t realize it was that many.” You gulped, eyes big and trusting and only reserved for him. “I didn’t want to upset you, I promise. It was just fun…”

“Shh, honey, it’s okay.” John’s thumb touched your bottom lip. “It’s already behind us. I’m not angry anymore. Shit, I don’t think I ever really was? I just get…possessive and sometimes I don’t know how to handle that. And I’ll work on that, promise. I want you to have fun. I love seeing you happy. And…you did look pretty hot last night.”

You laughed quietly and rubbed your nose against his. “C'mere. Kiss me, you idiot.”

He gladly did.

John surged forward like a man starved of his meal, connecting your lips in a messy, bruising kiss. The last remaining bits of his ripped shirt slid off you and with your current seat now, you finally had the chance to grind your clit against something solid which just happened to be the massive bulge in his pants.

You both moaned in unison, your panties not more than a sopping wet cloth at this point.

“How about this?” John said between kisses, his hands drifting from your shoulders to your aching boobs, large hands cupping their warmth and keeping them secure. “You’ll get ten fucks by my fingers, okay? Not more, not less. I know you can come just from that, you’re so close already, aren’t you?”

Your pupils were blown wide by the suggestion, yet you couldn’t help but bite down on his bottom lip. “I thought my punishment was over, sir?”

“Oh baby girl. This is the reward.” John’s arm reached around you, his skilled fingers quickly dragging your panties aside before they finally touched where you needed him most.

“God, you’re so gorgeous.” He groaned, his fingers dragging through the obscene amount of slick between your legs. “Look at you, you’re so wet for me, angel. All mine. Only I can do this to you, alright? Just me.”

“Just you.” You slurred against his arm, trying to press back into him.

“My good girl.” He praised, devouring your mouth with his one more time as his fingers finally, finally slid home.

John began and you descended just a little more into madness.

It shouldn’t have been possible.

It shouldn’t.

But with him, it was.

He slowly began to finger you with tortuously slow pumps. You were beyond counting; this was exactly what you needed to come down from the intensity he had given you and John seemed to know it.

You lost yourself in the slow strokes of his finger inside of you and at the filthily wet sound between your legs, another digit joined quickly, his knuckles ever so lightly brushing against your untouched, throbbing clit.

“Such a sweet little pussy.” John groaned and your head was spinning.

Too tired to help and reach down to toy with yourself, you slung his arms around him and trusted the process, the slowness of his motions expanding the feelings and sensations in your core even more. The orgasm you had been chasing was blossoming like a flower, not quite there yet but coming, coming…

“Are you even counting anymore?” You whispered to him breathlessly and he laughed, drunk on the beautiful woman in his arms.

“Nine…” He licked the side of your neck, his fingers pushing into you and slowly dragging out, your wetness ruining his pants as his other fingers finally paid attention to your clit. “Ten.”

At his final push in, you shuttered apart, your whole body freezing up and releasing the tension all at once. You moaned beautifully in his mouth as the two of you kissed and he grinned smugly against you. John kept his fingers inside of you, relishing the feel of your slick walls contracting around him.

You felt close to just passing out against your man, his warm body keeping you secure and sheltered as you recovered from your intense high. Little aftershocks, paired with the delicious pain on your backside, kept shooting through you and you weren’t sure you ever wanted to get up again.

“Thank you…” You breathed and gave him a soft, innocent kiss. “That was amazing. Fuck, John…”

You stayed like this for a while longer, him holding you and making sure you wouldn’t drop on him. For a moment, you thought your favorite thing on this earth was to simply co-exist with Jonathan Walker until the end of your days.

“I love you so fucking much, honey.” He kissed your cheek. “’m gonna make sure your ass won’t be sore later, okay?”

“Sounds good…” Your eyelids were drooping, your heart content to simply fall asleep, but John seemed to have other plans. “Love you.”

“Hold on, stay with me.” John mumbled before he kissed your sweaty temple and lifted you from the bed. He shushed you when you half-heartedly whimpered at his hand on your raw bottom. “’s alright. I’m gonna draw you a bath, hm? How does that sound to my good girl?”

You smiled blissfully, humming in agreement as he started to carry you towards the big bathroom. “Perfect.”

Who knew what ten drinks could lead to…

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