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nereidprinc3ss · 2 months

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do you believe me now?

in which fem!reader is insecure around spencer until she finally asks him to take matters into his own hands (literally)

part two

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, fingering, softdom!spencer my sweet sweet beloved angel, sub reader, praise, you know he talks you through it, brief mention of drinking wine, i think that's it a/n: i hope u guys like this ! slightly different dynamic than my other stuff maybe but let me know what u think!! i love feedback and i love YOU!!!

“You’re so pretty.”

It’s the first thing Spencer has said since you two landed on his couch, exhausted from one of Rossi’s extravagant soirées. It was your first of many, if Spencer’s entire team is to be believed. More nights featuring Italian food and wine you could never afford don’t sound half bad—but for now you’re drained. You barely had the energy to kick off your heels and topple into Spencer’s lap five minutes ago. The silk dress still pools over his knees and your hair still falls in curls around your face. He brushes one aside as he continues.

“I mean—you always look beautiful. But I’ve never seen you all done up. You’re obscenely gorgeous.”

You groan awkwardly, burying your face in Spencer’s collar as your face heats. Taking compliments has never been your strong suit, especially from someone who you perceive to be so out of your league. The relationship you have with Spencer is relatively new, and sometimes you worry delicate; like one slip-up revealing the real you and he’ll go running. So far, though, he seems hellbent on proving you wrong.

His hand finds the bare skin of your arm, passing up and down gently. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“…I do.”

It’s unconvincing. Spencer scoffs.

“No, you don’t. You never believe me when I compliment you.”

The cadence of his voice is light enough, but it’s evident that there’s some genuine frustration there, lurking just under the surface.

Your head lolls over his shoulder and he angles his neck to look down at you. Hair falls over his eyes, and you’d fix it if he didn’t look so damn perfect. Everything about him looks intentional, like he was designed by someone who took great pride in their work. Not at all like you—a collage of features and spare parts you guess whatever force created you had lying around. Nothing about you feels on purpose. But that’s a hard thing to explain.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite. It just feels disingenuous to accept compliments like that.”

Goosebumps arise on your arm where he touches you.

“You being polite isn’t what I’m concerned about. I just wish I could make you understand that I mean it when I compliment you. You’d know if I didn’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

That earns a giggle from you. Your boyfriend smiles, sparkling eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to bottle the sound, the memory—and you realize he probably is. What a terrifying thought. You look away, abashed once more.

“I’m a woman, Spencer. I’m not allowed to like myself. That’s the whole thing with Eve and the snake and the apple and whatever. Eternal inescapable shame.”

“Are you trying to justify your self-loathing by making it biblical? You know I’m the last person that would work on, right? Both as an agnostic-leaning-athiest and someone who thinks you’re beautiful and wonderful.”

Another groan claws its way from your throat as you slide down in embarrassment.

“You’re killing me here, Spencer.”

“What can I do to do to make you believe me?” he murmurs, carefully brushing tangles from your hair as you now rest practically prone across his lap. The ceiling light stretches behind him, haloing him in a soft glowing crown and making everything a bit more hazy and tolerable.

“It’s not your fight.” It’s meant to be playfully dramatic, but it hangs from your lips with a painful amount of earnestness.

“If it’s yours, it’s mine. That’s kind of the whole point of a relationship, right? Being a team?”

His fingers are nimble and warm between yours as you interlace them, steepling and bumping them together as you speak.

“Well, if you know so much, why are you asking me? It sounds like you know exactly what to do to make me magically love myself.”

A dangerous twitch plays at the corner of his lips as he gazes sleepily down at you.

“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m asking what you’d be comfortable with.”

“Whoa!” you blurt, giggling self-consciously, covering your face with your (and inadvertently one of his) hands. “Where did that come from?”

He smiles at your response to his mildly suggestive comment. “I lose my filter when I'm tired. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

You sigh gustily, dragging his hand down to fall over your collarbones. His fingers twitch over the delicate skin, like he’d graze it if your hand wasn’t weighing his down.

“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just… surprised me. I’m really bad at talking about this kind of thing.”

“Sex?”

You yelp, slinging your arm over your face and hiding in the crook of your elbow. “AH! Don’t say it!”

He laughs again, a little less reserved this time.

“What? You can’t even listen to me say the word?”

“No! Too scary!”

Eventually you peek out from under your arm to find Spencer still watching you. The humor has faded from his eyes and been replaced by a kind of serene calm. He brushes a lock of hair from your shoulder.

“Come here,” he says—a request more than a demand. With some wriggling and a bit of help, you manage to reorient yourself into a sitting position across his lap once more. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress when he kisses you, hand sliding over your waist before moving to trace your jaw and ending up on the back of your neck, urging you closer ever so slightly. You kiss him back without hesitation or restraint, as you delight in doing when he gives you the opportunity. What you may lack in experience and refinement, you make up for with affection and enthusiasm. He pulls away after a minute, much to your dismay, and brushes his thumb over your lips. For the first time, you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. Guilt claws at your heart when he quietly asks, “you’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No!” You assure quickly, looping your arms around his neck. “No, it’s not you. You’re perfect and I’m sure you really mean all of the nice things you say. But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”

“That’s impossible.”

Once more you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t know that.”

His hand begins running up and down your back, soothing your sympathetic nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could.

“I know that I really, really like you. And there’s not one part of you that I don’t find genuinely beautiful. I can’t imagine not feeling that way about you.” Your eyes flutter shut and you hum against him—a non-answer, but he doesn’t push it. Minutes go by quietly, ticking later into the night as he continues mindlessly rubbing your back and watching you breathe. “Do you want me to take you home?” He finally asks after a long while. Again, you don’t respond. He smiles. “I know you’re awake.”

The corner of your lip twitches as you attempt to suppress a grin. Spencer sighs.

“I guess if you’re already asleep you’ll just have to stay here. But it would be convenient if you’d sleepwalk to my bed so that I don’t have to carry you.”

When you begin stirring and sitting up (one eye cracked to navigate) he laughs, hands on your waist. “Would you look at that. Who knew she would be so suggestible in non-REM?” You snort as you push yourself to a standing position using Spencer’s shoulders to support yourself, and ruining the whole act. He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips.

“I sleep with my eyes open.”

“Do you often have coherent conversations in your sleep, too?”

You shrug. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, finally standing himself. “I’m assuming you don’t want to sleep in your dress?”

“I have shorts on underneath I can wear, but a shirt would be helpful.”

“Then we’ll get you a shirt.”

———————————————

Ten minutes later you’re in Spencer’s bathroom, wearing your shorts and one of his sweatshirts (you cannot imagine Spencer in a hoodie), and wiping black sludge from your eyes with makeup remover he claims was left by a friend after a particularly festive Halloween party. Hopefully he’s telling the truth—you can think of more dubious potential origins of the eye-makeup remover in his bathroom. No toothbrush—you use your finger and a generous amount of toothpaste until the red wine stains fade.

Spencer is fixing the pillows when you exit the bathroom. You hold up your hands which are completely obscured and then some by the thick fabric of his sweatshirt.

“Fits like a dream,” you say. A smile tugs at his lips as he finishes his task, before raising his eyes to you. The smile promptly fades and it’s like the sun disappearing behind an oppressive gray cloud. In an instant your stomach curdles and you feel like crawling out of your skin.

“…what?” you mumble, absolutely terrified that the thing he’d said was impossible just minutes ago has already happened. Without makeup, without a fancy dress, you’re just you, and maybe that’s not good enough.

“Uh…” He blinks, as if he’s buffering for a moment, before snapping back into action, and notably looking away from you. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you, um—here, I tried to make it—“

“Stop. Just tell me what that was. You got all weird.”

Another pause—he looks back up at you reluctantly with a sigh.

“I did not get all weird.”

“Yes, you did. You’re still being weird. It’s freaking me out.”

He’s utterly unreadable, which drives you fucking insane, when he eventually says, “come here.” This time, you think with a chill as you shuffle on your knees across the bed to sit in front of him, it really sounds like a demand. Spencer grabs your face in his hands, studying you intently. “I know you think I’ve finally decided you’re hideously deformed, but it’s actually just the opposite. I’m trying to figure out how to keep things polite for you.”

Realization dawns on you and the swarm of new butterflies in your stomach. The usual molten gold of his irises has been encroached upon, masked by blown pupils. Your face gets hot and your voice caves when you speak.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he agrees quietly. “Do you believe me now?”

And to his credit, you really do. The hot skin, the vibrating cells in every fiber of your being, the racing heart—your body knows he means it. Part of you, the more confident, more desirous part, drags you closer to him, ghosts your lips over his. He chuckles.

“Now you’re getting brave?”

“Am I not allowed to kiss you?” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders.

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.”

The words make you shiver—the lowered, gravelly tone of his voice you’ve never heard before snaps your resolve and you lean into him, connecting your lips with a deep urgency. Spencer inhales sharply, hands wandering to your waist and bearing down firmly as you press against him. When you lean back, he follows you, insists without saying a word that you don’t stop kissing him. It sends a thrill down your spine and between your legs, which both gives you pause and eggs you on. In the end, after a very brief internal struggle, curiosity and desire win. You drop to the bed and drag him down with you—he, your willing follower, blindly searches for purchase on the plush comforter. Now he’s on top of you, legs slotted together so that his thigh is temptingly close to your core. Too shy to actually do what you want to do, you clamp your thighs around his and tilt your hips, desperate for friction. He exhales heavily, slowly pulling his lips from yours like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Fingers dig into the flesh of your hip, not enough to ache but enough to draw your attention to your movements.

“What are you doing?” he asks, firmly, but not like you’re in trouble—it’s a probing question. He’s trying to figure out if you’re aware of the way you’re nearly riding his leg.

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly.

“You just told me you couldn’t even listen to me say the word sex,” Spencer reminds you. “You said it was too scary.”

A frustrated whine seems to catch him by surprise, and he laughs.

“That was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”

“Is that what happened?” he teases.

“Honestly, I’m just really turned on right now, please—" you cut yourself off, crashing your lips into his once more. And he almost relents.

Almost.

“Slow down.”

He ceases kissing you for a second time and you’re starting to really get annoyed.

“What?” you groan. “I thought you wanted this.”

His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, demanding your attention.

“I want you. In every sense of the word. If you make a bad choice tonight and it means you don’t like me anymore tomorrow, that is the opposite of what I want. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking you to think about it for a second.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and attempting to steady your mind and see beyond the thick fog of lust. What you find is a (mildly surprising) complete lack of fear. You’re not scared, like you thought you’d be; you feel utterly safe underneath him, with his hands on you and his heartbeat against your chest. This is a kind of intimacy you want to have with him.

Your eyes open to reveal his, close enough you can see the tiny flecks of green. And so much warmth. Everything about him is warm.

“This is what I want,” you assert. “I promise.”

His gaze flits between yours for a moment, pulling the truth from your soul like he might be able to find an imperfection there. But you mean it—and he seems satisfied. He trusts you, like you trust him.

“Okay.”

A sigh of relief never quite finds completion before he’s kissing you again. Immediately the fire is stoked once more, the heat between your legs getting warmer when he experimentally pushes his thigh against you. You breathe into the kiss, pressing down on him and surrendering to the unconscious rhythm of your hips. He lets that go on for a minute or two until you’re so distracted that you can’t kiss him back.

Unexpectedly he pulls away, disentangling himself from your legs. You stammer in frustration until his fingers hook under the soft material of your shorts. “Hips up.”

Wordlessly you comply, succumbing to his gentle words and touch. He bows to kiss you as he slides the fabric down unhurriedly. Once the shorts are gone, he sits up, and carefully lifts one of your legs over his lap, gaze unabashedly glued between them.

“Eyes up here,” you try to joke, but it’s steeped in self-consciousness and your heart is pounding. He manages, stroking the inside of your knee with a thumb as he leans down again.

“But you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, before he’s kissing you again. “Just like I knew you would be.”

You whimper when his hand skates over your stomach, lower, and lower, and—

“Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”

Your plead is just as hungry and yearning. “Please, Spencer?”

It works for him.

When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, maddeningly so, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good.

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of someone else’s hand between your legs.

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your lips.

“Mhm,” you chirp. Slow but insistent circles elicit a cry that gets caught in your throat, melting into a hum. Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smile in Spencer’s voice.

“You’re sensitive, huh?”

“S—sometimes.”

He hums contemplatively.

“Sometimes? Can you tell me about that?”

You can’t hardly think around those gentle movements of his hand, let alone speak. He touches you like you’re something delicate. It’s torturous and perfect. But you try to answer anyway, managing to keep the stammering to a minimum.

“About what?”

“I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself.” The smooth words in tandem with an incremental increase in pressure earn you first real moan. Timid and unpracticed, but very genuine.

The answer comes immediately afterward; thoughtlessly and on a shuddering exhalation.

“You.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Good answer.”

Your eyes open fractionally to study his expression. You’d felt so much shame every time you’d imagined him in your bed late at night.

“Really?”

“Really. And now look at you. Letting me do it for you.” As if to remind you, he speeds up the motion of his hand. On instinct you bring your fingers to your lips as you moan through a closed throat, partly to stifle the noise and partly because you don’t know what to do with the hand that’s not gripping the duvet. “Do you only touch here?” His fingers slide down to your slick entrance and your hips buck, mourning the loss of stimulation. “Or do you touch here, too?”

You shake your head, breathing hard as he teases a finger around the soft place you’ve never really bothered to explore. “Never feels good when I try.”

“We’re gonna make it feel good, okay?”

You nod hesitantly, leaning back into the pillows when he kisses you again.

His lips are so distracting, so intoxicating you almost forget what he’s doing until he does it. It’s a foreign sensation—not entirely pleasant or unpleasant. For a moment or two your brows furrow as you focus on the feeling, worried that maybe you’re broken just as you thought—until you feel a slight stretch and you realize he’s pushing a second finger into you now. A kiss lands on your cheek when you grab his arm with a choked gasp, and he mutters, “deep breaths,” into your ear. “I know it’s new, honey, just breathe.”

“Fuck,” you whimper as you look down, and you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it’s already passed between your lips. Pressure begins melding with the promise of pleasure, and something about watching his hand move between your legs—the tendons flexing and wrist bending as he eases into what is clearly a perfected motion—arouses you so much you moan at the sight alone. Flipping pages is all you thought that hand was meant for. It’s like a secret revealed as you watch it do something so salacious, and to you.

A hot spark of pleasure flares deeper in you than you’ve ever felt. It catches and grows faster than you’d of thought—suddenly you can feel everything and it all feels better than you thought possible. Your jaw drops and a surprised huff of air blows a strand of your hair away.

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. You had no idea you could make those noises. You had no idea you could get so wet.

“Yeah, there we go.” His voice sounds a little further away now. You manage to tear your eyes away from all the action to his face. Much like you, he’s transfixed by the sight, brow furrowed and pretty lips parted in what could be concentration, or some sort of empathetic pleasure. His face has more color to it than usual and his breaths come heavier—it’s a very pleasant sight. Suddenly his fingers brush against a spot deep within you and your hips cant upward, a mewl pulled from the depths of your throat that has more control over you than you do it. Spencer’s eyes flash back to you, a grin playing at his lips. He does it again, looking right into your eyes, and you whine so pitifully your face flushes.

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head firmly, arching your back when he unconsciously slows down. At your response his fingers begin rutting into you again, committing to that spot inside you that makes you see stars. “Of course not. You’re gonna take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You’d do just about anything for him right at this second. Spencer holds an immense amount of power over you in this moment, and potentially in all future moments moving forward. But you trust him with it.

“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I just want you to feel good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

But it’s really not too much. It’s exactly right. Your verbal capacity is acutely limited right now, so you can’t exactly say it, but you lock eyes with him and whine shamelessly, hips twisting against his hand. You think he gets the message.

Hair falls over his face and he doesn’t fix it, opting instead to alternate his gaze between your cunt and face, cursing to himself lowly. You wouldn’t want him to stop and fix his hair—what you want is this, for him to keep pushing you toward that elusive edge and to keep looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky.

“Look at you, my pretty girl. I’m so proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. I know you were scared. Thank you for letting me do this, honey.”

It’s the unexpected tenderness of the words, perfectly misplaced in the context of the moment. It’s the devotion, the honesty in his eyes, shining through the haze of lust, which makes your stomach drop and all your muscles tense. A million thoughts jumble in your head, dizzying and thrilling and confusing, but mostly all you can think is Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Is this how it always is? Your hands tangle in the sheets—and then all the thoughts vanish. Everything is warm and fuzzy and sparkling clean, no worries, no lingering thoughts, no self-awareness at all. It’s nirvana. It’s revelatory. It’s ridiculous that he did this all in under five minutes and you haven’t been able to do it once even with very concerted effort.

Slowly you float back into your body, breathing hard and watching through half-lidded eyes as Spencer gently pulls his hand away. Without him you feel weirdly empty and cold, like he should have been there all along. But his touch isn’t absent for long—he runs his hand over the bridge between your hips, little finger dipping into the crease of your thigh.

“That’s never… I’ve never done that before,” you admit, slurring your words only slightly.

His perfect features contort into a half-frown, half-smile.

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” You nod. His head tilts. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

“When would I have told you?” you laugh, finding his waist with your hand and encouraging him to settle his weight on you. He does, burying his face in your neck and exhaling heavily.

“Well?” you ask shyly, skating your fingers over his back. “Did I do it right?”

Spencer snorts, but presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to the curve of your neck.

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you admit, voice smaller than you’d have liked. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and kisses you softly.

“Then we both did it right.”

“But…” you stare up into his warm honey eyes, searching for any bits of hidden truth you can find. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, utterly unconcerned. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he agrees, “and I’ll say this because I know otherwise you’re going to worry about it forever.” He studies your face reverently for a moment, before parting his lips to speak. The words are slow to come, like he’s trying to figure the sentence out as he goes along. “You… are going to be, problematic, for me.”

Your whisper is almost as small as you feel under his heavy gaze. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean,” Spencer begins, voice low, “I think I liked that too much. Do you see why that’s troubling?”

The flame you thought had been quenched flickers back to life like a pilot light. Your thighs press together to alleviate a growing ache in a still sensitive area and you answer, “no,” with a small shake of your head. His thumb tenderly traces your jaw, ever-patient despite the fact that you’re obviously playing coy.

“Because I can’t have you all the time.”

“Yes you can,” you say without hesitation, though your eyes are fluttering. “You can have me whenever you want. Right now.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Not tonight. You’ve had enough. You’re tired.”

“I’m wide awake,” you slur, tangling a hand in his hair even as you lose the battle against your eyelids.

He sighs good-naturedly, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist and brushing his lips over the delicate skin.

“You’re shockingly precocious.”

You hum.

“You just unleashed the beast. You’re like Doctor Frankenstein.”

He chuckles, sitting up and finding your shorts. You manage to be semi-helpful, lifting your legs at appropriate junctures as he tugs your clothing back on. “And you’re a nerd.”

“I don’t need to take that from you of all people.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spencer says, and the smile in his voice makes you smile, a quarter asleep as he leans over to turn off the lamp on your side of the bed before tugging the covers over both of you.

He pulls you close in the dark, releasing a deep sigh as you curl into him. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, his arms warm around you. You can imagine making a home for yourself here. And you don’t know if he’s thinking it, but you hope he is, as you are silently repeating to yourself with every beat of his heart;

I love you

I love you.

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

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sweatervest-obsessed · 4 months

Text

Unexpected Visitor

Pairing: Spencer Reid x G!n Reader

WC: 788

A/N: A lil Spencer Xmas Blurb while I figure my shit out. Also! I'm imagining older seasons Spencer for this one.

"Hi! I'm, uh, so sorry to bug you but, um, do you know where Spe--Doctor Reid's desk is? Or, really, where D-Doctor Reid is?" .

Derek Morgan had to get his shit together because his jaw almost dropped when you walked in. What was some hot piece of ass doing, dressed like that, looking for Boy Genius.

He jumped up from his chair and strolled over to where you had stopped Garcia, who was just as flabbergasted as he was. "Reid is currently in a meeting sweetheart--may I ask what you, uh, want with him?"

You raised your eyebrows at the 'sweetheart', but smiled anyways. "He was supposed to be home about an hour ago and he wasn't answering his phone, so instead of panicking, because I know what you do for work, I wanted to come in and check before I lost my shit."

"Home?" Garcia squeaked out, still baffafled by how gorgeous you looked. It was like you were sent straight from heaven, a literal vision.

You nodded and tilted your head, slightly confused. "Y-Yeah...I'm sorry why is that---"

"We just didn't know Reid was living with anyone, let alone seeing someone."

"Ah." You nodded. "He's private like that, isn't he." Your smile warmed the two of them, and you shifted the coat from one arm to the other.

"y/n?"

You turned your head towards the back of the bullpen, and Spencer was walking out of Hatch's office. "What are you doing here?"

"Being introduced to your friends and coworkers since you haven't."

Spencer bit the inside of his cheeks and walked over to you both, placing his hand on the small of your back. You felt how tense he was.

"I'm here because our reservation is in twenty minutes and you said you'd be home over an hour ago." You looked at Spencer, whose eyes went a little wide.

"Shit. I-I didn't realize what time it was---"

"I have your suit in the car, and this is why I made the reservation for eight pm, instead of Seven."

"And this is why I love you." Spencer kissed your head and rushed over to his desk, scrambling to grab all of his papers and his bag and his coat and his scarf and his--

"Hi Y/n." Spencer looked up at the mention of your name, pausing in his frantic nature.

"Hi Aaron." You gave him a quick hug, but a bright smile. "How are you?"

"Well." He laughed a little. "I'd be better if we didn't have to work the day before Christmas Eve since I still need to wrap all of Jack's presents still."

"Oh how is Jack!"

"He's doing well. finally starting to enjoy reading, no thanks to you."

You laughed at his joke, all the while Derek and Garcia just shared an incredulous look. How the hell did you know Hotch? Jack?!? Why does Jack's reading habits connect to you--

"Ready sweetheart?" Spencer appeared at your side and you nodded. "It was lovely to see you Aaron. I'll stop by some time tomorrow to drop off Jack's gifts as well as yours. I got it when Spence I and went to Paris last month. I think you'll enjoy it!"

"That's why you weren't here for two weeks?" Penelope's jaw was on the floor. "I didn't take you to be a Parisian man Doctor Reid."

"W-Well, um--"

"It was for my birthday. My choice. I love art and museums so it made sense. Well, it was lovely to meet you all but we have a reservation to get to." You gave them all a quick smile before taking Spencer's hand and walking towards the elevator, your shoes clicking on the floor with every step you took.

"How long have the two of them been together?" Morgan turned to Hotch after you both had gotten in the elevator.

"I think today is their two year anniversary."

"TWO YEARS." Garcia clutched her hypothetical pearls. "How have I not known? How have WE not known?"

"He's private, and...well. You know Y/n."

"No we clearly do not know Hotch."

Hotch gave them a little smirk and a shrug. "Merry Christmas guys. I'll see you on the twenty-seventh."

As Hotch walked away, Garcia and Morgan just stared at one another. "So we're..."

"Going to spend then next ten minutes in my office finding everything out about this mystery person Spencer has been apparently dating for two years?"

"You read my mind mama. A little Christmas snooping never hurt anyone..."

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moonstruckme · 5 months

Note

James being a big bear of a boyfriend and always just like lifting u up so easily to hug and sit on his lap and even tho u hate when anyone else does it he’s so BEEFY that you’re fine with him doing it

Yessssss I'm not much of a physical touch person irl but James I would allow

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 847 words

Sirius is trying to follow Remus’ example and focus on the puzzle, but his eyes keep flitting up to you worriedly. You’ve monopolized the couch, laying flat with a hand cast over your eyes and your mouth pinched in obvious discomfort. He’d tried rubbing your calf and Remus had offered you tea, but they’d both given up when the attention only seemed to worsen your mood. Remus suggested they work on the puzzle while you rest (not Sirius’ favorite activity, but forced upon him because it keeps him quiet) and now they’re both simply trying not incur your wrath.

“Quit looking at me,” you growl without opening your eyes.

In Sirius’ case, not doing a very good job.

“Fine, sheesh,” he says, and you press your lips together like you’re restraining yourself from snapping at him.

You cringe when the door opens, every line of you pulling taut. James is all smiles as he tosses his gym bag to the floor with a heavy thump. “Hello, my loves!” His voice is a decibel short of booming, but it softens when he sees you on the couch. “Oh, sorry, is she napping?”

Remus shakes his head, lips pursed as he watches your hand tighten over your eyes. “Headache,” he explains quietly.

“Oh, I’m sorry lovie.” James reroutes from the kitchen, heading for you. Sirius tenses. “How bad is it?”

“Prongs,” Sirius whispers urgently, “don’t—”

But James has already lifted you, one hand under your knees and another supporting your back as he moves you smoothly from your chosen position of rest and into his lap. He makes it look like nothing, which is the first offense (Sirius isn’t sure which of you he’s more jealous of), but the second is that you let him. Sirius and Remus have both looked up in alarm, waiting for a biting protest that doesn’t come. Instead, you remove your hand from your face, burying in it James’ brawny shoulder instead.

“Bad,” you grumble, but your tone lacks the venom you’d spat at Sirius a moment before.

James coos like he’s got a kitten in his lap instead of a viper, bringing his considerable arms around you. His palm cups the back of your neck, kneading gently at the tensed muscles there. “Where does it hurt, darling?”

“Everywhere.”

“By your eyes?”

“No.”

He hums, brows furrowing as he works steadily at your neck. You’ve gone nearly lax in his arms, trusting him to hold you up as you slump against his front. “Have you been drinking water?”

“It’s not that.” Some of the irritation is back in your tone, Sirius notices, but it’s been markedly softened for James. “I had tons of water this morning.”

“Probably a tension headache then, yeah?” He looks to Remus, who nods. The quiet boy looks as dumbstruck as Sirius feels.

James moves his grip to your sides and lifts you again, rearranging his legs to get more comfortable before placing you back in his lap. He places a hand on each side of your head, thumbs pushing into your temples and rubbing in slow, soothing circles. You begin to look like you might fall asleep.

“This is so unfair,” Sirius hisses to Remus.

“He has a power,” Remus admits weakly, “which transcends understanding.”

“Do you want some tea?” James murmurs to you after a while. Sirius’ eyes have gotten stuck watching the movement of his forearms, and he snaps them reluctantly back up.

You hum, uncertain but definitely considering it. Behind you, Remus throws up his hands. James sees him and smiles, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

“I’m getting the sense this isn’t the first cup you’ve been offered,” he says, looking immensely entertained.

You sigh, but even that sounds pleasurable as his big thumbs drill diligently into your temples. “Yeah, but I just wanted to be left alone.”

Remus and Sirius exchange a look. You seem perfectly fine with company now.

“Don’t be silly,” James chides lightly, “a warm drink will make you feel better. Remus, love, would you be so kind as to make her a cup?”

“Sure.” His voice is gruff, but then you murmur a quiet thanks, Rem and Sirius actually sees the moment his heart turns to mush. “No problem,” he says, softer now.

“Attagirl.” James’ hand drops to give your shoulder a squeeze, his bicep flexing slightly with the movement. Christ, Sirius might have to fake a headache later, if this is the sort of treatment those receive. “Drink your tea and then we’ll get you to bed, yeah? You can sleep the rest of this off.”

“You know, I offered to carry her to bed earlier,” Sirius says, still slightly bitter, “and she told me very clearly to fuck off.”

You don’t sound so much exasperated now as exhausted. “Siri, when you carrying me doesn’t involve setting me down every five steps for a break, then we’ll talk.”

James’ laugh surprises both of you, and he apologizes hastily for jostling you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before resuming his ministrations. You don’t seem all that upset about it.

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nightfall-kachiniko · 5 months

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જ⁀➴ CALLING HIM BY HIS HERO NAME

pro hero!hawks x reader drabble ☁️ ོ

a/n: i just thought this would be cute, hawks getting all upset- I mean- Keigo. 🙄

“You know for someone who’s always out and about, you always seem to make time for me.” You softly smile upon hearing your front door open and then close.

“How’d you know it was me?” He asked, taking off his coat with a tussle.

You paused your tv show before turning around to look at him.

“Can smell the kfc on you from a mile away” you teased as he scoffed in offense. “Woah, I wear the best cologne.”

“You mean axe body spray?” You added, his lips escaping a laugh. “Not to much on me birdie.” His eyes followed yours as you got up from your spot on the couch to be in his embrace, a smile peering through his lips as he sweetly pecked you.

“Mmm..” you hummed in satisfaction. “How was work sweet boy?”

“The same as always.” He replied, holding you in his arms tiredly. You noticed how he tried to hold himself up. You knew how exhausted he was from working so often, and how bad he wanted to collapse into your arms. Still, he always kept that last bit of energy for you. It didn’t matter how much of it he had left, he’d always be strong for you.

“You need to get sleep baby.” You said, pushing the hair out of his face, “nah im fine, I wanna spend some time with you.”

“You can do that in the bedroom.” You added as a smirk grew on his face.

“Not in that way weirdo!” You gently punch his arm making him laugh. “Oh but I was hoping~”

“and I hope you go to bed, finally~” you cut him off.

He looked into your eyes for a moment before saying “your right love, guess I should start listening to you from now on.”

“Took you how long to realize that?” He hummed as he gently placed his head down to rest on you. “Not that long~”

You sighed out a slight smile, your hand playing with his hair.

“Hey.” You said, making him slightly come up. “Yeah?”

“I love you, hawks.”

His head popped up, a look of disgust on his face.

"Excuse me??" He said, pouting.

You can’t help but start laughing at him. He looks like you just insulted endeavor to his face.

“UHM who is this other man in your life??!!” He says dramatically.

“Ughh, I love you Keigo~”

“Mm..” he settles back down into your comfort, “much better.”

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incognit0slut · 5 months

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All I Need

Spencer realizes how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. What better time is there to propose if not in the middle of making love? Based on:

Warnings: 18+ mature content but nothing too explicit, this is just sweet love making

words: 2077

A/n: I’m supposed to finish my last kinktober and update my series, but both are very heavy and I needed something sweet to defrost my writer's block. I hope you don’t mind me squeezing something else until I finish my other WIPs🥲

“…every time I look into your eyes I see it, you’re all I need…”

SPENCER KNEW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU. There wasn't a single thing he wasn't familiar with—from every mole, every scar, to every stretch mark. Any imperfection you considered of yourself he found to be perfect.

He was well aware of the small scar on your hip bone. Or the mole resting at the back of your thigh. Or the way you disliked caffeine, because every time you drank it, it increased your heart rate drastically. Which was why you always judged him every time he had a cup of coffee in his hand, especially with the amount of sugar he never seemed to stop adding.

"That is definitely not healthy," you would always say, to which he simply responded with a small peck on your lips. It was his way to shut you up without saying anything.

He also knew how soft you actually were underneath that hard exterior you always carried. You were an enigma the first time you joined the team, but Spencer always had a soft spot for mystery, and solving you became his mission even when he wasn't the best at maintaining conversations. He remembered making a fool of himself when he talked to you, stuttering about one of the random facts engraved in his brain.

But you still listened to him, and for once in his life, he finally found someone who didn't mind hearing him talk. It was nice to have somebody who found his knowledge interesting, and with that thought in mind, it didn't take long for him to take an interest in you.

Not that he wasn't interested at first, because honestly, you were a splendid sight when you first walked through the door. It was more so an interest that was considered surpassing a simple friendship. An interest that had him push his confidence into asking you out.

Spencer never pegged himself as someone who would be content having a significant other in his daily routine—his past relationships never seemed to work out, after all—but the more time he spent with you, the more he realized he was actually in pure bliss. It seemed as if you had cast a spell, drawing him deeper into your presence, a magnetic force of affection that went beyond the superficial. Every smile, every touch, seemed to emanate a radiant heat, and he couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer magnitude of your warmth.

Especially at this moment, staring into your eyes as they slowly fluttered open from a long night of slumber, he found himself leaning forward. You were so warm, so inviting. The soft light coming from the curtains cast a shadow over your curves and he couldn't help himself from trailing down your body.

You were fully awake now as he pressed his lips on every part of your skin. The slight movement of your arms wrapping around his neck had him grunting, and somehow he was suddenly positioned between your legs, pressing his hot length onto your wet folds, wanting nothing else but to push himself deep into your warmth.

As he watched you beneath him, eyes half closed, mouth open in anticipation, he couldn't help but mutter his next words because you looked breathtakingly beautiful. Heavenly gorgeous covered in a sheen of sweat, so damn pretty with eyes full of desire. You looked like a siren, an angel, and a lustful woman all rolled into one.

Everything about you was so divine, and the desire to consume every part of your existence became an insatiable hunger. It was a need, a yearning that made the idea of spending a lifetime without you seem unfathomable as if oxygen slowly drained from his world, leaving him breathless.

The words bubbled up from the depths of his heart, and before he could second-guess himself, he blurted out, "Marry me."

Your eyes snapped open as he finally sank his hips into you, and before you could even respond, before you could even register his words, his rough thrust stole the breath from your lungs. Rational thoughts shattered as he filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was slightly painful yet completely pleasurable.

He slowly pulled out, then pushed back in, your back arching, legs wrapping around his waist. "Spence," you moaned as he started a steady pace, trying to gain your focus but failing miserably. You couldn't think of anything else except the sensation between your legs. "Oh, God."

Languid and smooth, his hips continued to roll into you. "This feels good, doesn't it?"

The feel of his cock sinking in and out of you had your head falling back against the mattress. Your fingernails tightened upon his back, and he drove you gently into the bed with low grunts. His voice was rough, broken by focused breaths. "We could do this every morning."

A whine broke out of you.

"I'd wake up first," he told you. "I'd make you breakfast in bed..." He slipped out again before thrusting into you slowly, dragging his cock along your inner walls that had you mewling. "...right after I wake you with my tongue between your thighs."

You let out another moan. He drank in the sound with a smile before lowering his mouth to the base of your neck. Heated kisses trailed along your skin as his fingers trailed down the outline of your body before they stopped at the warmth between your legs.

Your mouth was wide open against his shoulder, eyes watering with the force of pleasure from having his cock smacking through your wetness, his body forcefully shoving your knees apart. You felt his fingers trailing your clit in slow circles and you arched your back, each tender brush tightened that coil of heat simmering in the pit of your stomach. The simulation drove you further into a haze of pleasure that a soft yes finally escaped your lips without you realizing it.

The barely whispered word didn't go unnoticed by him.

"Yes to this," he wondered as prompted his weight on his other hand. "Or to my proposal?"

You glanced up at him, your face a mixture of pleasure and alarm as you gave him a look. "You're crazy."

He watched you closely, mesmerized by the way your hips were bucking every time his cock hit that soft spot inside you while his fingers continued their tease. "Maybe." He leaned down and softly bit your shoulder. "But I am crazy in love with you."

When you didn't respond, he slowly pulled away and fixed his gaze on you. Your reaction, or lack thereof, spoke volumes, and as his eyes met yours, he found himself captivated by the reflective pools of emotion within. There was a hint of fear and concern, shadows that danced with the flicker of uncertainty. Yet, beneath those layers, he could see the distinct longing in your eyes. It was hard not to distinguish it as it matched the same look in his. Your stare was warm and domineering.

They were so full of love.

And that moment, Spencer realized, that was what you were to him—love. You were the greatest passion he had ever known.

You felt completely in the moment with him as you let your gaze scan over his features. His eyes appeared darker in this light of the room, but you could still see the soft lightness of them. Then, you leaned up, noses brushing gently against each other before you pressed your lips onto his. His body moved again in response, hips bucking into you and you felt him pulsing inside your core as his mouth worked harmoniously along yours.

"Marry." Thrust. "Me." Thrust.

You whimpered. Everything was too much. The intensity of the pleasure was almost intoxicating, a heady concoction that wrapped around you, rendering you momentarily breathless.

"Having you for the rest of my life is a privilege." He continued, grunting as you clenched around him. He lost himself with one final, jagged plea. "Marry me and make me the happiest man alive."

His words, touch, and the stroke of him inside you—it all blurred together. It pushed you so wildly that the coil in your stomach twisted sharply through along your body. He lunged down to kiss you again, tongue pushing deep as he stole your moan before it could break into the air. He tugged you into him at the same time that you submitted to his pull.

There were times when you would appreciate this. The contact, the intimacy, the warmth of your boyfriend connected with you. Right now though, you needed release. So you buried your hand in his curls, all messy and askew.

"Spencer," you breathed out against his lips. Each of his thrusts fed the growing flame in your body as your body turned pliant for him. “Oh god, yes,” you cried, head thrashing side to side as your eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by pleasure.

He peppered kisses over your neck, your jaw, your temple, desperate to be even closer to you, to melt into you. "Yes to what?"

Your senses were heightened, every touch and every breath seemed magnified in the intensity of the moment. Your body shuddered with every vicious thrust.

"Yes, yes, yes." A desperate, needy little whine slipped past your lips and you opened your eyes wide to give him a pleading look. "Spencer, please, please."

You were panting, your breath hot and your skin even hotter, and you could barely hear him when he spoke, "Yes to what, Angel?"

Angel. The syllables carried a warmth that resonated deep within your heart. Sometimes you were his Angel. Sometimes you were his Sweetheart. While you cherished the way he expressed his affection, a yearning for more had taken root.

Marry me.

You could be more than his angel. You could be his wife. But it wasn't just about the affectionate words anymore; it was about a promise, a shared future, and you realized as he hovered above you, all sweaty and desperate, that you wanted to feel this bliss every day. How could you not when he fits so perfectly inside you that you could swear he was made for you?

And then you felt it, his hand trailing down your arm before it stopped right along your fingers, intertwining them with his. Your hand clutched onto his as his thrust sped up a fraction—but it was still deep and lazy, enough to make you squirm. His cock was achingly hard inside you and when you clenched down on him, you adored the twitch and resounding moan it drew out of him.

You wanted this for your life. You wanted him every day. You wanted to wake up each morning in his arms, him whispering sweet nothings as he buried himself inside you.

You wanted him so much you would be a fool not to accept his proposal.

"Yes," you breathed out. "I'll marry you."

He grunted against your lips. "Say that again."

His thrusts were now fast and ruthless, his groans filling the room while the sound of skin slapping together echoed with it. Every time you could feel him deep inside you, it brought you closer to that familiar coil in your stomach. It was a heady sensation, an intoxicating blend of desire that quickened your pulse and set your senses ablaze.

"I—shit," you cried out, legs shaking at the pleasure traveling along your body you were starting to wail desperately for your release. "Fuck, baby, I'll marry you."

A sound of satisfaction erupted from him as he kissed you with every ounce of power he had. He kissed you as he had never kissed anyone before. He kissed you deeply, possessively even, and it was messy and rough and probably looked horrific from different angles, but it felt perfect.

You felt perfect. Your lips. Your curves. Your scent. It was as if you were made especially for him. He was fully consumed with you, consumed by you, and yet he couldn't get enough. Though you were beneath him, he was at your mercy, and the fact that you could still have such control over him made his stomach twist even more.

He was so in love with you. He was so sure of it, so sure of this abundance of passion, for Spencer Reid could sometimes be dense when it came to sudden bursts of emotions, but he was not stupid. He wasn't oblivious, nor was he lacking in perception. It wasn't about intelligence or lack thereof, it was simply about the purity of his emotion.

And he was deeply, unequivocally in love.

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PLEASE READ: The crossed out ones are blogs I can’t tag. And if any of you asked me to be added and you're not on the list OR you want to be added in the future, please comment on this post so I can see it. But make sure your blog can be searched by anyone or I can't tag you. Thank you :)

Don’t forget to interact with the story!

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clubkira · 6 months

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DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND .ᐟ

oh future husband, better love me right!

premise. the nhk gives it’s viewers a peak into the love lives of the jnt’s lineup, interviewing the future wives of the jnt to crack the secret to a happy relationship ❤︎

content. haikyu!! jnt / f!reader. (atsumu miya, rintarou suna, wakatoshi ushijima & shoyo hinata). fluff. somewhat decent relationship advice. downbad fiancés. healthy relationships(!!). suggestive moments. petnames.

soundtrack. dear future husband : meghan trainor.

part two can be read here.

dear future husband m.list. // hq. masterlist.

ATSUMU MIYA.

“after every fight, just apologize.”

“Relationship advice?” You repeat, sitting across from the NHK interviewer, mic strapped to your shirt as a camera filmed your living room. She nods, smiling while holding a microphone of her own.

“Yes! Tell us, what is the secret to a healthy relationship?”

You tilt your head, “Well, I guess I have some advice to give.” Your fingers drum against the armrest of your couch as you sit in thought, contemplating on what to tell the reporter, “hmm..”

Atsumu sitting beside you laughs, his arm slung comfortably over your shoulder, “I have some advice I’d like to give as well.”

You turn to him with a grimace. “I don’t want any young viewers following whatever is about to come out of your mouth, ‘Tsumu.”

He looks at you offended; reeling his arm back to his side, shock spelled out all over his face. “Excuse me, I’m great at romance. I romanced you, didn’t I?”

“Unfortunately,” you jest, with Atsumu exclaiming in protest, “But this isn’t just about romancing someone, ‘Tsumu. They’re asking what makes a relationship a healthy one.”

“So?” He shrugs, “A healthy relationship is one that’s full of romance.”

“I apologize for him,” you playfully tell the interviewer, ignoring the look Atsumu gives you in response, “He’s not the best at this sorta stuff.”

She merely giggles, “No worries, the players are allowed to give their own opinions as well.” Atsumu puffs his chest out, “See, babe? She said I can talk too.”

“Yeah well, just make sure to cut out whatever he says in the final broadcast,” She lets out a snort at your jab, hiding the smile that creeps onto her face behind her microphone while Atsumu shoves your shoulder in despair.

“Awe, c’mon! I’m not that bad with relationship advice!” He pouts at you, looking like a kicked puppy when he does so, “What makes you think I’m so bad at this, do you actually want to marry me, babe?”

Your eyes soften at his saddened tone, feeling slightly guilty you link your fingers with his, eyes full of love when he smiles down at your intertwined hands.

“Of course I do, ‘Tsumu.”

The camera crew awes as you turn back to face the cameras, still holding Atsumu’s hand firmly in your own, running your thumb over the smooth cut diamond ring studded band he wears on his ring finger.

“The advice I have to give viewers is; Apologize when you are wrong,” you tell the interviewer, “No matter your pride, no amount will replace your relationship. It’s never worth sacrificing your loved one just for the sake of winning an argument.”

“Uh huh, you’re one to talk about that, babe,” Atsumu rolls his neck, “You never apologize first, it’s always me who has to for you to talk to me again.”

“What are you talking about?” You look at him confused, “I’m the one who initiates the apology conversations, you’re the stubborn one out of us.”

“Nuh-uh.”

You groan, “Exactly.”

Atsumu pulls his hand out of yours, placing it on your thigh instead before facing the cameras. “But, she is right. Do not ever choose a winning an argument over your partner. It ends badly.”

“You would know,” you snort, “You give me the longest silent treatments until I coax you out of it with kisses.”

“Can we cut that out of the broadcast, please?”

You purse your lips to hide the oncoming smile until Atsumu leans forward, a handsome grin on his face as he looks directly into the rolling cameras with a newfound confidence.

“But, y’know. I do always apologize in the end, ‘cause my girl’s never wrong.”

RINTAROU SUNA.

“make time for her.”

“You see this girl?” Suna jabs a thumb in your direction from across the kitchen, leaning against the marble island lazily as the camera team nods. “Yeah, she gets constipated if I don’t give her enough attention.”

Your head perks up immediately as you shoot him a halfhearted glare, “Do not.”

“See, she’s doing it right now.” He ignores, drinking from his glass of water before setting it down on the counter, ignoring the little gasp you let out at his actions.

Rolling your eyes, you smack his arm before sliding a coaster under his drink, “Don’t scratch the marble, Rinnie. I just bought this island.”

The camera team silently giggles at the short interactions between you two, with Suna sticking his tongue out at you and in response you give him a middle finger before he turns back to face them, “Can you believe her?”

Scoffing, you enter the camera frame beside him, “Don’t bring them into this, Rinnie.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m your fiancée.”

Suna opens his mouth to argue before shutting it promptly, “Good point.”

One of the crew members holds a sign from behind the cameras, indicating to get the interview back on topic. “Why would you ever ask her for relationship advice?” Suna chuckles, “I was the one who made the first move.”

“The interview is for the fiancée’s of the JNT, Mr. Suna,” the interviewer reminds him, “But the players are welcome to voice their own opinions as well.”

Suna stretches his arm behind his back with a yawn, a sliver of his abdomen peeking out from underneath his home shirt before disappearing quickly, “Well in that case, allow me to voice this opinion—”

You slap a hand over his mouth before he can begin, “Nope, didn’t you hear them? This is my interview, Rinnie.”

“Buhf dey shaid I can shpeak too, affhole." Suna glares from behind your hand, removing it from his mouth with a groan. “Did you even wash your hand? Tastes gross.”

“Why did you lick my hand?”

“We’ve done freakier things than that and that’s what you’re worried about?”

Your words get lodged in your throat, sputtering out hurriedly, “This is going on T.V, Rinnie!”

He looks to you with a smug smile, “Yeah, and I can’t wait to rewatch this interview and see your reaction again later.”

Your fists clench momentarily before taking a deep breath, relaxing yourself and facing the cameras with a smile. “Anyways, some relationship advice I’d give to anyone watching; make time for your spouse.”

Suna nods along to your words, “Mhm, I think that’s the most important thing in a relationship.”

“Shut up, Rinnie.”

“Ouch,” he fakes a stab through his heart, monotonous eyes but a playful grin on his lips. “I talk for two seconds and you tell your dear fiancé to shut up?”

You shake your head towards him jokingly, continuing to talk to the interviewer, “A healthy relationship means you spend time with your loved ones, and your spouse should be the most loved person in your life.”

The reporter nods, “I see, I see, what do you suggest to our viewers the best ways to spend quality time with their lover?”

“In bed.” Suna chimes in immediately, earning another smack on the shoulder from you. “What?” He looks at you with a knowing grin, “Oh, you— I didn’t mean like that, oh my god you’re sooo dirty minded.”

He chuckles, “I meant like cuddling, laying in bed together, watching movies. Y’know, wholesome things.”

“Nothing is wholesome with you,” you exasperate, speaking from personal experience. “But yes, those are great ways to spend times with your lover. They’re good times to bond with them, or just relax and unwind after a long day.”

“Yeah, after a gruelling day of practice, it’s nice to come home and lay in her arms,” Suna motions to you before leaning his head on your shoulder, his grin now replaced with a small but gentle smile. “She’s all I want to see after practice.”

“Wow,” you tease, leaning your head atop his, “and where did you learn to be so smooth, hm? Are you just playing it up for the cameras, Rinnie?”

Suna snickers, hands crossed over his chest relaxed, “I would never,” he says before mumbling close to your ear.

“I just, really like to spend time with you.”

WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA.

“treat her like a lady.”

“My fiancé is out right now at the gym,” you inform the NHK station crew, their camera men follow you inside your house for the opening shots of the broadcast. “Make yourselves comfortable while you wait.”

The interviewer settles himself on a seat at your dining table as you reach for the vase of flowers atop, moving into the kitchen to pour the old water out of their vase, careful to not spill any over your kitchen counter as you refill the container with fresh water from your tap.

Refreshing the water, you carefully place the flowers back into their vase before rearranging them neatly, coming back out of the kitchen to place them back on your table and adjusting them accordingly as the interviewer watches amazed.

“Those flowers are very lovely,” he notes softly, almost as if any louder of a volume would disturb the plants, “Did you fiancé happen to get them for you?”

You smile, “yes, he did,” recalling the first time he got you a bouquet, on your first date many years ago.

“‘Toshi knows I love flowers.”

The soft click of the lock to your house causes you to perk your head up in familiarity, the frame of your fiancé’s figure coming into view as you see him placing his shoes down beside your door before coming inside.

“Welcome home, dear,” you call out to him from the kitchen, one of the camera crew’s members break off to film your fiancé as he enters the home. He drops his gym bag to the floor beside your couch, removing his jacket and hanging it on your coatrack before passing through the halls of your shared home to get to you.

Ushijima shuffles his way into the kitchen, passing by the camera crew and approaching you from behind, hugging you as his hands are wrap around your stomach, head dropping into the crook of your shoulder.

You lean into his touch, his freshly showered hair smells of the shampoo the two of you use.

“Are you showing them the flowers I got you?” He asks, eying the pretty arrangement of flowers on the table. The cameras zoom in to take a closer shot at the flowers, noting the vibrancy of the colours and the lack of thorns adorning the stems.

You and the reporter nod, Ushijima lets a small smile settle on his face. “She told me they were her favourites,” he tells the reporter.

“Hm,” he hums before turning to you, microphone extending outwards. “is that your relationship advice for the viewers then? Giving your loved one gifts?”

You shake your head quickly, “Oh, no! No, that’s not my advice— Of course, do get your partner gifts if you know they’ll enjoy them.” Ushijima straightens up, hands snaking around your waist to stand beside you as the cameras pan out to record the both of you in the same shot.

“‘Toshi just really likes to get me little things,” you smile, reminicing on all the times your eyes barely glazed over something in a store front before he was scrambling inside the shop to buy it for you, despite your pleas.

“But gifts do not have to be expensive,” You reassure the viewers again, “just little trinkets that remind you of your partner will be enough.”

Ushijima nods before lifting your hand up to the camera, showing off the engagement ring with a large diamond displayed proudly atop it. “Yes, but I do like to splurge when it comes to her.”

You retract your hand quickly, warily eying your fiancé, “‘Toshi! Don’t make the viewers think they need to buy people’s happiness with expensive gifts!”

His head tilts unsurely, “My love, do you not like the ring I got you?”

“I-I do! When did I ever say I didn’t?”

His eyes crinkle slightly in concern, “Then why are you hiding our engagement ring from the viewers?”

“Because,” you sigh, “I don’t want young, inexperienced lovers to think they need something like a huge, flashy engagement ring to be loved by someone.”

“But you deserve the best,” he rebuffs, “There is nothing I wouldn’t buy for you if you asked.”

“‘Toshi.. this isn’t really helping our case…”

The reporter turns to Ushijima, “Even though this is a special for the JNT fiancées, the players are allowed to give their own insight.” He informs your soon-to-be husband, “Do you have anything else to add for our viewers?”

Ushijima thinks for a moment, silent in thought as you look to your fiancé, and the sight of his matching engagement ring twinkling under the bright studio lights filling your home catches your eye all too quickly.

“Do you have anything you want to say, ‘Toshi?” You nudge his shoulder slightly when he continues to remain quiet, an encouraging smile on your lips.

He nods, bringing the hand with your ring on it before giving the intricately cut diamond a kiss, his piercing eyes gazing deep into yours, causing your face to heat up fervently at his wolfish grin.

“Treat your partner the best that you can, like the lady she is and deserves to be treated as.”

SHOYO HINATA.

“don’t forget your anniversaries!”

Shoyo’s leg bounces feverishly as the reporter speaks to you casually, unable to contain his excitement at being asked to join you for this broadcasted interview special.

His grin is wide, beaming whenever you sneak small glances at him whenever the reporter looks down at their cue cards of start up questions to ease into the conversation, before the real topic is brought up.

“Do you have any relationship advice for our viewers?”

You’re about to speak until Shoyo interrupts you, quite literally flying out of his seat while brightly smiling as his hand grasps yours with a tight grip, “I do, I do!”

The reporter chortles, smiling at his tactics, “Thank you, Mr. Hinata. But this interview is specifically for your fiancée.” Shoyo’s face sullens lightly until he speaks again, “But you’re allowed to give your own thoughts when she’s done.”

Shoyo slumps back into his seat dejectedly as you rub his back comfortingly, “Sorry, Sho. But just let me speak first, okay?” His pout is replaced instantaneously at your words with the usual smile he holds when around you, “Alright, baby!”

You look towards the reporter, hand still clasped in Shoyo’s securely. “Here is my advice for a healthy relationship; Don’t forget your anniversaries.”

Your fiancé’s mouth hangs open in shock at your words, head whipping to face you with a hearty laugh, “That’s what I was going to say!”

The look of shock that spreads across your face amuses him, staring at you expectantly for a few moments before you too erupt into laughter, shoulders shaking in surprise as the two of you cling to each other for support, with Shoyo nearly falling off the couch with how hard he cackles.

He clings onto your shoulder to stop himself from tumbling, which in turn causes you to laugh harder as you try to pull him back up as Shoyo calls out for you to ‘save him’.

“Baby, I’m falling!” Shoyo shrieks while howling with laughter, “Grab my hand!”

“You’re already grabbing my hand, Sho!”

Cameras stationed around your living room pan to zoom in on Shoyo’s joyful face when he fools around with you, the grip he still holds on your hand as clear as day as you jokingly attempt to rescue his bumbling self.

The out of frame reporter looks to the two of you happily, the fact that you both seem so absorbed in each other and have forgotten about the interview portion of the broadcast is surprisingly heartwarming for both the crew and the viewers watching the broadcast.

Once the two of you manage to calm down, you shyly look back to the NHK crew with a timid smile.

“Sorry,” you apologize to your interviewer, coughing as you try to hold back another bout of laughter when you catch Shoyo smiling at you again, attempting to contain his giggles. “We got a little- uhm, carried away.”

“It’s no problem,” the reporter chuckles, “I can see the two of you are very much in love, so is that the advice you wish to tell our viewers on how your relationship with each other is so healthy?”

You and Shoyo nod simultaneously, “Yeah, don’t you ever forget your partner’s anniversaries!!” Shoyo sternly but playfully warns the viewers, “I’m serious, guys! Anniversaries are important!”

“What anniversaries should our viewers be aware of when it comes to their lovers?”

This time you speak up, “Well, the major and most well known ones of course,” you begin, listing off the ones you can recall at the moment.

“For example; first month together, first year spent as a couple, birthdays could also count I suppose—”

“Did you know I proposed to her on our fifth anniversary?” Shoyo interrupts excitedly, the same happy and bright smile on his face shining when he proudly pulls up his hand to show off the ring on his finger, “I was so caught up in the moment, I forgot to put the ring on her finger after she accepted!”

Recalling that memory brings warmth to your cheeks, “Yeah, he literally forgot about the ring in the box until I asked him about it later.”

“But in any case,” you circle back to original topic at hand, noticing the way Shoyo’s smile dampens a little when you switch back so quickly as you shoot him an apologetic smile, you don’t want to waste the reporter’s and NHK crew’s time any longer.

“Don’t forget your anniversaries, people! They’re a big deal for a ton of lovers!”

“Th-that’s right!” Shoyo piggybacks off your response, “And if you do forget, you better apologize a lot!”

The reporter nods, turning their attention to your fiancé. “And do you have any final thoughts for our viewers on how you maintain a healthy relationship with your fiancée, Mr. Hinata?”

Shoyo smiles deviously at the open ended question he’s been dying to answer this whole time; his hand creeping teasingly up your thigh to the small of your back as he leans in real close to you with a knowing wink, the flushed expression displayed on your face at his actions encourages him even more to continue.

His eyes glint with amusement, the mischievous grin on his lips is firm even in front of several strangers and cameras rolling in real time, footage of his behaviour being broadcasted to the entirety of Japan this very second.

And without shame or guilt, Shoyo smirks.

“Make your anniversary nights real special for her, trust me on that one.”

reblogs are appreciated .ᐟ ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

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ponyuyu · 1 month

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I don't know who needs to hear this right now but

That fictional old man does love you

He has such a soft spot in his heart for you

(Not for pro//shp stop touching this or i'm gonna tell the feds to check ur hard drive)

#f/o #fictional other #self insert #selfshipper #oc x canon #selfship #oc x f/o #safeship #safeshipping #yumeship #f/o imagines

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joelsgu4tar · 7 days

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JOEL MILLER FIC RECS

⇾ 18+ minors DNI, read at your own risk! ⇽

an appreciation to all my favourite writers out there you deserve all the love <3

Series

— Something To Fight For by @auteurdelabre | After a disastrous blind date you decide to stay away from the miserable Joel Miller forever...

— I Know Who You Are by @punkshort | A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long-term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way.

— The One You Need by @loliwrites | When you move into town hellbent on keeping everyone at arm’s length, your neighbour Joel finds his way into your life.

— By The Grit Of Sandpaper by @penvisions | An offhand comment from you inspires Joel to branch out and create helpful kitchen wares. And it seems everyone has been gifted one from him, except for you. It makes you rethink the casual friendship you had developed...

— I Wanna Be Your Lover by @shellshocklove | Miserable after losing your job, your friend drags you out to a club to dance away your sadness. on the dancefloor, you meet a handsome stranger, who then whisks you away into his fantasy world as his assistant for his porn career. what happens when the lines get blurred?

— If The Door Wasn't Shut by @heartpascal | months of travelling with Joel and Ellie come crashing down on you, the fear is suffocating.

— Stay In Bed by @psychedelic-ink | After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance.

— That's A Real Fucking Legacy by @wyn-n-tonic | When Tommy disappears in search of a better life with a promise to come back for you, his years of absence and the grief it leaves behind drives you and his brother closer together until the man you're sharing a bed and starting a family with is Joel Miller and not the one you always thought it would be.

One-Shots

— No Time To Die by @davosmymaster | The main difficulty of being Joel’s closest friend is not falling in love with him, but you still do. Those feelings are buried until you join him on a mission to trade supplies with Bill and Frank. With your life now hanging by a thread, Joel is determined to get you to safety, but the clock is ticking faster than he can run.

— White Lies by @poeticpascal | Joel would do anything for you. He does anything for you. And he makes sure you don't know a thing.

— Saying Thanks by @vivwritescrappythings | Joel is your grumpy patrol partner who doesn’t even talk to you in the streets of Jackson. But one night a man grabs your arm at the Tipsy Bison, and Joel’s decided he doesn’t like it.

— Soft & Sweet by @cavillscurls | You share your first kiss with the last man you ever expected: your older, grouchy, overly protective patrol partner, Joel Miller.

— Who We Are by @gracieheartspedro | Being stuck on the road with an older guy you've been crushing on for ages won't be so bad, right? wrong. because he's been pining after you, too. and one of you will have to give in eventually.

— Warm Me Up by @tightjeansjavi | While on patrol, you and Joel find yourselves caught in a treacherous snowstorm.

— Love In the Time Of Cordyceps by @sameheart-sameblood | When the world ends, you promise you'll never love again. Joel Miller makes that rule hard to stick to.

— Puppy Love by @absurdthirst | You always follow Joel Miller around, you've got his back. You're in love with him. Putting up with Tess's nickname of puppy dog, you don't realize that Joel feels for you until the end.

— Light The Flame by @yeollie-plz | Your mom moves the two of you back to Texas and attempts to reignite an old flame. What will happen when she learns his candle now burns for you?

— Best I Ever Had by @endlessthxxghts | Someone tries to hit on you on your night out with Joel, insulting your man in the process, and oh you don't like that. You blow off some steam in more ways than one.

— Make A Move On Me by @freelancearsonist | You've been teasing Joel every day since he started remodelling construction on your house. He finally works up the courage to do something about it - but not in the way you expect him to.

— Fire Walk by @motherofagony | A chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt.

— Cry Baby by @psychedelic-ink | bodies have been dropping left and right in the most brutal ways in Jackson. As the relentless wave of deaths continues, your mind becomes increasingly restless. however, you find a sense of comfort and solace in the presence of Joel. who might be hiding secrets of his own.

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ellecdc · 24 days

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Surprise! We're Making Love

6.8k words

this is my first real like... real smut fic? so do take that into consideration [and please be nice to me lol] but also feel free to send me a message if you have any feedback or pointers.

this is a fic based on this trope that was sent to me by @bobluvbot like a million weeks ago and became my hyper fixation for far too long. I finally decided to put it into words. thanks to @unstablereader for championing me as I wrote this and convincing me it was decent enough to post lol

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

CW: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, coming inside of someone, AFAB reader, reader is a Pureblood Slytherin, has hair long enough for Rem to feel it on his shoulders when you're straddling him, reader has hair texture that sticks to you when wet, mentions of smoking weed and being high, mentions of drinking and alcohol, mentions of arranged marriages, use of mudblood and blood supremacy

Remus doesn’t know how exactly this thing started for him.

Perhaps it was the day after a full moon when he forgot to lock the door behind him to the Prefects Bathroom and you let yourself in, nearly fully stripped before you realised he was sitting in the steaming, bubbling pool-sized tub with a spliff hanging lazily from his mouth.

“Circe’s tits!” You screeched as you hastily pulled up your towel to keep your modesty. “You didn’t think to alert me to your presence, Lupin?” You sneered half-heartedly at him as you tried to regain your composure.

“Sorry.” Remus chuckled, voice gravelly from a mixture of last night’s howling and tonight’s smoking. “My brain is moving a little slowly right now.”

You looked between him and the spliff and sighed. “Think you’ll be much longer?” You asked him quietly, cautiously, reticently. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen you look so dejected.

Slytherin princess; though you never really let that dictate how you treated people, just that it levelled you with a certain notoriety within the school. You were the only one who could talk sense into Barty Crouch Junior; Pandora Rosier’s biggest defender and advocate; Snape, Mulciber, and Avery’s biggest adversary; the one who encouraged Regulus Black to reach out to his estranged older brother; and the least likely to enact revenge on the Marauder’s for their pranks.

Though Remus had never shared more than a few words with you in passing, he knew a lot about you. In addition to the aforementioned qualities, you were a Pureblood, the eldest daughter and heiress to your family’s name and fortune, Prefect, received top marks in Charms and Transfiguration, and hated the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Knowing all of that made Remus rather rueful that he hadn’t spoken to you before now.

“Listen, this tub is nearly the size of an Olympic swimming pool.” Remus started, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion. “It’s big.” He clarified. “I don’t mind...sharing if you wouldn’t be too uncomfortable; otherwise, I’ll pack up and leave it to you.”

He didn’t really want to leave; not whilst he was still nursing his post-moon hangover and the warm water was finally starting to relieve some of the tension in his bones. But you looked forlorn, and damn Remus and his bleeding heart, he’d give it up if you needed it.

“I don’t want to kick you out... you were here first.” You murmured, apparently weighing your options in your head.

“I will leave if you want, L/N, but I’m more than willing to share.”

You searched his eyes for what, Remus wasn’t sure, but you seemed to come to some decision. You threw your head back and let out a strangled groan which Remus was certain was more for dramatic effect than it was indicative of any real ire.

“Fine, turn around.”

Remus smirked at you and tried to ignore the protesting of his joints as he stood in the pool and turned to face the opposite wall, allowing you to drop the rest of your clothes and your towel and sink into the water.

“Okay...” You whispered quietly. “You can sit back down now; thank you.”

Perhaps it had begun then; he’d offered you a puff from his joint, causing you to move closer to him. He was a gentleman and avoided noticing the way your breasts sat high on your chest, buoyant in the bubbly and fragrant waters.

He ignored the feeling of your elbow brushing against his. He ignored the way your hair, damp from the steam and humidity, stuck against your skin. And he definitely ignored the way that as the weed started to affect you, you leaned your head onto his shoulder.

What he couldn’t ignore? When you asked him what you could do to help him.

“Help?” Remus asked you bemusedly, jostling his shoulder and forcing you to sit up and return his gaze.

“Yeah; you seem tense, stressed.”

Remus let out a confused chuckle from his nose. “That’s really not anything you need to worry about.”

You laughed back at him, nudging him with your elbow. “Lupin.” You chided. “You were willing to give up your private pool time, you’ve shared your weed with me, and you’ve let me intrude on your bath; let me worry about it.”

And he doesn’t know how you did it, he’s not even sure he remembers how the rest of the conversation went – one moment the two of you were sitting an entire swimming pool apart and pretending the other wasn’t there, and the next moment he was sitting on the edge of the pool with his hands tangled in your hair as you took him in your mouth.

“Christ, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He tried warning you, tapping your shoulder to get your attention.

Like the watery siren that you were, all you did was moan and take him deeper, and in another moment, he was spilling down your throat.

Remus was sure he looked absolutely wrecked; naked, soaking, exhausted, a few fresh wounds from last night, and his permanent eye bags a more dramatic purple today on account of his lack of sleep last night.

Not you though; somehow even though you’d just done all the work, you looked ethereal. Wet hair pooling in the water around you as you sunk into the suds up to your collarbones, your lips swollen and glistening from your fantastic work if you asked Remus, and eyes a mischievous magnet nearly luring Remus back into the pool completely against his will.

“Godric, you’re good at that.” He breathed embarrassingly. Thankfully, you only laughed at with him.

“I’m sure you meant that as a compliment, Lupin; but it sort of sounds like you’re calling me a whore.”

Remus cackled at that, thankful that his time in the water eased the soreness in his ribs before doing so.

“If you give me a few moments, I’ll return the favour dove.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You offered, moving back to the other side of the pool to retrieve the book you’d deserted in favour of pot, and then in favour of cock. “I’ll just take an I.O.U.”

Or maybe it started at the Ravenclaw afterparty following their win against Hufflepuff. You showed up with your friends fashionably late and clearly having pre-gamed to some extent if Barty’s uncoordinated movements were anything to go by.

He noticed you every once in a while, flitting around the party with various friends, dancing to various tunes, participating in various games over conversations; but something was different about you. You weren’t as...glowy.

Your smile never met your eyes, and your laughs weren’t carefree – not like they were in the tub. Not like they ought to be.

But hey, you helped him when he needed it, and he did technically owe you.

He brushed past you and gently pulled on your elbow as he continued moving. When you turned back to see what had happened, he nodded toward the exit.

He didn’t bother turning around to see if you were following him, he just carried on down the stairs of Ravenclaw tower before turning the corner to an empty corridor.

“Oi, Lupin; your legs are longer than mine. Slow down!” You called.

He didn’t realise at that time how much it meant to him that you had followed; hindsight being 20/20, and all.

“Where are we going?” You queried as you caught up and walked in step with him.

“You’ll see.” He said simply, cutting across the hall and opening the door to an empty classroom.

“Going to teach me how to translate Ancient Runes, Lupin?” You joked, though your affect was clearly lacking.

“I’m going to help.” He responded simply, leaning backwards against the professor’s desk.

“Help?”

“Right.”

You smirked and raised a singular perfectly manicured eyebrow at him, looking him up and down with a suggestive glance.

“What exactly are you to help me with?”

“You seem worried, tense.” He repeated your exact words from the tub a little over a week ago.

You offered him a half smile that, once again, never met your eyes. “That’s not something you need to worry about.”

He offered you a soft smile in return. “I do owe you, though.”

Remus doesn’t know what it was that convinced you to accept his offer. One moment he was leaning casually against the professor’s desk as you watched him warily from the door to the classroom, and the next moment he had you splayed out on the desk before him with the skirt of your dress bunched up around your waist and his head between your legs.

Now, it’s important to note that Remus is a humble and modest person. In fact, he’s really quite self-conscious. He didn’t come from a notable family and compared to his friends he was basically a pauper, he was scarred and tall and lanky, and due to his lycanthropy, he avoided meaningful relationships; meaning that whilst his friends all enjoyed relationships and situationships, he stayed religiously single.

All that being said, there was something Remus knew to be true that he felt worth bragging about.

He was fucking good in bed.

So his ego was properly stroked when you threw your head back so hard that it made a painful whacking sound against the wood of the desk with just the first stripe of his tongue through your folds.

Like a man starved, he buried his face between your legs and hardly ever came back up for air. He pulled your hips flush to his chest with your legs thrown over his shoulders and his arms hugging your thighs that he used as earmuffs.

Remus could easily call this one of his new favourite places to be, especially with the sinful sounds escaping your mouth.

He used his thumb to tease your clit, thrusting his tongue in your hole a few times before bringing it back out to run through your lips.

“Oh, Merlin!” You cried, causing him to chuckle, which caused you to flinch slightly at the feeling of his cold breath against your cunt.

“Come now, L/N; you know that’s not my name.”

You let out another cry as he wasted no time diving back in, his nose rubbing at your clit as his tongue continued its assault.

Remus’ efforts were rewarded in the form of you cumming on his face and your body falling limp below him.

He allowed you to catch your breath as he fought to catch his own, ignoring his knees crying in protest from having spent the last however long supporting his weight on the hard stone floor.

“Oh gods.” You breathed finally, opening your eyes and stealing a shy glance at Remus, still stationed near your core.

He smiled wolfishly at you. “Better?”

You laughed; a real, hard laugh that had been missing from you all night. “Much.” You agreed readily, accepting his outstretched hand and sitting up on the edge of the desk and pushing your skirt back down to cover yourself. “Thank you, Lupin.”

Remus shrugged nonchalantly as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a snap of his fingers, pushing open a window with a flick of his wand. “What are friends for?”

You snorted inelegantly; a far cry from the proper Pureblood heiress you’d been raised to be as you pulled your panties back on and took careful, albeit slightly wobbly, steps to join him at the window.

“Are we friends now?”

“Were we not friends before?” He countered, offering you a drag from his smoke that you easily accepted. He was sure his lips, tongue, and now the end of his cigarette still tasted like you.

“I didn’t think your kind was supposed to be friends with mine.” You offered, not looking at him as you passed the cigarette back.

“Blood status, really L/N?”

You scoffed derisively. “Please, Lupin. Give me some credit.”

It seemed to Remus that you looked almost hurt at his insinuation.

“I meant Gryffindor’s and Slytherin’s.”

“Perhaps we can be the first.”

“Do many of your friends see you naked, Lupin?”

Remus grimaced at that. “Honestly? More than I’d like, yes.”

And there it was again, that uninhibited laugh. Remus felt vindicated in his task for this evening.

“Alright, friends then.” You agreed, reaching out for his cigarette and taking a long drag before returning it to him. “Let me know when you might need my help again, Lupin.”

“Likewise.”

And maybe it was the day that he had Avery pinned against the wall by the collar of his shirt for calling a first year Hufflepuff a Mudblood.

There was blood dripping from Remus’ nose onto the collar of his uniform shirt from an elbow to the face as he spat various threats promises of pain and maiming, when he felt a gentle hand on the small of his back.

Due to the tension radiating through Remus’ body considering how close it was to the moon, his first reaction was to throw an elbow behind him. He thanked every deity possible that you were shorter than him when you ducked expertly to dodge his assault.

“Let him go.” You said simply.

Remus felt his brows furrow as he let out a protesting grumble.

“McGonagall is coming.” You continued.

Remus looked from you back to Avery who was now smirking at him. If Remus left now, Avery would tell McGonagall what Remus did; if Remus stayed, he could tell McGonagall what Avery had said.

“He won’t say anything.” You argued - as if you had heard Remus’ internal conundrum - causing Avery’s face to fall and both boys to whip their heads to you.

“And why the bloody hell won’t I, L/N?” Avery spat.

Your eyes moved from Remus’ to Avery’s where they took on a horrifyingly cold quality, no doubt the result of your cold and indifferent parents raising you like a proper Pureblood heir.

“Because I know where you sleep.” You spat lowly.

Remus watched as Avery fought to remain defiant, but as he heard the sound of McGonagall’s footsteps approaching, let out a frustrated groan.

“Fine. Sod off.” He barked, pushing Remus away from him roughly and stalking off towards the Slytherin dungeons.

Remus angrily picked up his book bag and began stalking down the corridor in the opposite way.

His blood was boiling, the tension in his shoulders and neck was starting to give him a headache and every step he took aggravated the matter.

He turned hastily around a corner when the strap of his book bag was pulled off his shoulder.

“What?” He hissed when he turned to see you with the other end of his strap in your hand.

“This way.”

“L/N.”

“Lupin.” You countered severely, voice intoning no nonsense.

Remus allowed you to drag him by his bookbag like a dog down a seemingly abandoned corridor and into an empty classroom before you locked the doors and threw up a silencing charm.

“What are you doing?” He muttered admittedly far more petulantly than you presently deserved from him.

“Helping.” You answered simply as you began undoing your school tie.

“I’m fine.” He spat, plopping himself down roughly into a chair.

“Right.” You said sarcastically. “And you wouldn’t have continued to punch the first arse you saw on your way back to Gryffindor, huh?” You asked as you started pulling off your top and exposing your lacy black bra. “And I may not be an expert, but you’re a long way from Gryffindor tower which means your chances of running into an arse were really rather high.”

Remus held his hands up to his face and pinches at his temples, trying to stave off the incoming migraine and the overwhelming urge to tell you to fuck off, which he knew he really didn’t want to do.

Suddenly you were in nothing but your bra and panties, kneeling before him and fussing with his belt.

“This really isn’t necessary, L/N.” He offered without much fervour.

“What are friends for?” You asked quietly as you pulled his belt from the loops of his trouser.

“You don’t have to.”

“Do you want me to stop?” You asked pointedly, pausing your movements and looking up at him. You were giving him a choice; an out. Did he want to blow off some steam, or did he want to spend the rest of his day pissed off and tense?

Did he want you to stop?

“No.” He admitted.

Your eyes softened, though everything else about your face remained impassive as you undid the button and zip to his trousers and began encouraging them down his legs.

He decided to give up on his temper tantrum and assist you in the unenviable task of disrobing him and pulled you up into his lap.

“I don’t need anything.” You squeaked as he had you straddle his lap, your hair falling over your shoulders and tickling his own from your place above him.

“I’m not going to get in a fight and be a selfish lover all in the same day, L/N.” He said in faux admonishment. “Friends look after each other, yeah?”

And he’s not sure what swayed you. One moment he had you perched precariously above him as he gently nipped at your neck, and the next moment he was brutally thrusting up into you with no lack of desperation.

“Fuckin’ hells you feel amazing.” He grunted as you mewled above him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes screwed shut causing Remus to worry momentarily.

“Are you okay?” He asked breathlessly. You moaned in response and dropped your chin onto his shoulder.

“Hey, dove, you okay?” He asked again, pulling you from him and slowing his movements.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop, Lupin.” You barked before you pulled his face to yours by the ends of his hair for a searing kiss.

He grinned somewhat maniacally into the kiss and lifted you from his lap as he stood with his cock still lodged deep within you and perched you on the edge of the desk.

“You’re a bossy girl, aren’t you?” He taunted, pushing roughly into you from this new angle and causing you to cry out. “You like telling men what to do, dove?”

You gasped as Remus found the magic little spot he’d been searching for and he doubled down in his thrusts with renewed vigour.

“That’s okay.” He continued, brushing a strand of hair away from your face that had gotten stuck in some of your lipgloss. “I like being told what to do.”

“Please! Please, please please.” You whined, a pretty sheen of sweat dusted your skin and began to pool on the divot of your collarbone.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me.”

“Working on it.”

You were apparently coherent enough to laugh at that which was torture for Remus who was currently hanging on by a fucking thread as your giggles caused your cunt to clench torturously around his cock.

“Come on, pretty girl. Come on, cum for me, yeah? You’re close; I can tell. Cum for me.” He started chanting, moving his hand that was currently holding your knee up near his ribs to rub circles around your clit.

“Cum for me, L/N.”

“Oh fuck.” You shouted as your orgasm tore through you; Remus felt almost sick from the effort not to follow you over the edge immediately, wanting to help you ride out yours to fruition, but your walls pulsating around him left him very little control over the matter.

“Fuck.” Remus growled, and unfortunately that was the only warning you got before slammed into you once more, twice more, and was then spilling inside you causing your cunt to grow impossibly more wet and warm.

You let out a desperate breath and fell forward into Remus’ chest; he was ashamed to admit how much he relished in the intimacy - ignoring the very intimate act that had already taken place.

“Fuck Lupin, you’re an animal.” You breathed out with a laugh.

Remus let out a surprised bark of laughter as he looked down at you.

“You have no idea.”

And if it wasn’t any of those, perhaps it was a few weeks later, when Remus saw a regal looking owl fly into the Great Hall over the Slytherin table, and with a grand war cry dropped an important looking letter in front of you, causing the rest of your table to fall silent.

Remus watched as Regulus Black’s jaw tightened and Barty Crouch Junior’s spoon fell back into his porridge as they watched you open it.

Remus watched as all colour seemed to drain from your face and your jaw fell slack, though not open.

The rest of the Hall seemed completely unaware of the turmoil taking place over at the Slytherin table; everyone but Remus and, apparently, Sirius Black.

“Shit.” Sirius whispered under his breath quietly, alerting neither Peter nor James who were currently in a heated debate about whether pumpkin pasties or sugar quills were the better treat from Honeydukes.

“What is it?” Remus asked him quietly. Sirius seemed nearly surprised that Remus had noticed, though schooled his expression quickly.

“Marriage announcement, she’s been betrothed.” He sneered the word, his nose actually wrinkling in disgust. “‘Sold off’ is a more appropriate term. It’s too bad, I quite liked her.”

Remus didn’t really like the feeling that settled in his stomach when he considered you being married off, but he didn’t have time to think on it too hard before he watched you storm over to Avery, Mulciber, and Snape before grabbing the former by the nape of his neck and slamming his head down into the table.

Remus was up and over to you in an instant with Sirius close behind, beaten only by Barty and Regulus who had the advantage of proximity.

“You miserable fucking wanker! You’ll fucking rot for this!” You screamed as Regulus fought and nearly lost in his battle of holding you back as Barty began sparring with your newfound enemy.

“I’ll fucking kill you for this Avery! You watch your fucking back!” You screeched. Regulus - for what reason, Remus couldn’t know - thought now a good moment to put you down, and as you launched yourself once again for what he was sure was Avery’s jugular, Remus threw you over his shoulder and took off out of the Great Hall.

“Put me down!” You shouted.

“No.”

“Fuck off, Lupin.” You cried, grabbing at his jumper and slamming your fists into his lower back as he took the stairs two at a time.

“You’re fine, L/N.”

You squealed and began kicking your legs out, causing him to use both arms to pin them to his torso.

“Stop it.”

“Put me down!”

“Stop it. Stop fighting me.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s fine.” He said, though it felt anything but. But he knew, you weren’t really mad at him, you perhaps weren’t even really mad at Avery.

“I hate you.” You said quietly this time.

“That’s alright.”

You had given up on your fight by the time Remus got to his destination. He was sure his shoulder in your stomach was causing you issues and the blood had to have been rushing to your head, but you remained placid as he hoisted you back up right and set you down on the floor of the Astronomy tower.

Your face was wet and your hair was a mess as you took gasping breaths.

This was beyond Remus’ wheelhouse when it came to you; he was good for eating you out, blowing off some steam, quickies, and the odd toke or two, but this? This was beyond his area of expertise.

He decided to sit down beside you - both your backs pressed against the cold stone of the castle in a way he was sure felt good against your skin that was sizzling and crackling with fury. He didn’t say anything; there was nothing to say, nothing that he could say, and nothing he’d really know to say at a moment like this. Perhaps he should have left you to your friends; to the Purebloods who got it. Though, Regulus seemed willing to let you help Barty kill Avery, so perhaps it was better that you were up here with him instead.

That's what he’d tell himself for now.

It could have been minutes or even an hour before you finally took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Do what?” Remus asked quietly.

“Stop me.”

“You stopped me first.”

You let that sit in the air as you looked out into the horizon.

“What do you need, L/N? What… what can I do?” He begged desperately.

Remus was certain the entire school could hear the sound of his heart breaking at the devastated expression that graced your face when you turned to make eye contact with him; your eyes seemed to beg Remus for something but he couldn’t decipher what it was that you were asking of him.

“I want to…to forget.” You sobbed. “I want to not think, I want to turn it all off for a fucking, god’s damned minute. I want it all to stop.”

“Okay.” He offered readily.

“I want it to stop.”

“Okay.” He repeated, taking your hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m right here.” He encouraged you. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to forget.”

“Okay.” Remus said again, pulling at your hand and encouraging you into his lap. “I’m right here; take what you need.”

And Remus wasn’t sure what went through your mind as you searched between his hazel eyes. One moment you were carefully perched above him in his lap; tear tracks staining your cheeks and eyes full of sorrow. And in the next moment, your uniform skirt was hiked up and panties pulled to the side, and Remus’ belt was undone and his trousers were pulled low around his thighs as you bounced up and down on his cock like it was the solution to all of life's problems.

Remus wished it were true, he really did. But if all he could do at this moment was help you turn your brain off and forget the unpleasantness waiting for you back in the castle for just a little bit, then that’s what he would do.

You had your face shoved into his neck and he was quite sure you were biting down on the junction between his shoulder and his neck - in an attempt to quell your moans, your crying, or just out of frustration, Remus didn’t know, and quite frankly he didn’t care either way. You grinded down onto him and he felt you applying pressure to your clit against his pelvic bone, prompting him to start rubbing it with his thumb.

“You can let go, gorgeous. No one’s here.” He whispered.

You bit down harder in response and began riding him with an air of desperation.

“I’m right here.”

And then he felt it. First, he felt your tears fall onto his shoulder, then he felt your teeth break his skin, and finally he felt your walls clench around him.

You stayed latched onto him; your arms around his waist, your hands clenched into the fabric of his jumper, your teeth on his skin and your cunt on his cock as he thrusted up into you and found his own release with very little effort on account of the aftershocks still shuddering through you.

You sat like that for some time afterwards; the gentle breeze causing goosebumps to cover each of you as the sweat began to cool on your skin, and Remus rubbed circles into your bare thighs with his thumbs.

Unfortunately - for reasons Remus wasn’t willing to ponder on at present - you pulled away, a string of spit connecting your lips to the place on Remus’ neck he was sure now adorned the shape of your teeth.

“Sorry.” You rasped, running a hand over the newest of many wounds now decorating his skin. He didn’t want you to be sorry, though, he thought perhaps this might be his favourite one; it wasn’t the result of some hideous monster who took out its rage on him, but instead marked a tender moment between him and his…friend.

You pulled your wand to cast a healing charm over it when Remus grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t.”

Your reddened and swollen eyes looked at him inquisitively, causing Remus to flush in embarrassment.

“Leave it, I’ve already got so many; what’s one more?” He tried to joke, though he could tell as you looked back down at the bite mark, it fell flat.

“I’m sorry.” You said again, and Remus shook his head.

“Don’t be.”

“Thank you.” You said quietly, looking into Remus’ eyes imploringly, as if trying to convey your gratitude through your very soul. “For stopping me.”

This moment suddenly felt too charged for Remus; it was different somehow, something had happened, though he wasn’t sure what.

Not then, at least.

“That’s what friends do.” He said noncommittally. “It was an I.O.U.”

He managed to force a small smile out of you for that, and he was grateful.

So perhaps it was all of those together, in addition to the many blowjobs, many quickies, many quiet, loud, rough, or awkward fucks the two of you had in between.

But maybe…

Maybe it was the way your smile lit up the room when Barty or Pandora said something particularly outlandish or funny; your laughter echoing through the halls like an invitation to experience a secret joy that only you and your friends knew about.

Or maybe it was the way you seemed to be the only one who could weasel a smile, a laugh, or a fond eye roll out of the notoriously cold and apathetic Regulus.

Or maybe it was how a dimple in your left cheek only appeared when you were particularly proud of an achievement you made or a grade you received.

Or maybe it was the kind way you sheltered the younger Slytherin’s from the brunt of the Marauder’s pranks without impeding their more good natured ones.

Or maybe it was the way you hexed McLaggen for hitting on Lily Evans, and then again for calling her a filthy Mudblood when she refused his advancements.

Or maybe it was the way that you could always tell when Remus was feeling sad or low and needed help, needed something, needed you.

And fuck.

He needed you.

Remus wasn’t exactly sure how this thing started for him.

One moment you were on your hands and knees in his bed and he was fucking into you from behind; his body curled around yours as he rubbed at your clit expertly to push you over that edge for the third time tonight. And the next moment you were spread out and pliant beneath him, head thrown back in ecstasy as he lazily pushed into you.

He didn’t often get moments like this; moments to just sit and admire you.

This thing he had with you, it was delicate, precarious. It was precious. And he wasn’t going to go fucking it up by forcing it to be something it wasn’t.

You were friends.

You were friends who helped each other.

You were friends who have seen each other naked; who have tasted each other’s sweat, skin, flesh, blood, and cum.

You were friends who have spent time with each other, on each other, and in each other.

You were friends.

That’s what you had agreed to, that was the arrangement, that was all this was supposed to be.

And then Remus’ stupid sodding heart had to go and fucking yearn for you.

It ached to sit beside you in the library without it being a precursor for one of you to be on your knees in the stacks moments later.

It ached to ask you about your day for the sole purpose of getting to hear about it and not just as a means to help you take your mind off it by bending you over in an empty classroom.

It ached to watch you, uninhibited throughout the day, without it causing grief, or angst, or hungry looks being exchanged.

It ached to taste your lips without tasting the leftover sex from previous actions.

It ached for you to climb into the shower with him after this, to throw on one of his ratty old band tees, and to stay.

It ached for you to stay.

He wanted you to stay.

But you guys were friends.

And that was enough, it had to be enough. He would make it be enough.

So sue him; sue him for taking this extra moment to admire your form below him, when you were only his in this moment. Sue him for memorising the way your hair pooled around your head like a halo even after all the tugging and ruffling that it has been subjected to. Sue him for watching the way your breasts bounced with each gentle thrust of his hips, the way your ribs expanded and contracted with each breath, the way the two of you fit so perfectly together; your body accepting him with grace and ease as he slotted the two of you together over and over and over again.

He ached for you.

And damn him - damn him and his bleeding heart and this beautiful girl beneath him - he reached out to pull a strand of hair that laid plastered to the side of your sweaty face.

He didn’t just ache for you.

He yearned for you.

He loved you.

He was in love with you.

And Godric only knows how far gone he was or for how long now. But it didn’t matter; none of it mattered. All that mattered was this ethereal being that, for just this moment, was all his.

He doesn’t know how long your eyes had been returning his gaze. He supposed it didn’t matter, because he knew; he knew it was written all over his face.

He may as well have been flashing a neon sign on his forehead: “My name is Remus, and I’m wildly in love with you”. And if the sign hadn’t been enough, he was sure his actions were.

There was no longer any desperation in his actions; no destination in mind as he slowly pulled out of you and pushed back in again. His hands weren’t placed in precise locations to elicit a specific reaction of any sort, but rather roved languidly over your body in meticulous worship.

And if that hadn’t been enough, he was sure that the way you were staring deep into his eyes, into his soul; you saw. You knew.

The jig was up.

He had been outed.

Your eyes widened minutely and began to flit around Remus’ face as your grip on his arms stationed on either side of your body loosened.

You knew.

Though it was all for naught at this point, Remus scrunched his eyes closed as if he could save any of his remaining dignity; not that there was much left.

This was it, it was all going to be over.

He lowered himself over your body and pressed his face into your neck, hiding like the coward he was as he picked up the pace of his thrusts.

Gently, tentatively, he felt you press a cautious hand between his shoulder blades and another to the nape of his neck.

Somehow, the tenderness in your touch hurt more.

He came with a strangled cry, feeling humiliating tears fall from his eyes as he filled you up for what he was certain would be the last time.

He melted into your hold and cried silently into your shoulder, and you let him.

Your hand that was stationed between his shoulder blades never moved, but your hand in his hair kneaded gentle, soothing circles into his scalp.

He wanted you to stop; he wanted you to stop because this was all he really wanted... to be here, with you, like this.

He wanted the rough and the fun and the biting and the hair pulling, sure. But he wanted the gentle, the soft, the affection, and the innocent intimacy, too.

That wasn’t fair though; it wasn’t fair to you. You never asked for it, and you never offered it.

You never asked for it.

You never offered it.

He decided that he’d been hiding in your neck for far longer than he had any right to, and slowly pulled his face away from its sanctuary.

He looked up at you through his curls in shame to see you had tear tracks down your cheeks too.

What a fucking mess.

He was a fucking mess; and he’d dragged you down into it.

He slowly pulled out of you and summoned a tissue to clean up the cum leaking from your folds. You hissed at the sensation and he whispered an apology before pulling on a pair of pyjama pants and throwing you a t-shirt that he hoped to fucking God was clean, and sat on the edge of James’ bed; facing you, though his head was bowed in shame.

“I’m sorry.” He offered pathetically, knowing it was not even close to helpful in this situation.

“When…” You started, voice both gravely from the sex and tight with emotions as new tears fell. “When did this happen?”

He didn’t have an answer; he didn’t know. He couldn't say.

“When,” you tried again. “When did this change?”

Your face fell into your hands as you began to cry in earnest.

He wondered what part of this upset you the most; the loss of this friend that you had in him? The pressure to offer him more than you were willing to give? The feeling of guilt over not being able to return his feelings?

You didn’t seem to be waiting for an actual answer from him, but were rather voicing the thoughts running through your head as they came to you.

“I should go.” He whispered, even though this was his room, even though you were wearing his shirt.

“Don’t.” You demanded harshly, eyes blazing with a fire he never imagined ever being shot at him. “Don’t you dare leave me here like this; not after that.”

He nodded quickly, sitting back down on James’ bed as you wiped angrily at your face.

He wished you wouldn’t; he wished you’d be more gentle.

He didn’t get to wish things like that, though.

“When, when did this become love?” You asked in a mixture of shock and bemusement; the thought of an equation you couldn’t solve was clearly insulting to you.

Remus shook his head in disgrace. “I’m sorry.” He offered weakly.

You scoffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Sorry for what, exactly? Making me fall in love with you? Making me fall in love with you and not telling me about it?”

“You... too?” He rasped, looking at you with a slack jaw.

“Fuck.” You seethed, standing up and beginning to pace the dorm room for a few moments as you seemed to think back on the entire duration of this situation.

“When!?” You demanded again after a few moments.

“I don’t know.” He admitted honestly, placatingly.

“Fuck.” You paused in place, bringing your hands to your mouth. Remus hated it, but you paused right in front of the hearth, causing your form to be illuminated by an ethereal glow. He thought you looked beautiful.

“I’m sorry.” He said, for daring to even think such a thing.

But, maybe…maybe if you loved him too, he could think such things?

“Fuck.” You said again, still staring unseeingly at the wall of his dorm as you stood in nothing but an oversized shirt in the middle of the room.

“What-” Remus started, taking a cautious step towards you as if you were a wild animal poised to run at any given moment. “What do you want, Y/N?”

Not one muscle in your body moved save for your eyes as they shot over to him.

“Anything.” He whispered.

I’ll give you anything you want; be anything you want. Say it and I’m yours. I’m yours.

I’m already all yours.

“I need to pee.” You said plainly.

Remus’ chest deflated in relief that you weren’t asking him to obliviate this memory from your mind.

“And then…” You took a shuddering breath that made Remus want to fold you up and keep you safe in his breast pocket for the rest of his life. “And then I want to talk. About this, okay? Please?”

Remus nodded quickly, readily, so unbelievably willingly.

“Don’t leave, please. Please be here when I get back.” You whispered; eyes, voice, and body language far more vulnerable than he ever remembered seeing from you (and ever cared to see from you again).

“Always.”

And he kept that promise.

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selfshipseaside · 8 months

Text

♡ Imagine your f/o logically reassuring you of their love for you!

Do you have an f/o that is rather logical in nature? You might see a lot of imagines that cater to a more soft, and coddled approach to being reassured, but sometimes you might want to hear the logical side of things from your f/o! They'll be calm and soft spoken, listing things off they adore about you, how they don't want to live without you, they want to build a whole life with you and more. They could never leave you because you both genuinely are a good match, and that's something they can see and appreciate. They admire your traits, the good ones, the not so good ones, even the neutral ones! They won't up and leave you ever, because that doesn't make any sense to them, they love you and will always communicate anything that comes your way. No matter what your mind tells you, they'll be there to reason with it and though communication hopefully sweep away the insecurities. They understand it's an uphill battle when it comes to mental illness, but that alone they understand perfectly well and will accommodate in a manner that is healthy and constructive for both of you! But, if you ever do need it, yes, they will coddle you however much you need, because they too understand sometimes situations defy logic, and comfort might be needed before those kinds of thoughts can help.

#another one!!#i hope this helps some people #it helps me sometimes!!#self-ship #selfship #self-shipping #selfshipping #selfship imagines #selfshipping imagines #f/o imagine #self-insert imagine #self insert #f/o imagines #romantic f/o

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nereidprinc3ss · 24 days

Text

in the dead of night

in which spencer wakes up in the middle of the night with an overwhelming desire to feel you

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: fem!reader, soft dom!spence (certified nereidprinc3ss classic), sub reader, fingering, piv sex, praise, overstimulation, cr**mp*e (god pls we need a new term) a/n: this is probably THEE most self-indulgent thing i've ever written. but.... lowkey favorite smut i've posted thus far..... i'm such a sucker for disgustingly sleepy needy sex. just.... read it and u will see.... and as usual i love you!!! PLEASE tell me what you think!! MWAH

When Spencer got home around one in the morning, he’d been too dead on his feet to do anything more than get undressed, fall into bed, pull you close, and pass out. Now he’s slightly disoriented as he stirs, pinned between sleep and wakefulness as he realizes how you’ve curled into his side—your face is buried in his shoulder to the point where he’s concerned about your access to air—but each warm puff against his neck assures him you’re breathing alright. One arm is slung haphazardly over his shoulder and your top leg is wound around his. Without thinking, his hand cups the back of your thigh, stroking the bare skin where it presses against his hip. You’re never so soft as you are in sleep; plush, easy, gentle. Spencer realizes with some degree of frustration that he has to fuck you. That’s why he’s awake, and he condemned himself to the fate of it as soon as he touched you.

Sometimes the impracticality of sex becomes so apparent he resents his own mammalian, biological drive to reproduce. It was never like this before he met you. You reduce him to nothing more than a primate doomed to follow its basest instincts. You make him feel stupid.

God, he loves you.

It’s with this in mind he drops his head to kiss your shoulder—a gentle sort of wake up call, as his hand snakes further around to your inner thigh and he presses his lips to your ear.

“Baby?” he murmurs, kneading the smooth warmth of your leg. It doesn’t take much to wake you up. He thought after you’d been staying at his apartment on a semi-regular basis you’d begin to sleep through him getting up and coming home at odd hours, but if anything, you became more sensitive to the floor creaking or the mattress dipping.

“Hm?”

His fingers brush the fabric of your underwear. Your hips twitch.

“Is this okay?”

You inhale deeply, readjusting your arms around him and nodding into his chest.

“I need yes or no, angel.”

“Yes, please.”

The words aren’t desperate. They’re sleepy, mumbled, maybe even a little annoyed that he’s making you jump through hoops. The corner of his mouth twists in amusement at your perfunctory politeness and the way it poorly disguises your habitual impatience.

“Thank you,” he says, rewarding you with his fingers pushing between your folds through the fabric. You say nothing more as he unhurriedly rubs your clothed clit, but he feels the way your breath catches for a moment—before pouring out in one deep tide. He presses slightly harder, transitioning from passes to slow, tight circles that elicit the tiniest, sleepiest moans. This goes on for a while until your hips begin grinding in isolated circles, chasing his hand.

“Touch it,” you beg quietly. He can feel how damp you are through the fabric and realizes he was probably torturing you for several minutes, but sometimes he just gets so lost in touching you it becomes almost meditative. He pulls his hand away and snakes it between your bodies, sliding beneath your underwear and dragging his fingers over your puffy clit. You whimper but he quickly gets distracted when he realizes just how wet you actually are. Spencer sinks his fingers into you and moans lowly at the sound, rubbing at a spot deep inside you and rutting his palm against your clit rather than pumping his fingers.

“Breathe,” he reminds you when he realizes how still and silent you’ve gone. A small amount of air escapes in a tremulous little cry as your hips roll gently against his hand—whether to escape the sensation or get closer is unclear. “You’re all wet, baby. Were you touching yourself before I got home?”

“Mhm,” you hum weakly against him. “Couldn’t come.”

Spencer feels like he could finish at the thought alone—the nightly phone calls while he’s away occasionally devolve into desperate phone sex and he’s gotten off to the image of you playing with yourself in his bed on more than one occasion.

“We’ll make you come,” he promises, dragging his fingers from your soaked heat with bated breath.

He pushes your underwear down first, until you can kick it off your feet (you’ll have to search for it between tangled sheets tomorrow) and then his own, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth as his cock brushes your tummy. Spencer hoists your bent leg further up his body, exposing your cunt a little more and reaching underneath your thigh until he can guide himself between them.

The head of his cock pushes between your folds momentarily before he’s teasing your swollen clit, slipping the underside of his tip over it in lazy, noisy circles until you whine.

“Stop it,” you beg, voice still strained with sleep, “need it inside.”

“You’re right, baby, I’m sorry,” he croons, pressing his lips to your hair as he notches his cock at your dripping entrance and slowly begins to push in. “You’re being very patient—”

He cuts himself off as the two of you moan in filthy harmony. You’re so worked up for him, so defenseless in your half-unconscious state that he slips in with far less resistance than usual.

“Fuck, me,” he groans under his breath, hissing and bucking his hips when you tighten around him and cry out. He shuts his eyes and thinks of the Goncharov conjecture in an attempt to control himself; the i-th cohomology of the complex is isomorphic to the motivic cohomology group—and then he’s fine. He’s at least learned to stop rattling off mathematical paradoxes out loud during sex. “You okay?”

The only answer you have for him is an indecipherable whine that makes his chest ache. He rubs your thigh in sweet, soothing passes.

“I know, I’m sorry.” A thought occurs—he chuckles breathily, seeing stars as you throb around him. “You never let me in that easily.”

“Mm,” you squeak, gripping his shoulder hard enough that it aches and he truly couldn’t care less, “you feel good.”

He exhales shakily, pulling out slightly before grinding his hips even deeper into yours.

“Yeah? So do you, sweet girl.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, and he takes it as a sign that you’re ready to be fucked. Spencer’s not thinking about a whole lot as he withdraws all the way and you clench around him desperately—but somewhere in the back of his mind he’s realizing how much he loves your dirty mouth. When he was younger and dumber, he thought he’d prefer a girl who was soft-spoken and rarely (if ever) cursed. Now that he’s had you, he realizes how compelling and endearing the contrast of your soft voice is when you’re swearing like a marine.

“God, I missed you,” he breathes into your hair as he leisurely finds the right pace and you melt against him. “I missed how soft and wet you get for me,” Spencer admits gently, eyes screwed shut as he rambles from a place of profound affection and not at all thinking clearly, “and I missed how you cry when you need it so bad it hurts, and I missed how sweet you are when you let me fuck you right after I get home and you’re so tired, just like this. You’re always so good, honey, I don’t know what I did to deserve you—” You whine and clench so hard around him it becomes an effort to push back in, and he groans as he realizes you’re already coming. “Good girl, baby. Holy fuck.”

That last part is more so whispered to himself, but he can’t help it as he feels you painting his cock with your release. You’ve never come this quickly before, and he slips his arm beneath the crook of your knee, pulling up and granting himself more access to fuck you harder and faster. You moan brokenly, sinking your nails into his back.

“‘m sorry. That was—I didn’t mean to.”

“No,” he quickly assures you, breathing hard, “that was so good, baby. It was perfect. Don’t apologize.”

It seems the brief window between climax and over-stimulation has passed, and a gasp falls from your dropped jaw, arching into him as your body unconsciously tries to find relief from the sensation.

“Oh, god, Spencer, I—”

“You can take it, we’re getting close,” he promises. Not a demand, but meant as encouragement. “Do you think you can come for me one more time?”

“I don’t know,” you slur, the words rising to squeak.

“I think you can. Come on, show me how you were touching yourself earlier.”

You whimper, but slide your hand from his shoulder and push it between your bodies. A gasp accompanies the jolt of your muscles as you make contact with your clit, probably demanding too much of it. Soon, however, the conflicted mewls melt into a rhythmic string of delicate, short moans, so pretty it’s like a practiced song. Spencer’s brain, usually overflowing with words, is nothing but a void of swirling fog—each of your perfect sounds, a little burst of light. Soon he’s making noises of his own, which you obviously adore if the way you tense around him is any clue. Usually he sublimates them into words, but he’s too tired, and you feel too good. Your combined moans, along with the sound of him fucking you and the sheets moving over skin make for a truly dirty soundscape.

“Will you come inside me?” you beg breathlessly, and he can feel the movement of your hand speeding up as you get desperate. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at your plaintive request—the words bring him that much closer to finishing.

“Yeah, baby. I’m—fuck, I’m not going to last.”

“Spencer—” and somehow, when you say his name like that, he knows exactly what you want. He bows his head and finds your lips, mostly blind in the dark, kissing you messily until that split second where his grip on reality becomes tenuous before the building pressure finally bursts. Multicolored fireworks explode behind his eyes as he moans against your lips and continues fucking you through his orgasm in strong thrusts for as long as he can. Thankfully you finish again just as he’s running out of steam. He rubs the spasming muscles of your thigh deeply as you writhe against him in your typical push-pull style—you don’t know what you want and it’s his job to hold you still and make you take it. After a moment you quiet down, stilling in his arms except for the continued expansion and contraction of your lungs. “Oh my god,” you breathe. “I can’t believe I did that. That’s so embarrassing.” Spencer chuckles breathily—kisses your forehead with his eyes still shut and slips a hand under your shirt to rub your back.

“Why is it embarrassing? I liked it.”

“I have never—it’s never been so fast! It’s not supposed to be!”

“Why not?”

You huff.

“You’re the man. Men come too quickly. Not me.”

“I’m sorry you had to have two orgasms instead of one. Next time we’ll make sure you don’t come so we can even it out.”

You bury your face in his shoulder once more, immediately softening.

“No! I take it back.”

“I thought you might.” His hand slides down your back, squeezing your ass affectionately. “Let's rally. We need to clean you up, angel.”

The pillow muffles your voice as you say, “I can’t. I’m asleep.”

“Can I record you saying that for playback in the morning when you ask me why I let you go to sleep with my come inside of you?”

“Spencer, I am seriously not moving. You woke me up. This is not a me problem.”

That makes him laugh, and he presses his lips to yours softly. After a long moment of his mouth moving slowly against yours, a needy little whine rushes from your nose, and it becomes evident he’s successfully kissed the attitude from you.

“You were so good, honey,” he murmurs against your lips. Another (shorter) kiss. “Did so well. I’m proud of you, baby.”

A second soft whimper from you as you chase his lips and he gives in once, briefly—knowing he can’t make you get up after this. How could he do that to such a sweet girl when she’s obviously completely exhausted? Jesus, you have him whipped. He recognizes that. And he made peace with it a long time ago.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll clean you up.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, already slipping back into unconsciousness like you knew you’d get your way. Knowing your boyfriend, you probably did. “I love you.”

“I love you. Even though you’re a princess.”

You laugh.

Ten-ish minutes later, once he’s done the best he can cleaning you up and is throwing the covers back over both of you, you startle him slightly by speaking. He thought you’d been asleep.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you sigh dreamily, snaking your arms around him once more. Spencer’s cheeks heat up at the memory of the praise he’d shamelessly lavished upon you not long ago. He’s glad you’re barely awake, because he’s too flustered to think of a response.

He loves it when you do that.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader

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lqveharrington · 13 days

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Lucky King? | L.M.

summary: Lucifer takes pride in everything he has, especially his wife.

pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x wife!reader

includes: fluff, lucifer being a sweet and attentive husband and father, suggestiveness, possessiveness, that’s pretty much it (let me know if i missed any!)

a/n: okay but like, i am on serious hazbin brain rot, i have written more for HH than any other fandom so far.

Being the embodiment of pride meant that Lucifer constantly flaunted everything to his fellow sins and his people. And being the King of Hell meant he had a lot to brag about. Especially his family. God, Lucifer loved his family and would do anything to talk about them in every conversation.

An overlord meeting about movie productions on VoxFlix? Add romantic comedies, they’re his wife and daughter’s favorite. Speaking with Beelzebub about her different alcoholic beverages? Make sure to make mojitos, they’re his wife and daughter’s favorite.

He took pride in who he married and who his daughter was. After all, they were the royal family of Hell.

“Mom, I think it’s as tight as it can go— MOM!” Charlie’s eyes flashed red as she squealed, grabbing your arm.

“Sorry!” You tilt your head back as you let a laugh fall from your lips. “I thought you said—“

“No no no no noooo!” She turned around, eyes wide. “I think I’m good.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” You kiss her cheek and adjust her crown.

Charlie beamed at you and traded places with you. “My turn!”

You hum as she tightens the corset around you, eyes flickering up toward the mirror when you hear the door creak open. “Hey, handsome.”

“Hi, my love.” He pressed a kiss to your hand and then one to Charlie’s forehead. “Hi, apple pie.” He watched his daughter tug on the strings attached to the corset, moving forward when it seemed like you were going to fall from the platform. “Charlie, what are you doing to your mother?”

“Pulling her corset tight—“ She grunted as she held the string in place, tying the back. “There.” You gave her a thumbs up as she finished, watching her glow at your silent praise.

“Gorgeous as always.” Lucifer stole you from your platform, the devil’s tail wrapping around your waist.

“You know? Vaggie is probably looking for me! I should leave…” Charlie let out an awkward laugh and fled for the door. “Text me when you need me for the entrance!”

Lucifer dipped you down, chuckling when you let out a noise of surprise. “You look breathtaking, my love. Maybe we should just skip the gala and do better activities right here—“

“Lucifer!” You lightly smack his chest, face flushed from his words. “You horny devil!”

“Says the queen of Hell.” He captured you in a quick kiss, red lipstick staining his lips. “Come on, Charlie can handle it on her own.” He squeezed your hips as you walked over to the vanity with his head resting on your bare shoulder.

You glance at your beloved with a soft look, “Luce, we didn’t coordinate a whole gala just to have our daughter host it herself.” You clip on a pair of earrings, the golden snake and apple shining through the light. “We also didn’t have these outfits made for us just for them to be wasted away on our bedroom floor.”

“I mean…” He nipped on your exposed shoulder, earning a gasp and glare. “They made you a maroon dress with a slit exposing your legs, my love.”

“Because it matches your maroon and black suit.” You turn in his arms and tug at his lapels. “Which I have to admit, kinda does it for me.”

He smirked as he slowly pushed you up against the vanity, “Yeah? Maybe we should ditch.”

“Nope.” Your hands clasped behind his neck, eyes widening when you feel one of his hands trail down to your exposed leg. “Luce…”

“You started this.” He slotted himself between your legs and continuously peppered kisses to your collarbone and neck, softly sucking. “You’re a tease.”

“Lucifer—“ Your protests were cut off with a quiet moan, but you quickly covered your mouth when hearing him chuckle. “Nope, we’re leaving now.”

Lucifer separated from you, a wide grin adorning his face as he scanned you. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “Let’s go then, my love.”

You raised a brow but didn’t protest, letting him wrap his arm around your waist to guide you toward the ballroom. You both were quickly accompanied by your daughter as you made your way to the landing of the grand stairway.

The lights flashed off and the spotlight projected on the Morningstar family, the crowd’s voice hushed when spotting the monarchy. Lucifer gave a welcoming speech to the sinners, overlords, and sins who attended, making sure to mention his family and how they helped make the gala entirely possible. Final rounds of applause echoed through the ballroom as Lucifer finished off, letting everyone go back to their socialization and dancing.

“Mom,” Charlie caught you before you could follow Lucifer to greet his fellow sins. “Did you… Do you know why… You have bruises on your neck.” She finally mumbled out, eyes not meeting yours.

You felt yourself warm from embarrassment. Not only did your daughter tell you that you have hickeys on your neck, but you stood in the blinding lights with an audience staring at the three of you. No doubt photographers caught this and snapped photos for the internet. “Thank you for telling me, baby. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to murder your father.”

“Mom—“

You scanned the room before your gaze zeroed on Lucifer. He was laughing with Asmodeus before meeting your gaze and gave you a wink. Oh, he was going to pay.

“Lucifer.” You appear by his side. You give his fellow sin a quick smile but turn back to the little devil with a scowl. “Can I talk to you?”

“Of course.” He wrapped an arm around your waist. “It was nice catching up with you, Oz.”

You guided Lucifer back to a secluded hallway, eyes flashing bright red when you were alone. Within a blink of an eye, you had Lucifer pinned against the wall with your forearm.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to know that I went out there with bruises all over my neck? Or, better yet, that our daughter was the one who told me what was on my neck?” You seethed. You were beyond embarrassed and pissed, you’re surprised you haven’t become a full demon yet.

“To be fair, it was more than just your neck—“

“LUCIFER!” You use your free hand to reach up your collarbone. The room felt ten times warmer, and it didn’t help that you felt Lucifer’s devil tail decided to wrap around your calf.

He remained pinned on the wall, giving you a cheeky grin. “This is really hot.”

“Oh, my god!” You release him with a glare. “There’s going to be photos everywhere! What will the public think about—“

“Lucky king?” He shrugged as he let his fingers trail up your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Listen, we’ll get rid of the photos. But is it really a crime to show off what’s mine?”

You grumble a small response, propping your head on his shoulder. “You’re crazy, Luce.”

“I love you too, beautiful.” He chuckled.

The photos never made it outside of Pride Manor, but the teasing you received from the other sins made you flush every time. Lucifer listened to each jeer, a smirk present on his face from the constant reminder that you were in fact his.

Especially when the bruises scattered around you spelled out his initials.

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moonstruckme · 6 months

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Dizzy

summary: when your roommate James comes home after a night out with his friends, he's acting even more affectionate than usual

cw: alcohol

modern au

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 2.7k words

You can always hear when James’ friends come over. The door opens and the sound of them comes pouring through into your flat, the boys always in the middle of bickering or joking or telling some incredibly animated story.

When you hear their noise late on a Friday night, you pause the movie on your laptop and head for the door, drawn towards their loudness. James’ friends are rowdier than anyone you hang out with, but it’s a happy sort of ruckus. They’re fun and hilarious and surprisingly kind, and you enjoy chatting when they come over.

“Hi, gorgeous,” Sirius sing-songs, spotting you as soon as you emerge from your room. You laugh at his scratchy, worn-out voice. He sounds like he’s probably been singing at the top of his lungs all night. Dark eyeliner has transferred to the skin under his eyes, but Sirius is the only person you know with his particular ability to make dishevelment look rock-and-roll instead of slobbish.

“Hi,” you say back, grinning at him. Your eyes search behind him to find Remus, just coming through the doorway. As always, he looks completely different from his other half; whereas Sirius has unmistakably just gotten home from a night out, Remus could just as easily have been at the library in his jeans and t-shirt, except for the faint black smudge where Sirius’ eyeliner has seemingly rubbed off on his cheek. Then you catch sight of James, drooping like an overwatered flower with his arm slung around Remus’ shoulder. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’ll be alright,” Remus grunts, heaving your roommate through the entryway. He tries to send you a smile of greeting, but it’s more of a well-meaning grimace. “He just needs to drink some water.”

“I won,” Sirius says giddily, stumbling over and grabbing your arm. “I outdrank James Potter.”

There’s a nervous edge to the laugh that bubbles out of your throat. “That’s great, Sirius, congratulations.” You cast an alarmed look towards Remus. “You all had a competition?”

Remus shakes his head. “They had a competition.”

“I won,” James says suddenly, picking his head up as if revived from a deep sleep. “Don’t listen to him, Y/N, I’m the winner.”

Sirius makes a derisive sound. “You can’t even walk, Potter.”

“I can,” James defends himself, and slips his arm from around Remus’ shoulder. Both you and Remus put your hands out cautiously like when a toddler takes its first steps, but James totters safely to the couch, leaning against it like he’s just finished a marathon and directing a smug smile towards Sirius. “Suck it, Pads.”

Sirius’ lips curl impishly. His unsteady gaze settles on Remus, still hovering by the door. “Gotta get home to do that.”

“Alright,” Remus says quickly, stepping forward to take his boyfriend by the shoulders and steering him towards the door. “We’re gonna go home and get to bed—to sleep.” He’s blushing something fierce, and you do your absolute best not to smile. “Prongs.” James looks up from where he’s been toying with the fabric of your couch throw. “Drink some water, and then go to sleep, yeah?” Remus raises his brows, waiting for confirmation, and James presses a solemn hand to his heart.

“Your wish is my command, Moony-boy.”

Remus rolls his eyes but turns to go, sending you a quick goodnight with an apology embedded in his voice before he shuts the door behind him. You lock it, and turn back around to find James performing a lazy somersault over the back of the couch and onto the cushions.

“James,” you laugh, and he smiles up at you like he doesn’t know what’s so funny but is happy to be a part of it anyway, “do you want to come into the kitchen to have some water?”

James turns pensive. “Is that where you’re going?”

“Mhm.”

“Then sure.” He hops up a bit too fast, and has to put his arms out in front of him to regain his balance.

You take his forearm in your hand, knowing you won’t be able to support his weight if he really falls but hoping you can at least slow his descent, and begin walking him toward the kitchen. “Are you feeling dizzy?” you ask him.

James hums. “A bit. But in a good way, you know?”

You don’t, but you nod anyway. “Well,” you say with certainty you can’t feel, “that’s good. Chill here for a second, okay?” You prop him up against the counter, and James melts against it instantly in that easy way he has, leaning back on his elbows and crossing his ankles in front of him. The edge of the counter has to be digging into his back, but James makes it look like the most comfortable spot in the flat.

You start to grab a glass from the cabinet but then think the better of it, opting for a less destructible plastic cup. You fill it with icy water from the tap.

“Alright.” You pass it to him. “Don’t drink it too fast.”

James takes the cup with a smile that’s really much sweeter than your tiny gesture warrants. Then he proceeds to slide the rest of the way down the counter, until he’s sitting with his legs spread out in front of him on the floor. After a moment, you decide to join him, crossing your legs under you and letting your back rest beside his. The floor just seems like the place to be right now.

For the first time since you’ve known him, James seems content to sit in silence, sipping at his water. Neither of you are looking at each other, or really anywhere in particular. It’s definitely a Friday night, more of the noise of voices and traffic making their way up to your flat than you hear on most days of the week, but your home itself is quiet. The light in the kitchen is dim, coming in from the lamp you’ve left on in the living room, and your body relaxes instinctively in the peaceful dark.

James has nearly emptied the cup when he says, “Hey,” as if he’s just remembered something important.

You look at him. “What?”

“There’s no ice in here.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did you want ice? I can put some in, I just thought you preferred drinks without ice.”

Even in the dim light, you can make out enough of James’ eyes to see the brown in them go absolutely molten. He turns toward you more fully, his shoulder and cheek squished up against the cabinets. “Aww, you knew.”

You laugh at him, his smushed cheek pushing his glasses up on his face and his bottom lip jutting out slightly. The effect is that he looks both worryingly drunk and decidedly endearing. “Of course I know,” you say. “We’re roommates. I’m bound to pick up on things.”

Your words do nothing to curb James’ adoration. “Still, you noticed,” he says, maudlin. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The word resounds in your head like the happy chime of a bell. James is always calling you that, but usually it seems thrown away, a light little endearment he tacks onto his addresses without thinking. This feels different. It lingers on his tongue like caramel, soft and sticky sweet. Sweetheart.

“Of course,” you say again, and you’re grateful for the poor lighting that’s hiding your blush. “Ready to go to bed?”

James looks at you like you’ve asked him to solve a calculus equation, thick brows knitting together. Maybe it’s the endearment still ringing in your head, but you really want to smooth the crease from between them with your thumb. You don’t.

“I dunno,” he says after a moment. “Are you tired?”

“A little,” you admit. “Aren’t you?”

He shrugs. “I could be.” And then he’s hauling himself up, an overly complicated process that involves getting his feet underneath him while he’s already using the counter to pull himself off the floor. You have to bite back a smile as you watch, and when he’s done James extends a hand to you. As if you’re the one who needs help.

You take it but don’t actually put any of your weight on him as you stand, grabbing his empty cup from the counter. James’ hand is big, engulfing yours easily, and the condensation from the cool water still lingers on his palm. He doesn’t let go as you start towards his bedroom. You tell yourself it’d be mean to pull away on your own.

“Oh!” he exclaims, once again like he’s discovered something fascinating. “I haven’t even asked—how’s your night been?”

You laugh again. You can never seem to stop laughing around James. “It’s been good, thanks. Not as eventful as yours, I take it.”

James hums in unhappy affirmation. “Lucky you.”

“Well, seems like you got the true night-out experience.” You bring him to sit on his bed, bending to untie his shoes for him and setting them by the door. “Do you wanna sleep in that or change into pajamas?” you ask, fighting the urge to tack on the honey that pushes at your lips.

There’s no deliberation there. “Pajama pants, at least. I can’t wear jeans in bed, m’not a monster.”

You smile to yourself, locating a pair of pajama pants on the floor and holding them up for him to see. “These okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

You toss them to him. James starts to strip, and you turn around quickly, going into the bathroom. “So, aside from the drinking contest, did you have a good time tonight?”

“Yeah,” he says lightly. You fill the cup with water from James’ sink and find a bottle of ibuprofen in the drawer underneath. “It wasn’t bad. Remus is so busy lately, it’s good to get to see him at all, and beating Sirius is always fun.” He gives a little laugh. “He’s such a sore loser.”

“He seemed to think he’d won,” you say, your tone teasingly dubious.

A harrumph. “If Remus doesn’t set him straight on that, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

You chuckle.

“You’ll tell ‘em, won’t you?”

“For sure. Do you have your pants on yet?”

“Oh. Yeah.” You go back into the bedroom to find James comfy under the covers, smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t know you were waiting for me to tell you, sorry.”

“No worries.” You smile. He looks so sweet like this, curls splayed out around his head on the pillow the way a kid draws rays around the sun. You set the cup and pill bottle on his nightstand, using your proximity to study his face. His pupils are huge and unfocussed, and the smile he’s aiming at you is a bit too dopey for your liking. “You said you were dizzy…do you think you’re going to be sick?”

“No.” James starts to push himself up as if to make his point, then decides against it, resting his head against the edge of the mattress with a tiny grimace. “Maybe.”

“That’s okay,” you reassure him, grabbing a wastebasket from under his desk. “Here, I’m going to put this by the bed just in case, okay? And you’ve got water and ibuprofen on the nightstand.”

James doesn’t respond. He’s looking at you dazedly.

“James.” You tap his cheek lightly. “Do you understand? You need to use the wastebasket if you feel sick.”

His hand emerges from beneath the covers, fingers braceleting your wrist. “Stay with me,” he mumbles. You’re glad he’s definitely too out of it to feel the quick bumping of your pulse beneath his fingers. When you hesitate a second too long, James tightens his grip beseechingly. “Please, sweetheart?”

There it is again. Your brain buzzes in response.

“Alright,” you whisper, brushing a soothing touch against the inside of his forearm, and James releases you. “I was watching a movie before you got home. Want to finish it?”

He agrees, and you go across the hall, retrieving your laptop. You climb over him on the bed, pretending not to feel the brush of a big hand across your hip as though meant to steady you. You settle your laptop between the two of you and press play on the movie.

James leans over, resting his head on your shoulder. “You’re always watching this,” he murmurs. “You don’t get tired of it?”

“Not really,” you reply. “It’s my favorite. But if you are, I can change it.”

He makes a humming sound, and you feel the vibrations in your shoulder. “No, s’alright. Bet you can quote half the film, though, can’t you?”

You grin. “I’m scared,” you say, in time with the actress on your screen. “I don’t wanna get hurt.” You can feel James smiling, his cheek smushing against your shoulder. You lower your voice into a gruff mockery of the male actor’s intonation. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

James makes a soft sound of amusement. “Cute,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You fall into an easy silence, blue light cast over your features as the familiar scenes play out quietly on your laptop. You keep sneaking glances at James, thinking he’s either about to fall asleep or be sick, but he’s watching the movie contentedly, head a solid but welcome weight on your shoulder. He’s evidently decided to discard the shirt he’d worn to the bar, and the skin of his bare shoulder is warm where it presses against your arm. He adjusts his head a little, and his curls tickle the underside of your jaw. You don’t know how he gets them so soft. Not through any strict regimen or product, apparently. One good thing about having a guy for a roommate is that he’s never the one who runs out the hot water; he’s in and out of the shower in ten minutes every time. And yet, if you look closely enough, you can usually find at least two or three perfect coils in his hair. Genetics, you suppose. James was blessed with a good lot of them.

The movie’s not half done before you’re yawning, your eyelids feeling like someone’s sewn fishing weights into them. You try not to shift, but your shoulders rise with the involuntary inhale, and James looks up at you. You yawn again, covering your mouth with one hand as a tear forms in the corner of your eye, squished out when you blink. You wipe it away.

“Wait,” James says. You go still, looking over at him curiously as he adjusts against the headboard of his bed, pushing himself further upright. He tilts his head. The back of his index finger brushes gently under your lashes. “You always get teary at night,” he says softly.

You know you should get out from under his touch, but you can’t make yourself. “I tear up a lot when I yawn.”

Just thinking about it has you yawning again, and James takes your face in his hand, catching the tear that falls from one eye.

“Don’t cry,” he begs you. “If you cry, I’ll cry.”

You take his wrist in your hand, giving him a small smile. “I’m not crying, James. I’m just tired.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss, feather-light, just next to your eye. You freeze, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Okay, m’sorry. You’re tired? Wanna go to sleep?”

You have to clear your throat to make sure your voice comes out right. “Sure.” It’s still a bit hoarse. “Wake me if you need anything, okay?”

James takes your hand, a willing captive between two of his as he draws it into his lap. He settles his head back onto your shoulder. “Okay. You’re too nice to me.”

“I’m not,” you say, before you can think the better of it. “You’re the nice one.”

James only hums.

You swallow. “Goodnight.”

You’re waiting for a response, the movie on your laptop just now getting to the scene where the love interests give in and confess their feelings for each other, when you feel a wet spot forming near the collar of your shirt. Slowly, careful not to jostle him, you tilt your head to look down at the source of the drool puddle.

James already asleep.

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running-with-kn1ves · 1 month

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Okay but a darling who tries their hardest to "fix" and train their yandere. They put up with every bloody, obsessive shenanigan in the hopes that they can have a semi-regular relationship with the person they thought they were dating. You see, everything was fine the first month of the honeymoon phase-- regular cute dates and normal presents like bouquets and nicknacks-- even if they were overly frequent. It didn't take long for Yandere's true colors to show, possessiveness chaining Darling to their home and rushes in relationship milestones that normally take years to achieve.

By the third month, Darling has moved into their Yandere's home. Sure, it's fast, but how else are they going to alter a bloodthirsty stalkers' bad habits? But Darling didn't realize how much of a chore it would be to handle their Yan 24/7. Other than the constant reassurances of love and physical affection, they have to talk them down from murdering any coworkers or adding a military-grade security system to the home in an event of Darling trying to escape break up with them.

"I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

" I love you, there's no one else, how could you accuse me of that!"

Even with Darling complying continuously, wearing the ankle bracelet their Yan begs them to keep on, not leaving (or atleast, not telling Yan when they do) the house without their loving spouse-- Yandere still has paranoid visions, imagining footsteps at night, clothes that belong to them that they think are from another. But Darling is persistent, denying any sort of sneaking around and consoling their Yan in the process. I mean, who could sneak around when all they do is think of and take care of someone else continuously? And even when Yandere gets threatening, drugging takeout that was supposed to be a fun surprise and keeping Darling in the basement for a week, Darling always waits patiently for them to come back to their senses, to negotiate and bribe their way back out when Yan brings meals and requests cuddle time.

Maybe once or twice they've worried about being murdered, but they know their Yandere just loves too much, has too much affection for them to rationally contain. So they see the beast as tameable, talking them down off ledge after ledge, never bolting even with open doors and free feet. But will that be enough to convince their Yandere, to satiate their fear of abandonement and desire to trap before their prey can even think of escaping?

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incognit0slut · 14 days

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Just the sloppiest head ever, that’s it. Choking, gagging, etc

Spencer finally lets you go down on him after you convince him that you're ready.

Warnings: (18+) soft dom spence x inexperienced fem reader. Oral sex (male receiving while he talks you through it?), female masturbation because reader can’t help herself lol. 1.8k words a/n: this is very much self-indulgent because I need him so bad. Ty anon for requesting

"No."

You pulled away from him, shifting your weight on his lap as you peered down at him, a furrow forming on your brow. "No?"

He gently shook his head, his hands tracing up your thighs. "You're not ready yet."

You leaned back, creating some space between you, though it wasn't much given the way you were straddling him. "Wait a minute," you protested. "Since when do you get to decide if I'm ready or not? And why aren't you into it when most guys would be jumping at the chance?"

A faint smile danced on his lips. "I thought I’m the first guy you've ever been with."

"That's not the point!"

He laughed, his hands finding a firm grip on your waist. "It's not that I don’t enjoy the idea..."

"Then what's holding you back?"

He paused for a moment, his expression softening as he looked into your eyes. "Because I care about you," he confessed, his thumb tracing circles on your hip. "And I don't want you to feel pressured or rushed for anything we do together."

"That's what I've been trying to say," you replied. "I don't feel pressured. I want to."

He studied you, and when the silence went on, you knew you had to do something to reassure him. With a gentle sigh, you shifted closer, nestling against him, and allowed your lips to graze the sensitive curve of his neck. It was a spot you knew well, one that never failed to draw out a reaction from him. You felt the subtle hitch in his breath and smiled.

"You already went down on me yesterday and I really, really liked it," you murmured between kisses, your lips trailing further down. "Let me do the same for you."

Feeling the warmth of your breath against his skin, he let out a soft sigh, his resolve weakening.

"I..." he began, his voice catching as he struggled to find the right words.

You lifted your head to meet his gaze. "Trust me," you whispered, your fingers tracing soothing patterns on his chest. "Let me show you how much I want this."

His eyelids drooped slightly as your hands moved down. When you paused, fingers poised right above the evident bulge in his pants, you realized you had him right where you wanted him to be.

"Come on, Spencer," you whispered, gripping him over the material of his pants, working your hand up and down his thickness. "Let me suck your cock."

He sucked in a sharp breath, his grip tightening on your waist as he met your gaze. What kind of man would he be to deny you? To say no to you as you looked at him with those glossy eyes, your lips running along your lips? With a low groan, he finally gave in, his resolve crumbling as he nodded in silent agreement.

"Okay," he breathed out, his voice heavy with need. "Okay, just... only if you're sure."

With a reassuring smile, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I'm sure," you whispered against his skin.

As if a switch had been flipped, you felt the tension in him dissipate entirely. His touch on your waist was firm, sending a shiver down your spine, and the look in his eyes had you already feeling a flush of heat between your legs.

"Get on your knees."

Your breath caught in your throat at his tone, a thrill coursing through you at the sheer dominance in his demeanor. Without hesitation, you obeyed, slipping off the couch and sinking to your knees before him. The intensity of his gaze sent a delicious shiver down your spine, and you looked up at him, meeting his eyes as he reached for his belt.

As he undid his belt, the anticipation between you intensified, and you could feel the heat building between your thighs. With a slow, deliberate motion, he freed himself from the confines of his pants. Your pulse quickened as your gaze lingered on him, drinking in every detail, every inch of him, the veins pulsing on the underside of his cock.

Unable to resist any longer, you reached out, your fingers trailing lightly over his length, feeling the heat emanating from him. "I..." you started, your voice wavering slightly. "I might be bad at this."

His hand reached out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "Do you want me to talk you through it?"

Your heart skipped a beat at his offer. "Yes, please," you replied. "I want to make this good for you."

A soft smile tugged at his lips. "You already make it good just by being here," he murmured. "But I'll guide you, okay?"

His words melted away your nerves. "Okay," you whispered. "What do I do first?"

"Start with gentle kisses," he instructed, his voice low and soothing. "Explore the tip with your lips."

Following his guidance, you leaned in, pressing soft kisses along his length, feeling the tension in him building with each tender touch. You focused on every sensation, savoring the moment as you allowed yourself to immerse in the way he pulsed underneath your touch.

"Good," he murmured, his breath hitching as he looked down at the way you were gripping his cock, your mouth exploring every inch of him. "Now, use your tongue. Start with light strokes."

Encouraged by his words, you followed his guidance. With gentle strokes, you explored the sensitive skin with your tongue. His reaction was immediate—a sharp intake of breath followed by a low groan that sent a shiver down your spine.

His reaction spurred you on as you increased the pressure of your strokes. His hands found their way into your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he held you close. "That's it," he whispered, his voice thick with need. "Just like that."

A sense of power washed over you as you continued to tease him with your tongue, relishing in the way he squirmed beneath you. You marveled at the effect you had on him, and with a boldness you didn't know you possessed, you licked him from the base to the tip, savoring the taste of him on your tongue.

His reaction was immediate, a low groan escaping his lips as he arched into your touch. "You're driving me crazy," he breathed out. "Do you think you can handle more?"

Your heart raced at the question, excitement coursing through your veins. "Yes," you replied. "Please."

He guided your lips over to his tip. "Now take me in your mouth."

You leaned in, allowing him to slide into your parted lips. The sensation was intoxicating, the taste of him filling your senses as you eagerly accepted him into your mouth. His hands gently guided you, encouraging you to find a rhythm that worked for both of you and before you knew it, your head was bopping up and down his length.

With your hand already gripping him, you began pumping up and down as you sucked him, eliciting deep groans and breathy moans from him in return. "God, your mouth feels so good," he hissed, his voice thick with desire. "Look up at me."

Obeying his command, you lifted your gaze to meet his, locking eyes with him. He looked down at you with his cock buried deep inside your mouth, your cheeks flushed, and lips stretched wide around his girth. Driven by the desire to give him more pleasure, you sank your mouth further, keeping your eyes locked on his as his tip hit the back of your throat.

The sensation made you gag, your throat burning with the effort, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. But you pushed through before finally pulling back, a string of saliva trailing from your lips as you gasped for air, and despite the discomfort, the look of satisfaction on his face made it all worth it.

His head fell back against the couch, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. "I don't think I can last much longer," he admitted, his voice strained.

Feeling a surge of pride at the effect you had on him, you leaned in close, your lips brushing against his cock again, "Then let go. I want to taste you."

"Yeah?" he breathed, looking down at you. "You'd let me come in your mouth?"

Your tongue flickered over his tip, one right over his slit, and you felt his hips buck underneath you. "I think I'd let you do anything to me by now."

He let out a sound of pleasure, and without hesitation, you took him into your mouth again. You set a steady pace, moaning around his shaft as spit dribbled past the corners of your lips and down your chin. It wasn't long until the room was filled with obscene lewd noises as you took as much of him down your throat.

With each throb of him in your mouth and every intoxicating sound he made, the ache between your thighs intensified until it became unbearable. Unable to resist any longer, you let your free hand slide between your thighs, slipping underneath your skirt.

Surprised at how wet your panties were, you wasted no time in spreading your arousal everywhere, your fingers finding your clit with ease. You spread your legs further on the floor, arching your back as you pleasured yourself, your movements synchronized with the rhythm of your mouth along his cock.

Spencer's breath hitched as he noticed your dainty hand between your legs, the sight of you touching yourself while eagerly sucking and bobbing your head up and down his length sending him to the edge. He couldn't hold back any longer.

He tightened his grip on your hair, his hips instinctively thrusting into your mouth as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensation. His release finally washed over him in waves, his body trembling with the force of it as he emptied himself into your waiting mouth, and you swallowed the hot spurts down your throat eagerly, savoring the taste of him.

It didn't take long for you to feel the familiar coil of pleasure building within you. With his release still fresh on your tongue, you shifted your focus to your own pleasure, your fingers picking up the pace as you sought your own climax. And then, with a sharp gasp, you felt the wave of pleasure crashing over you.

You finally released him when your orgasm subsided, slumping over his lap. He was quick to bring you up on the couch, a tender smile on his lips as he looked down at you. "Did you make yourself come?"

Feeling a warm flush spread across your cheeks, you nodded breathlessly, unable to meet his gaze. "Yeah..."

His smile softened further, his fingers gently lifting your chin to meet his gaze.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about," he assured you. But before you could respond, you felt his other hand slipping inside your skirt, tugging down your panties.

Your eyes went wide. "What are you doing?"

"I think it's only fair," he replied as he pulled your panties down your legs. Then, to your surprise, he got to his knees, positioning himself between your thighs as he pushed your legs apart. "I want to taste you too."

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