now you got me imagining leon regularly saying he's had a real bad day and using it to convince you into doing it again, ooking up at you with pleading eyes to help improve his mood by sitting that pretty self on his face... Man palming at your thighs and ass happy to suffocate under your weight between your legs... 🤤🤤🤤
helping re9!leon with a really —not really— bad day.
༘♡ ·˚↳ first part here! content: younger gf reader facesitting re9!leon —again ik—, leon jerking off while you’re riding his nose, ends up with unprotected sex, maybe a little… breeding kink?
Leon returned home earlier, which it was… pretty strange.
You were on your tiny pajamas, laying on the bed, watching some boring stuff before he entered into the room. As soon as you looked at him, you jumped into his arms, kissing him. “Babe,” he groaned dramatically when he pulled off, “You have no idea. Mission was hell. I need you. Like… really need you, right now.”
You raised an eyebrow, already sensing the bullshit, but before you could argue about it, he looked at you those blue, pleading eyes. “Please. I need you. Just… sit on my face again? Let me drown in that pretty pussy. It’ll fix everything, I swear.”
Poor you, you didn't know the hell you put yourself through when you agreed to fulfill his fantasies, and Leon couldn’t stop thinking about suffocating between your thighs.
You sighed and you bit lip. “You sure it was that bad?” “Terrible,” he lied smoothly. His hands were already sliding up your thighs, “Come on, beautiful. Sit that gorgeous ass on me. Use my face again.”
You couldn’t resist the way he looked at you, let alone the way his hands were touching you. “Fine, you win,” you said shaking your head, and that bastard took off your pants and your underwear in a single movement. He lay back fully on the bed, yanking you forward until you were straddling his chest. “Now sit on my face and don’t hover.”
And you did, lowering yourself slowly, but he was impatient as hell. His hands gripped your ass cheeks and yanked you straight onto his mouth. His wet tongue immediately dragged through your folds, lapping up your slick with obscene and pornographic sounds. Leon sucked your clit into his mouth, groaning loudly into your cunt as you grinded down, his handsome face buried deeper between your thighs. You even forgot that his stubble tickled your skin.
His hands palmed and kneaded your butt roughly, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks as he urged you to grind. “Use my face, baby. Smother me. I want to suffocate under this perfect cunt.”
You rocked your hips, sliding your wet pussy over his eager mouth. Leon’s tongue pushed inside you, fucking you in filthy strokes while his nose rubbed firm circles against your swollen clit. He was in heaven: eyes half-lidded and glassy as he stared up at you, watching your tits bounce —under your tank top— and your face twist in pleasure. He could die right there, and he’d do it happily.
“I’ll tell you when I need air, until then keep that pretty pussy on my face,” he said, or you thought so, it wasn’t very clear. Every time you pressed down harder, cutting off his air, his grip on your ass tightened in ecstasy.
He sucked your clit between his lips, tongue flicking rapidly, then licked broad and slow from your dripping hole all the way up again. His face was a mess, saliva and your juices coated everywhere, but he couldn’t care less. He was right where he wanted to be.
“Hah— Leon, fuck” you gasped, grinding down with more force. His response was a deep moan, satisfied. He loved it when you got rough, letting all your weight settle. One of his hands left your ass just to freeing himself, palming his aching cock, squeezing the base. Then, he started to pump it slowly to keep from coming too soon. He wanted to come somewhere else…
Meanwhile you rode his face shamelessly now, thighs trembling around his head as you chased your pleasure, feeling like a slut. He pushed his face up into you with every downward roll of your hips. Leon’s tongue never stopped doing its job: lapping, sucking, devouring.
Your moans grew louder, hips moving frantically as his mouth kept working restlessly. His hand left his cock and now both of his hands were everywhere: squeezing your ass, spreading your cheeks, occasionally slipping a finger down to tease your tight little hole while his tongue speared deep into your cunt, giving you a glimpse of what was going to happen next.
When you finally came, you almost fainted, you definitely never felt that way, it was like you were floating between clouds. You cried out, thighs clamping tight around his head as your pussy pulsed against his mouth. Leon drank every drop, tongue still working you with the lame excuse of “cleaning you up”, licking until you were shaking due overstimulation.
Only then, he ease his grip, so you lifted yourself off his face. It was a dripping disaster, and he was proud for it. He licked his lips slowly, smirking like a devil. “I still feel a little bad, baby… and your pussy is the only cure.”
You were still trembling, of course you were, you just had one of the best orgasms in your life, but he gave you some seconds to catch your breath and calm yourself…
Then he flipped you. This wasn’t over, he wanted to come too.
Your back hit the mattress and he was on you instantly, spreading your legs wide with his knees, cock thick and painfully hard, leaking at the tip. Without asking, he dragged the head of his dick through your soaked folds, coating himself in your mess, and slammed in to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
“Fuck,” he growled against your ear, voice wrecked. “You’re so tight, it’s like you were made for me.” Leon set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward, balls slapping against your ass. You were still so sensitive from riding his entire face that every thrust made you whimper and whine, digging your nails into his back.
He leaned down, biting and marking your skin. “I’m gonna cum inside, you heard me? I’m breeding this tight little cunt.”
You moaned louder at his words, your pussy clenching hard around him. “Oh, so you like that.” He thrust deeper, grinding against your cervix with every stroke. “Want me to fill you up? Pump you so full of my cum it leaks out for days?”
His thumb circling your swollen clit in tight, mean little rubs while he fucked you harder. “Gonna cum so deep,” his voice breaking with need. “I’ve been waiting for this.”
You clenched violently around his cock, repeating his name as a mantra: your orgasm ripped through you. He groaned, his hips stuttering. “Fuck— ‘m gonna—. Take all of it.”
Hot and thick ropes of his cum exploded inside you, pullse after pulse, so much that it spilled out around his cock even while he was still buried deep, creamy white mixing with your own slick. He kept grinding through it, fucking his seed deeper, making sure it stayed where he wanted it.
He didn’t pull out, though. Instead he collapsed on top of you, cock still twitching inside your pussy, lips brushing your ear.
“Give me ten minutes,” he murmured, but you knew he would fall asleep. He’s almost fifty after all, and you would take advantage of it just to ask Sherry if that mission actually existed.
༘♡ ·˚↳ a/n: i imagine leon doing this exact face as he tells you that he had a terrible day. you just can not say no to those beautiful eyes and that pretty face. i’d be like ohhh baby come here and get what you want. dropping this bomb and im leaving… bye guys… jk i hope you liked it thanks for reading !!!
💭 thinking about re9!Leon Kennedy threatening to shave his happy trail 18+ I’m insane about him oml
He’s standing at the foot of your queen-sized bed in a pair of boxers, having just gotten out of the shower. “I think I might need to shave this off soon, baby.” Your head instantly snaps up at his direction, dropping the book you were reading onto the mattress beside you.
You watch in silent horror as he runs his hand over the dark hairs that dust across his chest and down towards that delicious happy trail of his, his brows all pinched together in contemplation, even the thought of him considering it sent you into panic.
“Absolutely not. No,” you tell him, shaking your head in vehement protest as you shuffle to the end of the bed on your knees.
His eyes catch yours, and his frown softens into a grin. “Look at it, baby, it’s getting out of control down here.” He huffs in amusement, fingers still grazing over the coarse hairs, heart melting a little at the way your lips purse out into a frowny pout.
“It’s sexy, Leon.” You tell him, brushing his hands away from the sacred trail with a huff. “You’re not allowed to just shave it all off.” your fingers now toy with the waistband of his boxers.
He chuckles, cupping your cheeks between his big palms and tilting your head back. “Not allowed? What you gonna stop me?”
“No… but if you shave it off I-I-” you pause, wracking your sleepy brain for a suitable punishment, “I won’t have sex with you until it grows back.”
“Oh, fighting talk, huh? You wouldn’t last a week, babe.” He replies smugly, knowing for a fact that he’s not wrong. You barely survive when he gets pulled away by his ever-demanding job, always relying on those special homemade videos you both made.
You groan in frustration, and he coos down at you, running the pad of his thumb over your pouty lips to try and coax you to smile— but it doesn’t work, you seem genuinely heartbroken, and he would be lying if he said it didn’t amuse him just a little.
“C’mon… don’t look at me like that, baby, it needs taming.”
You don’t answer, but your expression turns determined. You lean forward, looking up at him through your lashes as you press a wet kiss right over the hard ridge of his abs. His fingers slip into your hair, tightening a little at the roots, your name catching in his chest as you drag your tongue back up his firm stomach.
“Oh Fuck-” his voice comes out hoarse, ragged.
“Promise me you won’t get rid of it.” You tell him, dragging sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down to his V-line, and when he doesn’t answer right away, you pull back, scowling at him. “Promise me, Leon.”
“Yeah, yeah, I promise… I’ll keep it, s’all yours gorgeous.” He breathes out heavily from above you, dick already hard and twitching to life against the thin fabric of his boxers.
“Good.” You beam up him happily, tugging the waistband of his boxers down a little further with a lick of your lips.
જ⁀➴ Resident Evil Masterlist જ⁀➴ General Masterlist
AN: is this a safe space to say I love big hairy men and women?
SUMMARY: After coming home from a mission, Leon's wife, you, not only help him with his wounds, but also give him a very much deserved reward for making to home alive, just like you did when you were young
‼️ NSFW: oral sex (male receiving), masturbation, p in v (unprotected sex, married couple), cowgirl position. Angst to fluff to smut to fluff. Mentions of almost dying and wounds
✹ PAIRINGS: RE9 Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
✹ WORD COUNT: 4401 ✹ Find me on AO3 (read the OC version here)
✹ Make your RESIDENT EVIL REQUESTS here (information included)
✹ My RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST ✹ DILF LEON MASTERLIST
📂 Day 5/9 of 9 DAYS TO REQUIEM | 🏷️: @millimeraki @lskluvbot @ficresident @aurorag98
💬 Thoughts on this one? I've had this in mind for a long time now hehe
Leon pushes the door open carefully while, with his other hand, he presses hard against his side.
His breathing is far too unsteady but, as always when he comes home this late, he’s as careful as possible not to wake you or your daughter.
He steps inside and pauses, taking his time to make sure you’re both asleep.
The hallway lights are off, and it doesn’t seem to be a single one on in your bedrooms.
Good.
He sighs, trying to swallow the groans of pain, and closes the door quietly behind him, though he ends up making more noise than he’d have liked to.
“Fuck me…” he mutters under his breath, annoyed.
Leon removes one of his gloves and then the other, tossing them onto the kitchen table before heading straight to the bathroom without turning on any lights.
He has to clean himself up, take some antiseptics, and go straight to bed to hug you.
The plan sounds simple… until he notices the silhouette on the couch.
You’re curled on your side, and the blanket that was covering you is now half fallen to the floor. One arm is tucked under your head, and the other is resting on what’s probably the pillow from your bedroom.
You shift slightly, a bit uncomfortable, slowly becoming alert of the faint noise you’re hearing.
Leon realizes he woke you too late.
You open your eyes, slowly, squinting when you make out your husband’s figure in the dim light.
“Leon? Is that you?” you ask, confused.
He closes his eyes, runs a hand down his face, and sighs.
Great. Just exactly how he didn’t want things to go.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he murmurs, trying to sound as unconcerned as possible. Doing his best to sound fine. “Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
You sit up quickly on the couch, letting the blanket fall to the floor. You rub your eyes and force yourself to fully wake up.
Leon came back home.
Alive.
The moment you look at him, you understand why he didn’t want to wake you.
Your gaze goes from his jacket, completely torn and stained with dried blood, to the way he’s standing.
He’s barely staying upright, and he has a hand pressing far too hard against his side.
“Leon.”
“It’s not what—”
“You’re bleeding,” you cut him off, standing as you see him make an effort to walk.
“That was a while ago. I’m not bleeding now.”
“You’re limping,” you say, grabbing him and forcing him to sit on the couch.
“I just twisted my ankle.”
You lean toward the small table beside you and switch on the lamp. Then, you gently take Leon by the chin and tilt his face toward the light.
“Listen, seriously—”
“Don’t come with that seriously right now, Leon,” you snap. You begin examining him more carefully, looking for injuries that might not be that obvious. “You’re pale. When was the last time you ate? How much blood have you lost? When did you last—?”
“Yesterday? And… I don’t know. Do you think I’m still bleeding?”
You start to panic, but you try to hide it.
“Stay there. Don’t you dare move.”
“We can wait until tomorrow,” he says, his words faltering slightly. He coughs, and the sound makes you fear the illness eating away at him. That same illness you were immune to. “Our daughter’s asleep, and you must be exhausted from—”
“Stay exactly where you are,” you repeat. “Don’t you fucking dare to move.”
Leon opens his mouth, but then thinks better and decides to not say anything else.
He lets himself sink back into the couch.
He can’t take it anymore. The pain is unbearable.
He groans, louder now, his entire body tensing.
You hear him not sounding so good and quickly drop to your knees in front of him without hesitation. You carefully open his jacket, but the fabric sticks, forcing you to tug harder to remove it.
Leon grits his teeth, letting out a long breath when the fabric finally peels away from his body, revealing blood that still seems to be seeping from his side.
“Leon… you look like shit.”
“You should’ve seen Gideon,” he replies with a weak smile.
You shake your head.
“I swear, if you keep making comments like those while you’re this bad, we’re going to have a problem.”
“Might be worth it. I like when you’re mad and bossy."
“Don’t push your luck.”
You stand up, and he instinctively tries to follow you.
“I’ve already told you, and I’m not repeating myself: stay there, and don’t you dare move,” you snap, much more firmly now. “I mean it, Leon. This could get worse.”
“It’s not like I’m about to start dancing…”
Leon sinks back into the couch, allowing himself to relax a little. He tilts his head back and, despite your shouted reminders from the kitchen not to even think about falling asleep, he closes his eyes.
For the first time since he left for that stupid mission and ironically, now that it’s over, he feels like he might actually die.
He focuses on the sounds: a door opening at the end of the hallway. Then, the closet. He listens to you moving around, opening and closing drawers, probably cutting gauze with scissors, grabbing the first-aid kit you always keep for emergencies which, of course, happen far more often than you ever anticipate.
“Leon, open your eyes. Is it that hard to listen to me? I don’t want you to die, and—”
He obeys, leaving you mid-sentence.
He doesn’t want to argue when all you’re doing is worrying about him. The truth is, he doesn’t even have the energy to answer you. He feels weaker as time goes by, and for the first time since heading out on that reckless mission, he truly feels mortal.
“Take off your t-shirt,” you order.
“My t-shirt?”
“Yes, Leon. Your t-shirt. Now. Unless you’d rather I take it off for you.”
“Well, that wouldn’t be so bad.”
You shoot him another warning look, and he complies.
He removes his t-shirt carefully, slow and controlled to keep the pain from spiking. You see multiple bruises along his side, deep purple and blue, darkening by the minute.
You also see where the blood is coming from: a cut that looks deep at first glance but isn’t quite as bad, though it’s definitely still bleeding despite all the dried blood around it.
You press gently around the area, assessing the damage.
Leon exhales sharply, cursing under his breath.
“Be careful…”
“That’s what I’m trying to, but I need you to don’t move,” you reply, softer now. “The blood’s coming from a cut that’s not as bad as you think,” you explain. “And, from what I can tell… I’d say you have several ribs that aren’t broken, but they’re definitely cracked.”
“I figured, yeah…”
“Didn’t you think about telling me all this earlier?” you ask, somewhat annoyed.
“You asked me if I was bleeding. If you’d asked about my ribs…”
“Leon Scott Kennedy: can you stop your stupid humor at least for a moment?” you snap. “This is serious. God, I swear you’re impossible…”
“And yet, look at you: 20 years and still married to me.”
You’re about to reply again, but it’s pointless.
Instead, you choose to stay silent and clean his wound. You work in complete silence for a while, and Leon seems to respect it. He simply watches you: the way you frown when you’re focused, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear without even realizing it…
Your husband is in pain. He’s dizzy. He feels like, if you keep treating the cut, cleaning the blood, and making sure to protect his side, he might definitely die right there.
But at least he knows he’s now there, with you.
“You scared me.”
That confession catches you both off guard.
You leave the blood-soaked gauze on the small table and straighten up.
Leon swallows nervously.
What is he supposed to say, when you’re absolutely right?
“I swear I did everything I could to not wake you…”
“That’s not what I mean, Leon,” you interrupt.
He shifts on the couch, uncomfortable, unsure whether it’s because of the pain or the conversation he knows you’re about to have.
You say nothing. You’re completely focus in securing a piece of gauze with some hydrogen peroxide and tape over the area that was bleeding, then offering him a glass of water and way too many painkillers.
Luckily, Leon takes them without protest.
“The thing is…” you stand up. You don’t know how to keep talking because you don’t want to worry him more, especially not in his condition, but… You’re trembling. “One of these days you’re going to come home and I won’t be able to help you. Yes, you know that when the government took us after what happened in Raccoon City they gave me medical training, but I’m a journalist, Leon. A journalist doesn’t know how to save lives, love.”
Leon reaches out with his left hand and takes yours.
You notice it doesn’t look as bad as it did before, but… a bit better.
Much better, actually.
You decide not to ask him for now.
“I came home,” he tells you calmly. “You know I always come home.”
You look at him. Really look at him, and all the reproaches you had in mind disappear. Instead, all you feel is pity for him.
You see Leon tired, vulnerable.
Worried.
“The DSO doesn’t pay you extra for coming home alive, love…” you say, stroking his hand with your thumb, trying to soothe him.
Leon smiles faintly.
“Well. At least I try. Maybe Sherry will convince them after what we’ve achieved—”
“Mom? Dad?”
You both freeze.
“Fuck…” you whisper, closing your eyes.
Your daughter appears in the living room. Her hair is completely messy, and she’s wrapped in a blanket. She’s not wearing her glasses, and you know she probably can’t see much.
“Dad? Are you finally back?”
Leon straightens up a little, forcing a smile.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says tenderly, as if your daughter weren’t already 20 years old. “Go back to bed.”
She squints to see better.
You recognize the panic on her face when she realizes how bad Leon looks.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” both your daughter and you say at the same time.
Hope and you look at each other and can’t help but laugh at how in sync you are.
Leon, however, just sighs, though he laughs a little, too.
You point toward the hallway at your daughter.
“Bed. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Did the mission go well? The one about that girl, Grace?” Hope asks, worried and insistent. “I talked last night with aunt Claire and with Sherry, and they told me that—”
“Hope Kennedy: we’ll talk tomorrow morning.”
This time it’s Leon who insists and, despite hesitating for a few moments, your daughter finally nods.
“Okay, fine. Good night.” She turns to leave and then turns back to look at you. “You better not die today, old man.”
“I can’t promise anything,” Leon replies just as sarcastically.
“Dad.”
“I’m kidding,” he quickly adds. “Good night. We love you.”
You say nothing else until you hear her bedroom door upstairs close.
You let out a sigh and return to what you were doing: trying to make Leon as comfortable as possible. Now, kneeling in front of him again, you focus on wrapping a bandage so the taped gauze won’t come loose. You also apply some ointment to the areas that look a bit darker, and that you know hurt more than he wants to admit.
“You’re sleeping alone tonight. I’ll help you go upstairs now.”
Leon raises an eyebrow, confused.
“Because I’m hurt?”
“Yes, Leon, because you’re hurt,” you confirm. “Besides, you snore a lot when you’re on painkillers,” you joke. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and the smile he gives you suggests he finds that funny. “I want you to be as comfortable as possible. I think I can manage sleeping on the couch for a few nights. We’ve slept in worse places.”
“Love…”
You stand up and begin gathering all the supplies you used, putting them back into the first-aid kit as neatly as you can, even though your hands are trembling too much.
You’re nervous.
He could have died.
You try to push that thought out of your head.
You sit down on the couch, facing him. You tuck your legs beneath you and try to relax now that Leon seems much more comfortable and, above all, no longer on the verge of passing out.
Even so, you stay alert.
“So…” you begin, not quite sure how to bring it up.
“So… what?”
“Are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to guess again?”
“It was a complete disaster, love… I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” he admits.
Leon sighs and then looks down the hallway.
“Leon…”
You take him by the chin and make him look at you.
“That’s not the answer I want. I think you already know that.”
“It was all supposed to be easy, you know, like we talked about: stop Gideon, rescue Ashcroft… and that’s it,” he recounts. Nothing you didn’t already know. After all, you and Sherry were the ones investigating everything Grace and Guideon related. “But things went wrong.”
“Yes, that’s what usually happens,” you mutter.
“And Grace…” Leon continues. “Fuck, she was scared as fuck. She’s just a kid, love…”
A knot forms in your throat.
You know why he’s saying that. And that’s exactly the same reason it makes you nervous.
“But she defended herself, you know? I figured she was smart, you know… with all this FBI stuff… But she really did everything too well to obviously have never been in a situation like that before in her life,” Leon explains. “I guess that’s why she was still alive when I got there.”
You don’t answer because you know he wants to keep talking, even if he hesitates.
“She reminded me of Hope,” he admits quietly. “Especially with how stubborn she is. I don’t even want to imagine what’s going to be with both of us when she’s a few years older…”
“God help us,” you laugh softly.
“She wouldn’t stop asking questions. Especially…” Leon continues. “She mostly asked me about Raccoon City when we were there. About what really happened.”
You tense up, uncomfortable.
“And you didn’t answer her, obviously.”
“I told her enough,” he says. “She was seeing it all for herself… but I couldn’t hide certain things from her. You know what I mean.”
Oh, you definitely do.
You know he doesn’t want to talk about it when he closes his eyes and says nothing for several minutes that, without you realizing, turns into almost an hour.
You don’t know when you fall asleep, but you realize you have when you see your phone says 4:13 a.m.
And if you remember correctly, Leon got home around 1:38 a.m.
Leon.
You see he’s still beside you, his head resting against the back of the couch and his hands on his bare stomach. You shift slightly to touch his forehead to check his temperature. Thankfully, he’s not as warm as before and, judging by the steady rise and fall of his chest, he seems much calmer now the medication seems to be working.
“I’m awake, love,” he tells you softly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” he says calmly, his voice hoarse. “I was the one who didn’t want to wake you.”
“But—”
“I told you before: you seemed exhausted. You needed to rest more than I did…”
“Come here.”
He interrupts you, extending his arms so you can lie against him. You do, doing your best to not hurt him more than necessary.
Unconsciously, you slide your hand gently over his collarbone.
His breathing shifts slightly, and you notice immediately.
You pull away from him at once.
“I’m sorry…”
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he replies.
His voice is much deeper now.
28 years knowing each other, 22 years dating, and 20 years of marriage are more than enough for you to know what’s going through your husband’s mind right now.
You arch an eyebrow, scolding him.
“Leon…”
“I missed you,” is all he says.
You know he means it, but still…
“You were only gone three days,” you reply. “And just now I was asleep, here, with you, on the same couch.”
“Please, love: I miss you when I go training, and that’s three hours a day. How am I not going to miss you after being gone for three fucking days?” he insists.
“Leon…”
Your husband shakes his head and, to your surprise, carefully shifts on the couch and turns toward you to lean in and kiss you on the lips.
“You know… that didn’t hurt. You patched me up well, Doctor Kennedy.”
“You’re impossible, honestly…”
You don’t give him time to say anything else.
Instead, you’re the one who leans in to kiss him.
Leon’s hand instinctively slides up to your waist, his fingers gripping the fabric of your pajamas out of pure muscle memory.
You don’t know how long you stay like that, only pulling apart to catch your breath before kissing again.
You notice how hard Leon’s getting. He lets out a groan that’s far too loud, unable to stop himself.
“Leon, be quiet…” you pull away from him just enough to kiss him again.
“What? Love, you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now…”
You force yourself to pull away even though all you want is his lips on your neck, just like he was about to do.
“Hope,” you say as quickly as possible. You didn’t want to, but… you need him. Now. “She might hear us…”
“Right… Sorry, but I need my wife…”
God, he was definitely impossible.
Impossible, and crazy in love with you.
“Are you telling me you have cracked ribs, you almost bled out, I’d swear you had a fever not long ago, and you still want to have sex with me?” you ask, laughing under your breath as your hands move over his chest. “Not to mention Hope could catch us…”
“If we’re quiet, I guarantee she won’t notice. It’s not the first time we’ve done this,” he replies, sliding his hands down to your ass and squeezing it. You moan. “I think you can control yourself at least a little, right, love? Could you do that for me?”
“Seriously, Leon…”
“Fuck, love, you have no idea how much I love you…” he runs a hand over your waist again. “I love you. God, I love you so fucking much…”
You take his face in your hands, caressing his cheeks.
You notice his neck is completely healed, and you’re not quite sure why.
Leon realizes what you’re doing, so he grabs you by the waist and pulls you onto his lap, not caring how much you scold him about the damage he could cause himself.
He swears he’s perfectly fine, but you know he’s not.
You just know he needs you as much as you need him.
“Do you really want to…?” you ask softly, still running your hands over his chest and arms.
“Of course I do,” he says. “I want to do this… just like when we were young. Nothing has changed, except…”
“Everything has changed.”
“Not that I regret it, though,” he smiles, tilting his head as he begins to massage your tits over your pajama shirt.
“I don’t think your ribs would agree with us having sex tonight…”
“Fuck my ribs. I want to fuck my wife and make her feel good.”
“Leon, you’re hurt and exhausted. I don’t think—”
“Come on, love: like when we were young, alright?”
“You’re not making this easy…” you whisper, pressing your forehead to his.
“I know. Sorry.”
His fingers start lightly playing with the fabric of your pants, not pulling, as if testing his next move.
“Leon… Control yourself,” you tell him, unable to stop yourself from smiling.
“I’m trying, but fuck… You’re not making it an easy job for me…”
That’s when you decide to get off his lap and, instead, kneel in front of him.
You look at him steadily as you place one hand on his knee and bring the other to the button of his pants, undoing it with as little clumsiness as possible.
“You don’t have to do this…” Leon tells you.
“I know, but I want to,” you reply calmly. “Just like when we were young, remember?”
Leon lifts himself slightly to make it easier for you to remove his pants and boxers.
His cock, fully erect, is left exposed.
You take it in your hands, determined, and begin to stroke it, earning several moans from him, all of them whispering your name.
You give his length a long, slow lick, never taking your eyes off him.
“God, love…” he says much louder than he should.
“Leon…”
You hollow your cheeks and take his cock into your mouth. You trace his veins with your tongue, increasing the speed while using your hands to stroke what doesn’t fit, also moving to his testicles to give him as much pleasure as possible.
Leon throws his head back, placing his hands in your hair as he slowly guides your movements until the pleasure he’s feeling, what you’re making him feel, makes him give in and surrender completely to you.
You see one of his hands gripping one of the cushions tightly. That motivates you to go even faster, licking the tip of his cock when you feel the pre-cum leaking.
He’s close. You can tell by the way his breathing becomes erratic. How his words shift from quiet moans to a stream of praises about how good you’re making him feel, how much he loves you and, above all, when he tells you to pull away because he’s about to come.
You don’t, of course, because you know he loves coming in your mouth.
And, of course, today is your husband’s day.
You take his cum eagerly as the orgasm completely overtakes him.
“Fuck, love, I’d forgotten this was so…” he says, adjusting himself while, carefully, you climb back onto his lap after removing your pants and underwear. Leon looks you up and down and bites his lip. “Fuck, love…”
“We had sex four days ago, Leon,” you reply, leaning down to kiss him on the lips as you begin to seek friction against his still-erect cock.
You can’t hold back any longer.
You take Leon’s cock in your hand and, after aligning it with your entrance, begin to rock your hips.
You focus on going as slow as you can, trying to keep a steady rhythm. Leon simply smiles, noticing your intention, massaging your tits and kissing you to quiet your moans, which are growing louder.
Leon moves his hands to your hips to help guide the pace as it gradually increases. You feel the pleasure building inside you, so you bury your face in your husband’s neck, taking the chance to leave bites, kisses, and small marks that will likely darken over the next few hours.
“I love you so much, Leon…” you try to say, consumed by moans and pleasure. “You have no idea how much I love you…”
You feel your pussy begin to tighten around his cock. Leon, though exhausted and barely able to handle his own body, does his best to reach your clit, starting to rub it and push you toward release.
“Keep going, love, don’t stop…” he encourages you, even though you’re already trembling on top of him, clinging to his neck to keep from falling, completely focused on Leon. “God, I love you so much…”
You hold back your orgasm so that you and Leon can come at the same time, but it only takes a few more thrusts, much deeper and more deliberate, for you both to finish together.
You collapse on top of him. Leon kisses your forehead, then your cheek, still stroking your waist.
“God… You’re incredible,” he whispers softly, unable to stop looking at you.
“You must be half drugged from the medication,” you joke. “How do you feel?”
“Right now?” he takes the hand resting on his cheek and kisses the back of it. “Much better. I’m safe, at home, with my wife and my daughter. Not to mention the sex session we just had…”
“Leon,” you take his cheeks in your hands and force him to look at you. “I’m serious. Don’t make those kinds of comments when I’m actually asking how you are! Do I have to remind you that you almost didn’t make it home alive?”
“Good thing I have a doctor…” You glare at him, and he corrects himself. “Pseudo-doctor, journalist, whatever you want to call it… but a super sexy one, always ready to help me out with everything.”
“Until I don’t know what to do,” you reply.
“Then you’ll be my super sexy chauffeur and drive me to the hospital.”
“You’re hopeless, Leon Kennedy…”
“At this point in our marriage, you should know me,” he shoots back. “We’ve known each other for almost 30 years, in case you forgot.”
“That’s why I haven’t yet asked why it seems you’ve stopped being infected with—”
You force yourself to stop before finishing the sentence.
Leon’s expression hardens.
He looks away from you again.
You know he’s hiding something.
“Leon…” you insist, even though you know it’s useless.
He takes you by your waist and gently lays you down on the couch, positioning himself carefully over you.
“Leon, you shouldn’t move like that. You’re going to hurt yourself and—”
“I promise.”
You stare at him, confused.
“What? Leon, whatever’s going through your head, you’d better—”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow what happened. Everything. I promise you.”
He points to his neck.
Then, he raises his hands to you.
You know what he means with that.
“I just want to be here with you, calm, doing nothing and… just enjoying ourselves,” he says. “I don’t want to think about anything else, love. Please… I don’t want to think anymore tonight about the times I’ve almost lost you. Let us be just like when we were young.”
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Feedback on the comments and/or reblogs are very much appreciated but, if you feel shy, just send me an anonymous ask! 💖 This will be a safe space and I won't share any of RE9 spoilers, so don't worry! Take care of spoilers out there, and PLEASE: if you stuff, use spoiler warnings and be empathetic to those who want to wait for release date!
summary: it wasn't unusual for Spike to 'break' into your apartment, but it was unusual for him to want to spend the night.
warnings: very long (4.4k words), spike being a simp, one bed trope, dry humping, thigh fucking, masturbation, some fingering, slight praise, Spike being Spike, a smidge of possessiveness, and thats about it
It was no secret to anyone your favorite time of day was long after the sun went down. A full-time college student who worked a part time job on top of that was no easy feat. Your time during the day was never your time, it was your shitty professors time who assigned reading after reading that needed to be read for the never-ending stream of papers and theses, it belonged to your shitty boss who piled on tons of paperwork and demanded you be at his beck and call even after you clocked out. As much as you loved them, your time off belonged to your friends; patrolling, looking through dusty-old books, trying not to die every time you stepped out of your apartment.
When you got home (if there was no patrolling to be done), it was your time and while you were tired, you made time for your nightly routine. You'd slip off your shoes and walk in the dark to make it to your room to turn on your lamp, because you'd be damned if you were turning on one of the big lights this late.
You would usually strip down and dig a pair of pajamas out of your drawers before taking a scalding shower. You'd brush your teeth and wash your face, maybe if you had the energy, you'd do a face mask and paint your nails. You'd turn on your stereo or switch on your TV to fall asleep to the fuzzy sound and soft light. This, of course, is what you'd be doing right now had you not walked into your house with company.
You could see him lounging on your bed, the darkness of his attire somehow darker than your unlit room. His duster slung on the back of your desk chair, only clothed in some tight navy shirt and jeans.
"What are you doing here, Spike?" You crossed your arms over your chest, annoyed when you realized he had his dirty ass boots on your bed.
"M' paying my favorite Scooby a visit." You walked over to turn on your lamp, giving you enough light to see how smug he was. His arms sat behind his head, his eyes glittering with amusement. He was doing this to annoy you. He did most things just to annoy you.
"Pay another Scooby a visit." You were dead tired, practically forcing your eyes open. You had just gotten back from work, your bag still in your hand which you used to knock his legs off your bed. He could've been stubborn, but he let you.
You stripped off your hoodie, flashing him your stomach as your undershirt rose with the movement. He whistled, "Scandalous."
"Get out of my apartment." You tossed your hoodie at him while rolling your eyes. He caught it midair, bringing it to his nose to sniff it.
"Smells different. You using a different bodywash?" You hummed as you walked around your room to find something suitable to wear to bed. It was dreadfully hot out, even worse than what you'd expect from a California summer. You had at least 3 fans going anytime you were here, especially since your landlord could never seem to find a permanent solution to the junky A.C unit.
"Midnight Rose. Real fancy stuff." You hadn't even noticed a difference, but of course Spike would. Vampire senses had a way of being intrusive in a way that was only helpful when it came to your cycle and saving you bed sheets.
"I like the other one better: the cocoa butter one. It was fainter. You smelt more like you." You scoffed.
"Duly noted." Your hands roamed over the old t-shirts from high school and camisole tops so old the straps had snapped on a couple of them.
Spike sat up on your bed, untying the laces on his shoes haphazardly before setting them by your bedroom door. He roamed around like you had been, picking up bottles of nail polish and flipping through one of the books on your shelf.
"You could spare me a bit of your attention, love. I mean I did go through the trouble of-"
"Breaking into my apartment?" You interrupted.
"On second thought, it was a bit easy. I pushed it a bit and the window came right out. Are you leaving it open for somebody?" His tone was supposed to sound much more teasing than it did. There was a pang in his chest, probably of jealousy. Much to his chagrin, he was jealous a lot these days and he couldn't quite tell if his frequent visits were enabling that or the very cause of it. Either way, it was hard not to just crawl through your window anytime he pleased.
You acted like you were annoyed and if he had a dollar for every time you threatened to call Buffy on him, he wouldn't need to dumpster dive for furniture. If he had another dollar for every time, you never followed through, he'd be even richer. You said it's because you could handle yourself without her help, but, admittedly, you didn't hate his company that much.
As far as house guests go, it could be worse. It's not like he eats all your food, talks your ears off, or is unfunny. He was just there. A pain in your ass sometimes, like when he insists on being half a step behind you during patrols and never fails to tell you how great your ass looks from behind. Never a malevolent presence, just annoyingly noticeable.
His boots were clunky, and he smelled of faint cigarettes and alcohol. He also hated silence. He was fidgety and anxious, even if his intentions were stealth, he couldn't help but break the tension and open his mouth. At times against his will, he just wanted to be noticed that bad. He just needed to be around you that bad.
"I keep telling the landlord to fix it, but he insists it's just fine. 'Nothin' some glue won't fix'." But you had tried gluing it. Had it not been for the clear shit jammed in the lock, the window would've just come right open with the flick of a finger.
"I could fix it for you." He went ignored while you had made your way to your bathroom, taking your hair down from the claw clip it had been stuck in for the past few hours. A slight moan of relief slipped through your lips as your fingers carded through it to massage your scalp.
"You know how to fix windows?"
"Well...no. But it can't be that hard. I've been around a few hundred years, surely I can figure out how to fix a bloody window." What he meant to say (if he had the balls) was that he would be more than happy to learn how to fix a window for you. It would give him an excuse to hang around, it would keep him in your good graces for a solid month, and he wouldn't have to break an entering anymore. Granted, his preferred place of entry had long been broken and he could always come through the front door, but it was a matter of principle.
You looked him up and down, trying to decipher if this was a set up for a joke or if he was actually serious, but he kept his head down. He hadn't been able to blush since he was a human, but the habit had a way of rearing its head for you.
He was so pretty too. With his high cheekbones and the way the warm light made his complexion look less ghastly. As ironic and cliche as it would be to say, he looked slightly angelic. Like one who fell from Heaven and donned the dark and mysterious charade to make it hurt less. He would burn away under a cross just to make it back to Heaven. Nearly break his spine falling out of windows and bleed out taking stabs if it meant he was closer to your doors. If there was one thing Spike did well, it was devotion.
"You wouldn't even know where to start. I'll just call Xander or something."
"What're you gonna do that for!"
"Because, Spike," you laughed incredulously, confused as to if this was going to become an argument or form a chip on his shoulder. "If I want something fixed, I'm going to call someone who does it for a living."
"But would Xander do it for free?"
"Would you?"
"I wouldn't charge anything of monetary value." You snorted, not surprised at all with his answer.
"You are such a whore, you know that?"
"What can I say, baby?" He leaned against the door frame of your bathroom, where you stood staring at your reflection in the mirror. He was happy that his nonexistent reflection could betray him. He was grateful to be a part of this routine - your routine- in a way that didn't disrupt your peace. It was soft. Almost domestic.
You were so meticulous about the way you scrubbed your face and brushed your teeth. He liked how when you took off your makeup the glitter remained. You sparkled at the right angles, really fucking sparkled. Of course, he was going to sit and stare at you; mascara still not completely wiped away, hair tied back with a fuzzy headband, lips agitated from being bit throughout the day. It was poetic. Second nature to him. He didn't need to breath, but it came to him then, overwhelming and filling his lungs like water until he was full as he stared at you in the mirror with not even his own reflection to judge him.
"I'm gonna hop in the shower."
"How rude, without me?" Damn, he sounded like a bloody idiot. You only looked him up and down, trying to appear deeply disgusted but stopped just shy of mildly annoyed.
"Get out of my apartment before I stake you." You slammed the bathroom door in his face, hiding your blush behind the wood.
"That's not a no." His voice is muffled behind the door, and as much as you'd like to believe he didn't hear it, you did laugh.
Spike had to have been a cat in a previous life, is what you decided when you found him still on your bed, nose in some magazine he found pretending to care about the newest Natasha Denona palette.
"That crypt must be uncomfortable as hell for you to still be here." You skated around your room to sink beside him. He reaches across his side to pull out a bottle of water and hands it to you.
"Your showers are hot as hell; I'm surprised you didn't pass out in there." He flips through the pages nonchalantly, pretending not to be incredibly fixated at the water dripping from the nape of your neck and disappearing into your shirt.
"You would've loved that, wouldn't you? Getting to play 'knight and shining armor' while I'm conveniently naked." The sound waxy pages being torn was a surprise. So much of you and his banter was contingent on the assumption that neither of you meant anything serious so nothing would become anything.
Spike, who spent most of his mortal adult life swallowing his feelings until his stomach became an endless chasm where his feelings went to fester rather than die, was more than okay with this unspoken arrangement. Sarcasm was a second language to you. You were used to your words not mattering, especially since in your group of friends, your existence seemed to matter far less than everyone else's. You wondered if that was why you and Spike got along so well.
He just got you. Maybe a side effect of him being around you whenever he could. He just got you. In a stupid way. In an annoying way. The kind of way that made you worried that reading minds was also one of his vampiric powers. He wormed his stupid way into your brain, slithering around in his own sort of Spike way til you didn't know where his influence began.
He did sort of have this hypnotic way of speech. Maybe because he was a poet. Poets have to have some sort of hypnotic power, right? Surely, there was some connection between rhythms and brain waves that made the effect of Spike's voice so persuasive. Maybe it's not the rhythm and it's just the honesty. Ironic, since the basis of your "relationship" was built on never assuming that the other meant what they said, but who cares. It gave you guys flavor. Something to keep things interesting.
"I'll have you know; I am a very old-fashioned guy with manners." You snorted as his response. He talked about his "old-fashioned" ways a lot. Maybe to convince you that he was a gentleman. Gentleman your ass, you'd seen what he kept in his crypt.
"My deepest apologies for assuming that a guy that used railroad spikes as a murder weapon of choice wouldn't be above jumping at the opportunity to see me naked."
"Am I that transparent?"
"When it comes to mirrors, yeah." His scoff was lost in the sound of a car horn going off across the street. Damn, you needed a new place. He had complained to you about the noise before. If you didn't leave near a busy street, he would try his luck spending the night far more than he already did. Each blare deepened the scowl on his face as he flinched at the sound, even louder from where he sat in front of it.
"Those death buggies have to be the worst thing to come out of the 20th century. So obnoxious, and for what?"
"I imagine they are more convenient than horse drawn carriages."
"Yeah, more convenient and not even half the charm." He turned his head to gaze out the window. "It's not even a nice car! I'd rather ride around in the fucking Angel Mobile than drive around in that thing."
"You are so dramatic. Usually I just," you swing your leg over his waist, straddling and reaching over to close the window. He swallowed hard at the feeling of your chest pressing against the magazine, the only boundary between him and you, and the nonchalance of the action. "Shut the window." You felt him tense beneath you, his right hand awkwardly meeting your hip, blue eyes staring up at you through dark eyelashes. "Then again, I'm not a pansy who needs complete silence to sleep."
He cleared his throat before he spoke. "I sleep in a cemetery, love, ain't much noise around those parts." His eyes wandered everywhere they could but the worst part about beautiful people is that there is no unsightly place to avert your gaze. He couldn't stare at your gorgeous eyes, or your stunning nose, or your lips to distract himself from the steadily growing boner that you were sitting right on top of. You were no better than he was.
Within the context of the unspoken agreement, this meant absolutely nothing. The boner was just a normal reaction, that didn't have to mean anything. The way he was looking at you was a bit hard to ignore, but that was the way he always looked at you. He was a lot closer right now, sure, but that stupid lovesick look that you have spent years trying to ignore, totally just a joke. Not real at all. A trick of the light, in fact. The hard-on was very real though.
After sitting there for a few seconds too long, you shift your weight to move back to your side of the bed, but his hands keep you in your place. " 'm cold", he mutters, his thumb rubbing circles between where your shorts meet your bare skin.
"Yeah?" You feel him pressing up against your core. "I didn't think you could get cold."
" Me either but-", you lowered yourself completely on his clothed dick and the groan he let out was salacious. "Here we are." The frigid way he moved made his lie believable. Incredibly cautious, hesitant. No idea what to do with himself. He ran his hands along your thighs, up and down your side, one cold hand sliding underneath your shirt, rubbing the hem of it between his pointer finger and his thumb.
You leaned forward, warm breath fanning against his nose. It smelled like mint. You smelled like some sort of cocoa butter. Smooth and soft on top of him and he didn't know if you were going to roll right off or melt into his skin. Your hands come to the sides of his face, and you stare intently at him. He felt like he was under a microscope with the way you looked at him like you were committing each detail of him to memory so that even when you closed his eyes, it was still him burning in the forefront of your mind.
"You gonna kiss me?" You whispered, pressing yourself further into him. He let out a breathy laugh.
"What, a guy's always gotta make the first move?" With that, you leaned down to give him what was meant to be a quick peck. A tester. A tease. But when you give Spike an inch, he takes a mile, and he took the opportunity to devour you. Mouth open, sloppy, wet kisses while his hands worked as eagerly as his tongue did. You were a calming presence, slow and sane as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to try and ground the both of you.
Breathing through your nose, you inhaled him. The faint smell of smoke, the fresh smell of whatever he washed the gel from his hair with, the distinctly Spike musk. Your thighs wrapped him more closely, subtly grinding into his lap, ignoring the slight burn on your knees from the friction between them and your sheets. His large hands covered swathes of skin, cooling you where you grew too hot from his touch. When he had his fill, he broke away from you, still nose to nose, a string of saliva still between the two of you.
"Do you wanna spend the night?" Your voice was somehow meek as if there was any way in hell he would say no to you. He breathed out, turning his head into the crook of your neck, leaving searing kisses on your silky skin, worshipping at his altar, and thanking who or whatever got him here tonight. He kisses you from your neck, along your jawline, to the corner of your lips.
"Yes", he whispers against your skin. He bucks his hips into you, the imprint of his cock and the rough material of his jeans kissing your pussy through the thin layers of material. You nearly choke on his tongue at the feeling. Fuck.
Your eyes are closed, hips moving furiously against his, too blissed out to even care about the steadily growing wet patch in your underwear. You're lost in kisses, kisses that overwhelm and confuse and steal your breath until you wonder how much you need to breathe anyway. Along with not needing to breathe, you learned they must have incredible resolve. He chases you. Not like how a wolf chases a lamb but how the sun chases the moon.
He pulls and you push for breath, some sort of reprieve, some time for your mind to catch up with your body because right now everything but the way the seams of his jeans catch your clit is one of the only things on your mind. He pulls you, still, his hands squeezing at your waist, moving up to cup your breasts, thumbing at your nipples, and flicking the already hard peaks. And you push, still, not in protest but in harmony. Your hips pressing down, his jerking up. Your hands tugging his hair, his squeezing your waist. It was good. It was so good.
"What is the point", he starts breathlessly, "of these damn shorts if they're so thin. You're leaking right through, love." He smiles against you, sharp teeth grazing against your cheek as he smirks.
"Take 'em off me then." For once in his life, he takes his time. The desperation of his prior movements forgotten as he looks at you as he trails a finger from your chest down between the valley of your breasts, to your navel. He draws invisible shapes along your stomach, diamonds, hearts, and letters spelling m-i-n-e. And he stalls there. Looking from beneath you, smug as you ground yourself onto his dick in an attempt to move him along.
He was amused. Fascinated. You in your own world, mewling, moaning, putting on a show just for him. Choosing to ignore how sticky your panties had gotten, how much they stuck to your cunt as you wiggled your hips as if you could get any closer. Your tits moving with you, the way your mouth was slightly agape, the way you keened when you rubbed against him just right. It was no motivation for him to move his hands at all, not when it was much more rewarding to angle his hips up and make you see stars. "You gonna cum like this?" He crooned, full of fake sympathy.
"You're really gonna make me get myself off." You rolled your eyes, maybe out of pleasure, maybe out of faux annoyance. Either way, his hand slithered to the waistband of your shorts and dipped even deeper. He left feather-light touches on your clit which sent jolts of electricity up your spine. Overcome with the tightening feeling in your belly, your hands grabbed at his shoulders as your hips worked and worked you snapped. Impossibly wet and dazed, you rocked into him until the high had passed and the stars had left from behind your eyelids leaving only Spike.
His fingers still, in your panties, he moves to slide them and your shorts off your body. You hover slightly, still too sensitive to rub your bare pussy against him. You fidget with the button of his jeans and zipper, Spike's hands coming to cover yours to ease the shakiness. Maybe to give the appearance that he was much calmer than he was. He was painfully hard, and you felt it when you palmed him through his boxers after getting his pants down enough. Where his tip sat was a wet spot. You smirked.
"Did I get your dick that wet?" A shiver went down his spine. The heat from your palm was felt through his boxers. Your hand was barely big enough to cover it. Before either of you was prepared for it, he flipped you on your back. His hands sat on either side of your head while yours removed him from his boxers. He was so big.
You tore your gaze away from his cock to meet his gaze. He still looked at you the same. Pupils widened from lust, cheeks with a slightly pink tinge, lips puffy, eyes looking down at you with the same look they always had. It's then he leans down to kiss you for the millionth time. No urgency, less messy, a kiss like he was trying to wake you from a thousand-year slumber.
Your hand still on his cock, you pumped it a few times, swiping your thumb against his tip to lubricate his dick. He groaned into your mouth, humming in pleasure. You try to line him up to sink in your hole, but he slaps you on the wrist. "Don't want your cunt tonight," he mumbled in between kisses, "Jus' let me feel you."
He pumped his cock a few times before slotting it in between the meat of your thighs. The veins and ridges of his dick would occasionally slide between your folds, but that wasn't the focus. No matter how much you wiggled for him to plant his cock so far deep it kissed your cervix, you were ignored as he squeezed your thighs together, panting as he fucked them.
The juxtaposition made your head dizzy. The softness with which he kissed you and the fervor of his dick between your thighs, them getting wetter with the accumulation of precum leaking from his dick. It only forced him to press harder, leaving handprints from how hard he gripped. "Such a pretty thing, aren't you." He sighed out, his pace still even but his breaths far from it. "Go ahead and touch that pretty cunt f' me."
As much as your brain wasn't working, it wasn't needed to do what you were told. Bleary-headed, your hand traveled from the outside of your leg to between your folds. Still wet from your previous orgasm, it didn't take much to just slip a couple fingers in, moaning as you did. One hand toyed with your tit as the other toyed with your clit, your hips wanting to buck into your hand had it not been for Spike's palm on your stomach.
Had he had the composure, he would have made some sarcastic comment. Slow down, love, what's the rush, is what he would've said had his thrusts not been as sloppy as they were. He pulled away from your lips to see the mess he was making. White beads pooled on the skin of your stomach, dripping down your thighs like liquid pearls. And you. Low warm light bouncing off your skin, lip tucked in your teeth, staring right up at him. It took all of him not to cum at the sight.
Not before you did, he decided, which by the way your moans pitched up wasn't that far away. Each "accidental" slide into you was met with a jerk of your hips. "Stop it", you squealed, the bucking of your hips screaming otherwise.
"Feels too good, doesn't it." Then he did it again. His large hand drifts around before grabbing your abandoned tit, groping it until you hit your limit again. Your chest heaved unevenly as you tried to catch your breath as Spike's hips sped up, stuttered, then stopped as his cum splashed on your stomach and breasts.
Spent and not knowing what to do, he kisses you again. He smiles into it, and to his surprise, you do too. Like it was the only thing that made sense to do. The fuzz gradually fades from your mind, the noise from the multiple fans running and the faint humming of electricity apparent again. There's a breeze coming in from your window and you giggle.
summary: after a night of patrol goes wrong, Spike starts noticing some changes in himself, mainly that Buffy's sweetest friend won't leave his mind and that she would never look at him the same if she knew what he wanted to do to her.
warnings: smut!!! a smidge of yandereness, kinda a sex or die fic, possessive spike, handjob, unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral (fem receiving), praise kink, biting/marking (mentions of blood), a little bit of spanking, overstimulation, riding, fingering, veryyy little plot, and I think thats about it.
In hindsight, they should've kept a better eye on him. It was an odd night of patrolling, the usual gaggle of vampires being a demon or two this time around. Big tall thing that appeared out of nowhere and left as soon as it came. Spike, always with little regard for the consequences of his actions, ran right in. Ran so hard he went right through the demon as it went into smoke. He breathed it in before going into a coughing fit, as if he could feel it in his nose and lungs, spreading in his chest like a vine that pulled everything impossible tight before releasing him like he was never in its grasp . Red flag one.
It fell on him like rain, some clumping into what looked like pink sparkles in his hair, on his jacket, his worn boots. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling away expecting to see it gunked together, but there was nothing there. It felt like his hair had been hit by my mist, slightly damp and cool. It seeped into his exposed skin, adhering itself into a pink sheen which also disappeared after only a few minutes. He remembered trying to brush it off, expecting it to feel wet but it was just slick. It was admittedly infuriating, especially since the feeling wouldn't go away. Red flag two.
“Buffy!” He shouted, rubbing his hands on his jeans as if it was going to wipe away the phantom feeling, but his complaints were met with apathy.
“There’s nothing there, Spike.” A groan bubbled in his chest.
“Astute observation, Slayer, but it feels like something’s there.” You were there beside him, something that would’ve gone unnoticed had he not been hit with your scent as your fingers brushed against his hand. He pulled away quickly out of instinct, not as subtle as he would’ve liked to because you noticed and scampered off in between Buffy and Giles. The distance between you and him got larger and the two of you talked about a mall trip you had planned and Willow was the only one to stick with him. She humored him, allowing him to shower at her place and taking a sample of skin only to find nothing. No residue, nothing abnormal, nothing had changed at all. Red flag three.
But he was sure it was fine. Nothing had really changed. You had been a bit cautious though.
You were prone to worrying, and he couldn't blame you. There was a lot to worry about when your best friends hunted demons and one of them was a literal creature of the night. You worried about Buffy so much he genuinely feared you would collapse from all the stress you put yourself under. Pursuing a nursing degree so they could avoid hospital visits unless absolutely necessary because none of you had the money. Having him train you in basic self-defense because you hated feeling like dead weight. You took up Latin and all of the other dead languages in those old dusty books just so you could be useful. You tied yourself in knots just to be sweet. God, you were so sweet. Even to your own detriment, like pure sugar that was going to rot his teeth eventually.
The more time you spent together, the more the rot seemed to take his brain than his teeth. His mouth never got anywhere near you; Buffy made sure of that. He wished he could say it was because she was babying you too much, that you were also tired of Buffy making Spike seem like the biggest mistake you could ever make. To be fair, he hardly knew you. He knew of you; he knew of the pink wardrobe and the fluffy socks and the pretty shoes. He knew of you as Buffy's cute neighbor who stopped by so often that you might as well live with them. You weren't being a baby, you were being cautious, even more now. He almost wished you didn't believe him as much as you did, maybe you'd keep visiting him. He hadn't seen you in days and it was really starting to take a toll on him. His leg bounced and he got in the bad habit of biting his nails, which was starting to get annoying with how often he had to repaint them.
If you were here, you would repaint them. You would sit your pretty self on his busted couch, and you'd have a little bag with you with all your pins and charms that jingled like the earrings that dangle from your ears. In your bag would be at least three shades of pink, a range of blacks and greys, and a wild card or two, maybe a blue or a green. You'd let him pick his color, despite knowing he always went for black. You asked anyway, just in case he decided to go with pink just to humor you. Had you walked through right now, he would've obliged. He would've done anything you asked him too. It wasn't even that he was lonely, but it was getting to suffocate in here. It was getting hot, like a fire was spreading. Each breath felt smoke filled, his skin was on fire, his skin was getting damp, like the dust had fallen again. His hand was shaky as he put a cigarette between his lips and lit it, surely the smell would break him out of what had to be a daze.
If you were here, you'd make a joke about him needing to air the place out. He'd probably open the door and call that enough air, but he liked his privacy, and he didn't like the idea of anyone just being able to waltz right in. You would want to make a joke about no one wanting to visit him, but you’d bite your tongue at the fear of being too harsh. You always got that look in your eye when you thought something that could be misconstrued as mean. You took your lip into your teeth and your pretty eyelashes flitted and you looked away. He thought about what it would be like to bite your lips, wanting to see what they looked like, all red and even prettier than they were before. Just a taste, that's all he wanted, a taste.
He got up to open up the door only for that phantom feeling to return. All over his body, it felt like he had stepped out into the sun, like every molecule that made up his body was vibrating and mere seconds from combusting. His breathing got ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly and his brain going into overdrive. He squeezed his eyes shut as if it would make it go away, but even from behind his eyelids, you were there. The idea of you, your smile, your laughter, fuck the very way you said his name. It sounded so nice coming from you.
The way you said it when he got injured in a fight when you would patch up his wounds and have a bag of blood for him to replace what he lost. “Spike.” you would say. Like he should’ve known better than to just throw himself into danger. Not even bothering to consider the possibility that he did it to look heroic, or maybe in your care with your hands over his chest. There’s no reason for him to be this beaten and bruised from some baby vamp; William the Bloody. Spike? He had pride, but not as much as Angelus. It was easily quenched by the fact that he was in no way losing with your delicate hands tracing over faded scars on his chest and feeding him blood while they were just dust.
“Spike.” Buffy would say, her tone laced with less concern and more disapproval. She knew something was up. After all they had gone through together, vampires should’ve been nothing for him. He had to space out his “fuck ups” just to get her off his back, just to get her voice out of his head. She didn’t say his name like you did.
There wasn’t much better than how you said his name when it was just the two of you. Being together in his crypt, sometimes in your own bedroom which you had invited him into much to Buffy’s chagrin. “It’s Spike,” you had said, “how many times have we saved the world with him? I think he’s earned it.” It sent shivers down his spine. He would’ve saved the world so much sooner if it meant being able to be in your space. If it meant getting to hear you say his name through fits of laughter, trying to regain your breath while still finding enough to utter his name. “Spike.” you said, your hand over his while you giggled. He felt that heat now, felt the heat of all your touches culminating right now. All over his skin, tensing his muscles, holding his chest as he fought for breath himself.
While he had the chance, he should’ve raided your underwear drawer. Now he was left to fist his dick with just the memory of you. You wouldn’t notice a pair or two gone, surely you wouldn’t. It was the type of small thing you would overlook because really what is a pair or two. You wouldn’t want him to be in pain, hearing his situation now, you’d feel like it was all your fault. The least you could spare was a pair of your prettiest panties for him to wrap around his cock while he fisted himself to the thought of you and how you would say his name now.
The closest he’d gotten would be after a big battle. You had taken a beating, by the time you had gotten to a safe space you had lost a dangerous amount of blood, but the sounds that came out of your mouth were so delicious. And you trusted him to carry you to safety, your bloody hand wrapping itself around his bicep to maintain some tether to consciousness. “Spike.” your voice dripping with pain, but even that wasn’t enough to mask how pretty you sounded. He felt bad then for how hard it got him, but there is such a thin line between pain and pleasure. The only difference now would be circumstance, and he would never hurt you. This would be good for you, the both of you, you just had to let him. You just had to say his name.
“Spike?” In that moment, he knew there had to be some high power looking out for him when he heard your voice. Dream-like, and soft, like the wind could have blown it out and away from your lips. “Spike?!” you said again. He couldn’t tell if it was his shred of restraint or his body’s unwillingness to listen to his brain that kept him glued to his couch.
“Now really isn’t a good time, love.” He tried to keep his voice level, he really did, but it was too much. And you weren’t stupid, he heard the heels of your shoes against the hard floor and smelt you before he even saw you. And fuck you smelt heavenly.
“Are you okay? What happened-” You looked like you had a halo above your head, or maybe he was much further gone than he had thought. You cut yourself off in shock. When you had walked in, you hadn’t expected to catch Spike with his hands down his pants.
“You know what, I’m just gonna go a-and come back later.” You tried to smile in an attempt to make the situation less awkward than it needed to be, but he grabbed you by your wrist.
“Wait-I just need-fuck. I just need you to stay for a bit. I don’t feel good.” Your eyes met and you saw the sheen of what you assumed to be sweat covering his chest and face. His pupils blown out, his hair out of place, his labored breathing, like he couldn’t catch his breath. Oddly enough, the sheen had a pink tinge, and despite the fact that his fangs were protruding, his vampire face hadn’t appeared. You reached out to touch his forehead to surprisingly find a temperature. He groaned at the contact, both wanting to melt into your skin and like it physically pained him.
“What happened?” He declined the answer, instead pushing his head more into the palm of your hand, tipping his head to sniff the inside of your wrist. “What are you doing?” You tried to pull away and put some distance in between the two of you, but he pulled you back, even closer than before.
“You smell so good.” He nosed his way past your wrist and up your arm till he made it to your collarbone, trying to find where he could hear your blood pump the loudest. “Stop it!” you pushed against him as soon as you felt the tip of his fangs attempting to break skin. To both of your surprise, he let you. It looked like it pained him to do so, his eyes screwed shut and his hand gripping the arm of his couch until the wood snapped.
“If this is about the demon thing, I’m gonna go get Willow, okay? You just need to stay right here.” The authority you had laced in your voice was cute.
“Just stay here with me, yeah? There’s no need to get Willow. We don’t need Willow.” His voice had dropped an octave, his pupils blown and his brain damn near empty. Anything went in one ear then out the other as he held your hands in his, staring through you as if daring you to defy him.
“Spike, you aren’t well.” You had tried to reason, but all he heard was that you weren’t saying no because you didn’t want this. You were concerned for his well being, even when he had you pinned down and his teeth at your neck, each breath moving you closer to him drawing blood, you were saying no because you were concerned he didn’t want this. You somehow thought he didn’t want you.
“I’ve never felt better, baby.”, he said-practically fucking growled. Hell if he wanted you, he needed you. He pressed himself into you, his hands grabbing at anything he could to ground himself, his left at the base of your scalp and his right bunching the fabric of your skirt in his hands. He breathed into your neck, nipping and nicking at bare skin then soothing it with his tongue and kisses. He worked himself up over you, taking and taking until he was drunk, his tongue lolled out as he put his head on your chest.“Can I fuck you.”
You had been caught in a daze yourself, his words had barely registered. You had more sense than he did at this point, finding enough resolve to shake your head. “Please.” he begged, groaning it out through clenched teeth. “I need you to make it feel better, please God just make it feel better.” He had pushed his hips into your hand, his weeping cock leaking onto you, pleading with you to touch it. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear, just be my sweet girl, yeah? Just make it better.”
You experimentally rubbed the tip, and he whimpered. His hand grabbing your wrist so fast a look of shock flashed across his face. You took that as a sign to pull away but he put your hand back around him, pushing your hand up and down his base. “Too much too quick, love.”
Any hesitancy you had was swallowed as he smashed his lips into yours. It was urgent and quick, almost bruising how hard he kissed and held you as if you were going to disappear at any point. He tugged at a handful of hair, catching you in a moan that he used to force tongue into your mouth, sucking it as you pumped his dick at a painfully slow pace.
His kisses made you breathless, and it was then you realized that he likely forgot in his haze that you actually needed air. He moaned into your lips, the sound spreading throughout your body and shaking you to your core. It wasn’t lost on him how damp your underwear had gotten, had he had the strength to pull away to touch you he would, but the mere seconds his skin would be off yours was enough of a deterrent to keep him in place.
You tried to move away, but his hand kept you in place. “Don’t move.”, he rushed it out, a tone that otherwise would’ve been more commanding had he not been weak himself. “Keep going.” His hips bucked and stuttered, his movements becoming erratic the more faint your touches became. Like it was a warning; let me up for air and I’ll keep touching you. He whined at the thought of you pulling away. That wasn’t fair.
His lips parted from yours, settling for the corner of your mouth before moving to your jawline to your neck, then just under your ear. You gasped for breath, you numb with the ecstasy of air and the feeling of his rushed kisses. He was getting close. Your hand was covered in his sticky pre-cum, his cock even more so as your hand moved alone over him, his own hand now grabbing at your shirt at the feeling. You squeezed at the bass, a motion he clearly enjoyed with how his body tensed up. A series of obscenities flowed from his pretty lips as he came, spurts of his cum getting over your pretty pink skirt, an image Spike would get himself off to later.
You didn’t get long to sit in what just happened when he was on you again, laying you on your back and ripping your skirt clean off. You moaned something that sounded like “My skirt!”, but neither one of you were really worried about it.
His lithe fingers were quick, rubbing you through the fabric of your panties, while he kissed up to where you wanted him excruciatingly slow. His hands rubbed and teased at the soft skin of your thighs, marking bruises everywhere he went.
He moaned into you, sniffing you once again, before finding a place he wanted to dig his fangs into. Maybe it was how delicately he stuck in his teeth, maybe it was the lust blown fervor, but it didn’t hurt as much as you anticipated. In fact, you moaned at the intrusion, unable to know what to do with yourself as he sucked and lapped up the blood he had drawn. Your fingers wove into his hair, as if he could be pulled any closer to you than he already was. “You taste so good. So good.” And he let you know as such. The obscene noises that flew from the both of you, the slurping and whines, the pop of his lips as he traveled from one spot to another. But that’s not how he intended to eat you whole.
You were unbelievably wet, soaking through your panties and even Spikes fingers before he took pity on you and decided to pull them aside and plant his fingers into you. Now, you weren’t a virgin, but you had never had sex that felt as good as this. Never had someone in you that had hundreds of years of practice beforehand.
“You’re doing so good, Sweet Girl. So good, can’t get enough of you.” What was an attempt to calm your nerves, had you keening and over the moon, the praise bringing tears to your eyes as you ground yourself in his hand. That didn’t move him along any quicker, his tongue still collecting anything you would give him like he hadn’t been fed in years.
“Spike!” You called out, which finally seemed to get his attention. He saw the glass-like look your eyes had taken and the pout on your face. You looked like you were about to cry. Poor thing, so desperate. He said he’d take care of you, make you feel good. No point in denying the inevitable.
You whined when he pulled out of you just to choke when he began to devour you. His nose at your clit and his tongue plunging into. “Thank you.” he muttered into you, like this was some divine gift to him. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” The combination of his praise and how good he was giving it to you made that coil in your belly tighten and tighten until it threatened to snap. And he just kept going. Completely in his own world, the only thoughts in his mind being about you, how you smelled, how you tasted, god you were so good to him. Letting him eat you out like this, helping him like this. He shouldn’t have expected any less from his girl. His sweet girl. No one else's, you couldn’t be anyone else's after this. His grip tightened around your thighs at the very thought. “Mine.” he said, the vibrations hitting your core deliciously. “Mine.”
“Yours Spike, all yours.” He hummed in approval, inserting two fingers back into you while he kept up his electric pace. He held your hand as it began to be too much, your back arching off the couch and your thighs closing around his head as he just kept going. You called his name as you came, high and higher until it became too heavy on your mouth and you couldn’t say anything at all. The grip you had on his hand had loosened, but he hadn’t let up. He still rambled into you, “Again. Again. Again. Please.”
You didn’t know if your hips were bucking into him or try to wiggle away from him. Either way, both attempts were unsuccessful. With how hard he pulled on your panties they had snapped and had been thrown to the side for the simple crime of being in his way. His forearm lay on your hip keeping you in place. Your hand still laid in his, him squeezing it as if it was any comfort from the inescapable feeling of his tongue licking your thoroughly soaked pussy.
Your toes curled in your frilly socks as you came again on his tongue, and you foolishly expected that to be enough. You would’ve asked him to stop if you could pant out anything more than whines. You would’ve pushed him away if you could manage anything more than weak taps on his forearm. “No more.” you whispered out. “Can’t.” His fingers rubbed your hand as some form of encouragement.
“Yes you can, love.” You shook your head weakly, scooting your hips back only for him to swiftly smack your pussy. You preened on the contact, and he drank in the arousal that gushed out just from that. “My sweet girl isn’t gonna disappoint me, is she? She’s gonna make me all better, isn’t that right?” Your brain was so fogged out you couldn’t even produce a response. You just groaned and squirmed, unable to brace for impact when he smacked you again.
“Spike!” You cried out, but he didn’t care. Heknew you were feeling good from how much you gushed while he tongue fucked your cunt. It was just a bit too much for you right now. You would feel better, you just needed to let go some more. He tried to relax you, tried rubbing mindless shapes on your skin to calm you down as he worked you through your third orgasm, but you just heaved. Your tits bounced with how heavily you breathed, and yet after all of that, he still didn’t feel better. Why didn’t he feel better?
Despite the relief that came from him pausing his abuse, you still whined as he sat up from behind your legs. With your taste still on his tongue, he kissed you. You sighed into him, the feeling of his large hands moving from your hip to under your shirt to touch your tummy and rip your bra in half. You didn’t even notice him moving you into his lap and setting your thighs on either side of him so you straddled him. He thumbed your nipples, pinching and rubbing over them while he relished in the feeling of you cunt so close to his dick.
You didn’t seem to catch on either as he slid in between your folds, too lost of him finally kissing you again. You moaned into this kiss as his fingers dipped to toy with your clit before he whispered in your ear. “Just one more.”
In one fluid motion, he slipped his dick into his cunt, catching you as your limbs went weak. He was so big you felt your eyes water with the pressure of him being in you. You could tell he was struggling to stay still, but the haze had worn off enough for him to regain some sense. He still waited eagerly for you to adjust, brushing the fallen tears from your eyes and kissing your checks to make it all better.
“Too big. It’s too big.” You stuttered. It was all you could manage to mutter out. He cooed at you, his dick growing harder than he thought possible at the feeling of it all and the praise.
“I was made for you, Pretty Girl, you can take it.” You yelped as he jerked his hips into yours, but he just couldn’t help it. You were so pretty like this, all fucked out and dumb. Not a thought behind those eyes of yours and the only thoughts he was capable of was you. How warm you were, how wet you were, how tight you were. You were squeezing him and milking him dry and as much as he tried he just couldn’t stop him self from fucking into you.
“I’m sorry.” and he meant it. You weren’t ready and he couldn’t even tell if he was ready, his body had a mind of his own and he felt himself just slipping into the feeling of being enveloped by you. “Just too good. You’re too good. My good girl. You’re gonna take all I give you, aren’t you, love? You gonna be my sweet girl and take it?” His voice was breathy and low and impossibly hot.
All you could manage was a soft ‘mhm’ as you took him in. It wasn’t like you had any other choice as you bounced on his cock, gripping at his chest and taking in each moan you earned as you drew blood from your scratches.
You felt every inch of him, felt the tip of his dick hit your cervix and kept pounding at it like it was his job; like he would die if he didn’t. You can’t do anything but take it as you screw your eyes shut and just try to breathe as everything in your body fights to hold on to some feeling. It was impossible to think, not when Spike’s hands were all over you and his touch was so incredibly hot. Even stranger, a pink glow began to emanate from him, that or you were closer to passing out than you originally thought. .
He kept you close to his chest as you both chased your impending highs together, your lips meeting in the middle as you moaned and sighed into each other's mouths and he was a goner, rambling like a mad man in your ear, thanking you endlessly for something he couldn’t put his hands on. Maybe it was your release, that you felt coming like a truck. He squeezed at the fat of your hips, pulling you even closer until neither one of you could tell where the other started and ended and you came like that, so close that you were almost suffocating, but a different kind from before.
He came not long after you, his dick still inside spurting his cum inside you and keeping it in there with little intention of coming out any time soon. That pink glow had faded from before, fading away until there was nothing there and the slight pink tinge from before was gone too. His eyes drooped a bit, his blue irises that you hadn’t realized you had missed finally reappeared, his pupils returning to normal and his fangs retracting.
He hung his head in your neck and you felt his temperature drop a bit, no longer boiling hot. He refused to move his head from his spot though. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was ashamed of what just happened.
After the both of you had a moment to catch your breaths, he removed himself from inside you, stalking off to find something to wear now that your outfit was completely ruined. He even had the decency to turn around while you changed, granted he had a hard time looking at you anyway.
“You’re gonna wanna deep clean that couch.” You said to break the silence. You were surprised you got a chuckle out of him.
“Yeah. I don’t normally do this sort of thing on there.” Another moment of silence passed between the two of you.
“You know, we can go back to my place and I can fix your nails. I can tell you’ve been biting at them.” He didn’t need to be told twice either. The place still stunk of sex and his head was feeling clearer than it had in days, he couldn’t stand to be there right now.
“About all of this…you won’t tell Buffy, right?” You giggled.
“Not if you don’t.” And that was more than enough for him.
I wish I had real friends. I wanna hang out in someone's bedroom. I want someone to randomly call me. I want to get a text when I'm bored at home that they're parked outside my house. I want to be surprised on my birthday. I want to be taken to a random parking lot in the middle of the night when we're getting rowdy. I want to be invited to lunch on weekends. I wish I mattered that much to anyone.
gamer!bf gojo has you straddling him on the chair, like you’re just part of the chair.
he’s on his ps5, headset on with a cereal bowl balanced in one hand, and your pussy stretched wide on his cock. he leans back into you lazily, spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl, milk dripping onto his hoodie because he can’t be bothered.
“don’t move, baby,” he mumbles around a mouthful of frosted flakes, hips giving one casual rut up into you that has you throwing your head back, “i’m winning this round and if you fuck it up, you’re buying me a new controller”
your thighs tremble, hands digging into his chest for balance as he slouches deeper, cock pulsing inside like he’s not even paying attention. you whine, a desperate, needy little sound that makes his mic crackle.
“what was that?” his teammates laugh faintly in his ear, and satoru grins wicked, spoon clattering into the empty bowl, “oh, that? nah, just my girlfriend… yeah, she’s keeping me warm”. and then it hits you— he’s not even muted. his teammates can hear every word he says next.
satoru presses you down harder, voice dropping into a purr. “clenching around me like my perfect little cockwarmer. can’t even sit still, baby?”
you try to squirm, to bite back the moans bubbling in your throat, but he shushes you with a lazy kiss to your temple. “hush, baby, don’t wanna get me killed in-game, right? be good, let me finish this match, then i’ll finish you”
“y-you’re so full of it toru, at least mute yourself”, you manage to babble between broken moans, satoru thrusts deeper in at your words, amused, “and you’re so full of me. nobody’s got a problem with hearing your pretty whimpers, baby”
and every time he shifts, his cock drags against that sweet spot— kissing your cervix deeper and deeper.
milk drips down on the curve of your lower abdomen, satoru hums a “messy girl” before leaning down to lick it clean, hips pull back and the absence of his warm length almost makes you cry, just before he pushes in further than before with a sharp slide.
you swear you’ll go insane before he ever switches the console off.
GUYS USING YOU AS A CHAIR MEANS YOU’RE STRADDLING HIM ON THE CHAIR ill just edit it. lowkey i’m kinda running low on ideas, the brother’s bestfriend gojo fic is bleeding me dry hahaha *_*
You tell him without meaning to, blurted out between the kisses and his hands palming your tits and the thoughts running rampant through your head as you fumble to explain yourself before he finds out the way everyone else has.
“I’m not always.. reactive,” you admit, cheeks hot, eyes on the rumpled sheets instead of him. “Like, the guys I’ve been with before, um.. it doesn’t always feel like much, for me. Any of it.”
It’s embarrassing. Like you’re apologizing in advance.
Toji just leans back, scar tugging when his lips curl. His gaze pins you in place, all steady and unbothered.
“That so?” He hums, gravelly. “Good thing I’ve got patience.”
Your stomach flips.
Then his hand is between your thighs, big palm cupping you through your panties like he’s claiming your cunt. He strokes over the fabric, slow and heavy, pushing it against your folds and spreading out the damp patch until you’re writhing under the weight of it. And when his fingers finally push the cotton to the side and meet your bare skin, your breath hitches.
Toji smirks without looking up, two languid digits spreading your folds wide. “Not reactive, huh?”
You want to deny it. Stammer out some sort of excuse. But then his thumb grazes your clit – barely any pressure, just a brush – and your hips twitch hard enough that he chuckles. A deep, amused sound, rumbling from his chest.
“Yeah. Sure, baby.”
Toji doesn’t give you the usual fast, frantic rhythm. That feeling of needing to get past the foreplay – which is usually what you hate, but right now, you secretly crave it.
No. Instead, Toji takes his time. He teases. His thick fingers trace up and down your puffy folds, spreading your slick around, pressing just enough to keep you hovering. And every time you rock your hips, searching for more, he eases back. Dragging the sensation out until your thighs are trembling from pent up tension.
When he finally pushes a finger inside, it’s slow. Deliberate. He stretches you out gradually, curiously, curls upward until he finds that spot that makes your breath hitch and your hands fly to his shoulders.
“Ah– Toji, wait–”
“Wait?”
He feigns innocence, but the corner of his mouth lifts. He curls his finger again, pressing against your walls, rubbing over that spot steadily. “Feeling it, aren’t you?”
You nod through a whimper, walls fluttering around him.
Then he adds a second finger, filling you up and stretching you out as he spreads the two apart within your cunt. Working up a rhythm – long, deep strokes, followed by shallow, quick thrusts – keeping you just on the edge. And every time you start to climb up to something, sharp and ascending and desperate, he slows. Grinds the heel of his palm into your clit without quite enough pressure, forcing you to buck against him, whining.
It’s unbearable. Too much and somehow not enough, over and over and over until your body aches with it, every nerve lit.
“Toji, pleeease, I– fuck! I can’t–”
“Yes you can,” he muses, pressing a kiss to your temple like he’s soothing you. With his fingers knuckle deep in your cunt and pistoning in and out. “Hold it in, baby. Don’t cum yet.”
You cry out, tears pricking. From the sharp denial, from how raw and overwhelming and strange it feels to be this sensitive all of a sudden. Every stroke drags lightning through your cunt, makes your stomach flutter like you’re about to break.
And then – without warning – he changes.
His fingers sink in deep and curl, grinding against that spot, relentless, thumb rolling over your clit with enough pressure to have your toes curling.
Your body quivers. And then your legs kick like reflex, a broken cry ripping out as you crash into your high – followed by a sudden rush of wetness, gushing out all messy and uncontrollable, soaking his hand and the sheets beneath you. Your vision whites out, a faint ringing in your ears as the world blurs.
You collapse against him. And he holds you through it, fingers pumping lazily in your spasming cunt, muscled arm wrapped around your waist like you’re something precious.
When you come to, you cling to him. Staring wide-eyed down at the soaked mess beneath you. “I’m sorry, I.. I don’t know what–”
Toji doesn’t let you finish. He’s grinning like a man starved, hair falling in a way that has his expression all hooded and dark, voice hoarse with hunger and an awed sense of adoration.
“That’s you, sweetheart. That’s me making you squirt.”
He pulls his fingers free and watches the slick drip down his wrist before licking the digits clean, groaning low at the taste. Then they’re pressing right back into your cunt, settling in like they belong there.
“First time, huh?”
His smirk sharpens when you offer a dazed little nod.
“Haha. Fucking knew it.”
Your body’s trembling, oversensitive, but he doesn’t stop. Not now that he’s cracked you open.
“Gonna do it again,” he hums against your throat, fingers working you back up with brutal steadiness. “Make you squirt, pretty girl. Gonna keep you right here ‘til you learn how good you can cum for me.”
And you – mind muddled in a post-orgasmic daze, cunt fluttering around every merciless twist and thrust – believe him.
☆ sum. ain’t nothin’ like ditching the condom for the very first time! get in loser, he’s going shopping raw. sukuna, toji, ijichi, nanami, gojo, geto, choso.
“o- oh, ohhh,” ijichi stammers, pushing back the fogged lens of his glasses. as a hand awkwardly grips onto your waist tightly, ijichi takes a second to swallow down a long, anxious gulp. the minute he snatched his condom off - he was just so needy. the lower part of his lip quivers as his eyes zero down at your body.
and fuuck, your pussy’s just leaking, continuously dripping as it hovers over his sanguine-colored tip. he’s letting off subtle sharp grunts as you give your impatient hips a tiny taunting wriggle. “mngh- you want me to go in-” and he pauses, dramatically gulping again. “… raw?”
“mhm, ‘jichi baby,” you’d bite back a moan, feeling his curious hands grab toward your jouncing breasts. this always happened, ijichi was supposed to be doing paperwork. he’s had so many supplementary tasks and duties that had a strict deadline, and yet here he was - doing you instead of doing his paperwork. not that he complained at all though. widened, almond-shaped eyes watched as you brought two fingers towards your sopping pussy, spreading it apart just above his tip. “inside,” and teasingly, you took off his glasses, putting them over your own eyes. “can you do that for me?”
“hah- yes mommy- ahem- my love, i mean.”
“did you jus’ call me mommy?” you chaff, bringing a kiss toward the hooked bridge of his nose. with his glasses now off - you saw a good glimpse of ijichi’s face and he’s never felt more flustered. he didn’t mind whenever you took control, although - whenever you did, he had a bit of a habit of quickly submitting.
“did i?” he coyly cheeses, a tear of sweat racing down the side of his thin brow. ijichi moans, bringing his tip towards the outer part of your cunt. sloppily, he smudges his drooling wet cockhead against your heat before gulping for the third time. “can.. can you blame me though? you’re so wet that it’s makin’ me.. heh- slip over my wor- oh my-” ijichi shakily breathes, feeling your hand wrap around his thick cock.
a thumb of yours softly scrapes down the loose skin before colliding against a single, prodding vein. excitedly, it pulses at your touch - and you hummed, aligning the swollen head against your pussy. “mgh- so.. so big, ijichi,” you’d gasp out, still wearing his glasses. he stares at you, his dick twitching at the sight - how cute you looked while wearing them and how his glasses were so close to slipping off the bridge of your nose.
“fuck- ‘s okay, jus’ keep goin’ inside me,” and he mutely gasps, ogling as your hands cup underneath both of your bare tits. “can you.. hah- do that for me?”
“mhm,” he moans, his head already lowering to bury between your chest. if there was anything ijichi loved, it was your pretty perked breasts bouncing in front of his face. he loved to run the tip of his sticky tongue ‘round your sensitive nipples, slurp after slurp popping away from his thin-lined lips.
unhurriedly, his cock’s still making its way inside you, and he grumbles, feeling your hands ruffling through his slickly parted hair. “so mngh- perfect, my dove-”
with a single hand - you’re bringing him closer toward your chest, biting your lip as you’re trying to adjust to the incoming thiiiick stretch. without the condom like usual—it feels a lot more wet, a lot more… raw.
your pristine slickness was taking ijichi by surprise—and he inhales hoarsely, feeling your cunt splash its wetness all over his base. after just a few inches inside of you, ijichi already knew he wasn’t gonna last. he’s a big guy - and his dick stretched you out in all the right ways despite how he wasn’t even fully bottomed out yet. it felt like he was though, and you’re already impatient, craving clamping around all girthy nth-inches.
“f- fuck-” you’d mewl out weakly, still feeling the flicks of his hot tongue swirl around the center of your tender nipples. his lashes were closed—and he was letting off muffled moans once he felt the clamoring loud slam of your ass plop onto his lap. a single bounce and he’s spasming underneath you. you whimpered, hurling your arms around him before feeling his tip gingerly slap its way against your beating g-spot.
a hidden coil trapped deeply within your stomach tightens—and you’re letting off sweet, needy ‘ooh’ ‘s and ‘ah’ ‘s continuously. as ijichi’s rosy lips were puckered, he’s still merrily taking turns at sucking each of your pretty breasts while looking up at you. “ ‘jichi, baby- fuckk, i- i feel something comin'- don’t stoppp-”
“haah- ‘course, m’love,” he resumes to wetly swirl his tongue over both sensitive nipples. so sweet. he’s roughly sucking against each, releasing wet popping sounds from his lips before a free hand squeezes your ass. ijichi’s bottomed out now, and his heart’s damn near beating out of his chest.
he got off to your pleasure, and every few seconds—darkened, dilated irises would glance back up toward you.
ijichi’s been inside you tons of times, but never raw. and he’s had his inexperienced moments for sure—but to say he was a quick learner was surely an understatement. as his lips were securely cupped around each one of your tits, he brings a hand toward the crack of your thighs. you’re practically cockwarming him, and you start to feel a familiar elated feeling brewing ‘n brewing up inside of you.
it didn’t take long before your thighs fiercely shook, and you’re whimpering at the stimulation of him tending to your breasts and now smearing a thumb around your twitching, sensitive clit. “ijichi- oh!” you’d squeal out suddenly, shuddering over his lap once you finally burst.
all it took was for his thumb to toy with your cunt and his fatly-shaped tip to prod against your beloved g-spot one more time for you to break. what comes abruptly was how you ended up gushing literally - squirting a dewy geyser all down between your legs, soaking his cock from the inside. your face blissfully falls in pleasure, and you’re letting off the prettiest orgasm as you hear ijichi mumble a faint, cheeky ‘oh wow’ against your ear.
“ngh!” your body slumps into his chest, feeling every muscle that made up your thighs grow numb. your pussy’s just soaking him - and you’re whining the entire time, feeling his lips pop away from your lustrous tits. ijichi’s matching the rushed pants of your breathing as he wraps an arm around you, feeling your body shiver. “f- fuck, fuck- fuuuck-”
as his hefty dick’s still inside of you—ijichi’s chest deflates in ‘n out, and he’s clenching his jaw at the imagery of actually cumming inside of you. he wasn’t too worried about his finish though because he’s bringing a kiss toward the crown of your head as beads of sweat tore down all sides of his forehead.
“hah- did i … do that, m’love?” he breathlessly asks, guiding a hand between your legs that had a literal waterfall pouring down your sticky inner thighs. you’re entirely out of breath, and as you cutely tried to put his fogged glasses back on his face, ijichi hummed.
“y- yeah-” you whined, still feeling the pangs of pleasure surge through every part of your body. ijichi’s throbbing tip pulses against your clit causes you to let off another candied whimper.
panting heavily, ijichi brings a hand toward your chin before gripping it. “o… ohh,” and he sneaks a single wet kiss against your lips. you moaned at his minty taste before feeling him gingerly lift you from his cock, bending you over his unkempt, messy desk. your chest lands over his scattered piles of papers—and ijichi stands up, swatting a hand against the bare cheek of your ass.
the harsh slap! brings you straight back to reality, and you gasped. “mmgh-” ijichi re-positions his crooked glasses one more time, feeling his dick twitch at the pretty sight of you happily arching for him over his desk.
with a low, needy gruff — ijichi’s cockhead sliiides a zigzag line down the front of your pussy before feeling you trying to squeeze against nothing but air. “hah-” he inhales sharply, and you gasped before feeling his hand gently snake around your neck. bringing two lengthy fingers towards your sopping cunt, ijichi’s voice slightly pitched before he gives your folds a teasing spank.
“let’s.. do that again, my love. wanna.. haah- see how much wetter you can get,” and he clears his throat, placing a trail of wet kisses down your spine.
“heh- for you know- research purposes.”
✩ ˛˚ . SUKUNA RYŌMEN.
“don’t say such foolish things when you’re already this soaked,” sukuna prowled, swatting the flat part of his palm against your cunt.
you whimpered at the instant impact, seeing your tummy heave in and out through your peripherals as you lay on your back. on sukuna’s king-sized bed, he had you in the middle with your legs widely spread like an eagle’s wings. “tch. nasty little girl, never thinkin’ with your brain-”
he continued gruffly, his balmy-red tip maneuvering a few translucently wet shapes around the entrance of your heat. you’re so slick, and he hisses at the unkempt warmth that occurs on his crownhead before spanking your throbbing nub thrice. “always thinkin’ with your pussy, ‘n now you want me to go in raw, hm?”
“kuna.. pleaaaase-”
each ricocheting slap he creates against your slick-running folds has you biting your lip. “fine,” he grumbles, the head of his rounded plump shaft turning an angry beat red. the plastic material of the condom that’s snugly fit ‘round his cock gets pulled off by his hand. you’re moaning - mewling, feeling the parched rawness of his dick smearing down your puffed entrance. instantly, your thighs become shakier than ever, and you’re biting back an incoming moan once he’s easing his way inside.
“god- so fuckin’ warm inside, hah-” sukuna rumbles through whetted bared fangs, a few of his sharp nails piercing into the torrid, warm flesh of your skin. you’re just lying flat on your back the entire time, whimpering as his cursed cock’s just soppingly sinking itself through your tightening walls. his tip alone was big, and you’re letting off drafty gasps of air because of the sultry-hot feeling. “mngh- that’s it, girl. clench around me, use that wet pussy to suck me i- in, fuuuck-”
sukuna gets rudely cut off from the slimy loud plaps of your folds slickly suffocating every thick inch. he’s for once speechless - and you could hear his rasped breaths quicken the longer he spends inside rummaging through your walls. sukuna’s capped tip was thoroughly stuffed inside of your cunt before he’s feeling that familiar pulse arise. “ugh- so fuckin’ wet- pussy’s more.. hah- evil than i thought,” he groans, the lower half of his slim torso stiffening.
“mgnh- fuck, ‘kuna,” you’d wheeze out, feeling his weighty cock reach deep deep deep. he’s not even moving his hips and yet it feels like he’s just plowing straight into you. sukuna’s huge, and the crown of his shaft alone was enough to cause your poor legs to tremble. within seconds—your breaths became more and more shallow as your mind’s just being turned into pure gooey mush. “that’s it, baby, press down on my tummy hngh-”
“don’t tell me what ‘ta do,” he grumps, but his palm lands on top of your stomach anyway. there, he feels the faint protruding bulge rub against the center of his hand and he grunts. riotously, sukuna’s hips were just shaking, and he felt like if he’d give you just one more thrust - oh, he’d cum.
it’s a looot different than having the rubber on. he feels how hot you were, how ridiculously sopping wet you were - how fuckin’ raw you felt from the very inside. it makes him nip at the bottom of his lip with his fang, cherry eyes leisurely rolling back in feral awe. “ ‘m gonna cum, not gonna laaaast- ugh.”
sukuna’s head tosses itself back and he lets off a loud growling prowl, the slick warmth of your pussy making him nearly slip out of you. with a slippery, wet grip that you had—sukuna wasn’t sure if he was gonna last long.
“mmh- running away already, sukuna?” your moan, a bratty giggle flying past your glossed-puckered lips once his cerise gaze falls upon you. sukuna’s intently glaring, but his expression quickly shifts once his fat tip strikes a single, sloppy hit against your g-spot not once, not twice but thrice.
third time’s the charm, and he’s just ceaselessly slamming the huge, bulky crown of his cockhead against that same tender spot. doing so causes you both to let off the sweetest, lewdest moans in utter unison.“f- fuuuck,” you’d hum, bringing your hands to fondle your bouncing tits.
you continued to lie underneath him, staring at the demon on top of you that was sweating bullets. his pace was simply relentless, and he’s grunting at each slapping pound he creates effortlessly with his keen hips.
“ugh- ‘m cumming, ‘m fuckin’ cummin” sukuna growled, his heavy body clumsily flopping onto yours. coincidentally enough, you ended up finishing too, and your sweetened, high-pitch moans were just music to his ears. “fuck, fuck, f- fuck-”
sukuna grumbles muffled swears into your neck as he slowly but surely pops a hot, velvety knot inside of your cunt. your legs wrapped around his waist, and you’re whimpering as his hips sync against your own. “hngh- sukunaaa,” and the way you squealed his name off your tongue had his cock twitching for more. your thighs quavered with pure anticipation, and you felt your chest steadily heave in and out against sukuna’s sweaty pecs that lay against you. “s- so fuuullll-” you’d let off a prolonged whine, tilting your head once his fangs cutely nip against your skin.
your high felt just as brutal - and as a crashing wave of endorphins released all down your body, he could feel you spasming underneath him. your cunt was even more clingy than you were, its tight gripping hug making him snarl a faint whimper into your neck.
“ugh- you ‘n this… f- fuckin’ cursed pussy,” sukuna shakily murmured, still buried balls deep. he’s been finished filling you up, and you could feel him sniffing down your neck. sukuna’s body violently shakes with yours, and he’s hissing off swears before feeling a few pasty-white droplets of cum dribble down your thighs. “mngh- can’t feel my legs, ugh-”
“you know, for the king of curses, you sure do whine a lot-”
“s.. shut the fuck up and … hold me.”
✩ ˛˚ . SATORU GOJO.
with satoru — he’s a freak.
his favorite thing to do was to finish inside of you raw before lapping it right up. satoru’s bright, sparkly lashes flutter at every pausing jiffy as you’re hovering over his face with those pretty wet legs of yours spread open . . fuckin’ . . wide.
such … a … sight.
“mgh- c’mere you..” he pouts, snaking a hand around your waist before lolling out the flat of his tongue.
it’s a hot pink - colored and almost a vibrant shade of strawberry before it flicks a slippery stripe down your puffed slit. you’re so full - he’s filled you with clods ‘n clods of bubbly ropes so much that a bit of frothy residue started to stream down the middle part of your pussy. it’s such a filthy view, and he moans at the bittersweet taste of himself dripping onto his buds alone.
“f- fuck, ‘toru-” you’d whimper, your quavering knees positioned against each side of his head. with your legs sprawled into the letter ‘v’ — you’re slowly starting to rock against his chin. “mhm- lick me clean, baby. good boy.”
“don’t .. fwah- call me that.” satoru slurps, white brows cutely tugging into a stubborn furrow. stubborn even with his mouth full.
gnawing the inside of your gummed cheek like it was bubble gum, you let off a faint, quivering whine once you feel his teeth playfully nibble towards your cute ‘lil twitching clit. “hah- i’ll call you whatever i want since you’re underneath me pretty boy.” you tease, reaching a hand in his hair. tousled, snowy tresses tangled between your fingers as you kept riding his face, seeing that permanent pouty glower on satoru’s sheeny lips.
“pft,” he scoffs, iced pupils rolling straight to the back of his cranium before he spits on your cunt. he’s making you even messier—letting you, dampen his chin with a mixture of your treacly essence and his coarse, creamy mess.
the way satoru’s dewy cum dribbled between your thighs had him grunt against your folds, and he’s even creeping a hand toward his throbbing cock to calm himself. you hovered over his face alone had him turned on.
“fuuuck, keep ridin’ my face like that then, yeah,” satoru huffs breathlessly, a sweaty open palm starting to give his shaft a few solid pumps. from the tannish-pink sides, his dick’s just tearing away with pathetic tears of cum. he’s smokily groaning repeatedly once he’s touching himself at the taste of you - the mere thought of you, and it only makes his tongue flick against your pussy faster..
you’re whimpering as your poor thighs continued to quiver, and the grip on satoru’s ruffled hair never loosened. in fact, it tightens—and you’re grinding your hips against his face at a much more sloppy speed. “hng- such a nasty girl with a.. hah- even nastier pussy,” satoru murmurs faintly against your weeping slit, your constant moving making his words sound muffled. he’s trying to keep up his haughty persona but it fails immediately the second he feels himself preparing to cum … again.
you knew it too - because satoru whimpers, watching doe-eyed as you suddenly got up, plopping your dripping cunt right back down against the pearly tip of his cock. “ ‘toru baby, ngh- you should finish inside,” and he’s just so impatient. the swollen head of satoru’s shaft was a claret red and it turned even redder the more you aligned his tip against the opening of your slobbering folds. in response—your pussy spits out cute, wet pop sounds at the unstable movements of you trying to tease him even further. “mngh- fill me up again.”
“w- when you ask like that, ‘m gonna wanna propose to you next,” he pouts, the entire lower half of his body growing limp. he’s so tender - so hot, and it was like your pussy had him on a leash. satoru groans, wrapping a shaky hand around his lanky cock before swallowing thickly. “fuck, f- fuck, better… hah- take every drop then, princess. take it all like a good- ngh!”
before satoru could even attempt to finish his sentence—he’s cut off by the wet, sticky sounds that are currently occurring between your legs. glancing down with blurred, merely crossed peripherals, he’s slowly leaking from his strawberry-colored frenulum.
satoru’s blushing cockhead unhurriedly disappears its way between the slick of your flaps as he cums - hard.
thin, streaky ropes hotly ooze inside of you as you hover over his shuddering body, hearing his breathing patterns rapidly pick up. “god- aren’t you just a pretty th- fuck!”
satoru gets interrupted once you started to bounce your hips—damn near giving him a heart attack as he’s still cumming deep inside you. it’s runny, gluey ribbons that flood inside of you to where your cute thighs couldn’t help but quake over his legs. “mgh- keep fillin’ me up, ‘toru,” you’d whine, sliding your hands up his bare, glistening chest. wide, shimmery blue eyes stare into your eyes before he’s whining, feeling the sharp power of your pussy raw.
he always thought he was the strongest - but apparently, that wasn’t the case ‘cause your cunt had him entirely beat.
“mhm-” you’d cooingly hum, leaning your body up close and personal, stealing a kiss on his twitching, crimsoned lips. “c’mon, satoru. don’t s- stop cumming inside-” you’d whine, the slapping rough weight of your wobbly hips making his cerulean-pretty eyes roll fully back.
he’s stuffing you full - popping in nothing more than a thick, miry load before he melts at your touch. your hand wraps around his neck before you kiss near his chin, huffing breathlessly against his jaw. “can you be a good boy for me ‘n do that?”
gulping, satoru’s scarred hands grab at the fat globes of your rotating ass before he eagerly nods. “y- yes,” and while he’s still pouring in a fresh, hot batch of cum inside you, satoru whimpers once your lips sharply crash against his. “i’ll be your good boy, h- heh-”
✩ ˛˚ . SUGURU GETO.
“all of you, eyes on her ‘n only her,” geto throatily grumbles, one hand permanently glued to the left side of your waist.
darkened eyes scan the room to see his followers silently watching - bowing before their feared leader and his precious, favorite pet..
you told geto many months ago that you always had a fantasy of him fucking you in front of his cult, and now - he was more than happy to make your filthy ‘lil wish come true. you were honestly surprised he even remembered. but oh, he did, and he made sure that all eyes were on you, especially his other favorite ‘girl’ he’d like to occasionally mention that was located right between the arc of your legs.
“hng- fuck,” you’d moan, feeling the silky cloth of his cottony robe bristle against your skin. you’re straddling him with your back turned, and your bare cunt’s just slobbering all over his cherry-red tip. everyone was just gawking at you intently, remaining quiet as your sweet carnal sounds echoed through the thin walls of the building.
“wet girl,” he lowly purrs - his tone dripping with lecherous desire. you’re feeling every immense stretch, nearly drooling from the corners of your mouth once you felt the cult leader’s scarred hands lift your teetering hips. “mngh- good girl, show ‘em how loud this pussy can get for me,” and geto’s thumbing a digit down your dripping nub.
inch after inch - you’re nearly choking on your breaths before feeling his free hand wrap around your throat. you’re moaning, leaning back against his chest as your ass noisily slams into his chiseled pelvis. geto groans instantly, tickling the bare of your exposed shoulder with the ends of his trimmed, black strands. “fuuuck- s’ big, sugu-” you’d mewl out, his thick cock eliciting all types of salaciously, harmonious sounds from your mouth and between your thighs.
the grip you had on him made him groan, rubbing a thumb lovingly against the middle part of your throat. in a way - it’s most soothing. geto’s thumb swirls in circles—just like how your hips were moving, ‘round and ‘round until your pussy’s dizzy. his followers continue to stare at the ribald scene in front of them, a few appalled gasps leaving some mouths.
“she’s greedy today, no?” he breathes, turning your chin lightly to face in front of him. the same thumb swiftly swipes over an incoming string of saliva that was preparing to drip down the crack of your lips before he snickers. “mgh- you’re gettin’ even wetter from this, aren’t cha, sweetheart? right in front of my pests, this turns you on, hm?”
“y- yesss,” you’d whimper with a desperate nod, your pathetic words sounding more dragged out as his cock continued to plow into your slick core. while geto sat on his notorious chair, you’re on top—working your rocky hips after each barbaric, wet bounce. he feels you start to pivot, and his shaft meanly pounds a single thrust near your gummy g-spot.
“sugu!” you’d shriek out, the sudden belting note making your dry throat turn even drier. you swallowed, pausing between strained breaths as your ass continued to move. “right there- pleaseplease, right fuckin’ there.”
“dirty fuckin’ mouth you have, girl,” geto snarls, bringing a wet kiss toward the side of your cheek. you’re whimpering, inaudible words cutely forming into pure gibberish before his tip starts to hit your g-spot again. this time though - it’s intentional, and he’s showering your pulsating spot with a bundle of wet smooches.
ruinously, his cock pummels its way through your insides as your thighs slapped against his. you’re so stupid from geto’s dick that you didn’t even care about the little audience in front of you both. not only that - but you forgot that they were even there..
if he kept hitting you there - you were sure you were gonna cum, not just cum but cum hard too.
and so was geto, because even though you weren’t even looking at him, you could almost hear his jaw clenching, every muscle in his mandible tensing. “hah- gettin’ close, are we?” and his voice starting to turn shaky. he overestimated your cunt — mistake one.
you’re putting all of your weight into your buckled knees as your ass threw itself around in a hypnotic circle. you’re sucking in all girthy inches, his fleshy crown trying to desperately live inside of your warm, welcoming pussy. you ferociously nod your head, softened whiny ‘mmmh’ ‘s leaving your lips before he spanks your wet, full entrance. “sorry, pretty girl. ‘m gonna need to hear ya, ‘n i’m not talkin’ about her right now.”
“ ‘m gonna.. gonna cum, suguru- ‘m gonna cummm,” you swallowed, bringing a shaky, clammy hand toward his meaty thigh for leverage. geto’s right with you, his high quickly approaching and he’d poking his tongue inside of his cheek. your hips were just brutal - and the mental image of him finishing inside of you for once had him grunting against your ear. “hah- inside, inside sugu please.”
“ugh- take it then,” he grumbles, both hands grabbing onto your thighs now. you’re rocking against his lap - vigorous slam after slam nearly giving you whiplash before his swollen head’s just attacking your g-spot with even sloppier precise hits. it’s so wet, and you’re panting—feeling his cold, parted lips attack the side of your neck with kisses. “show these insects how much of me you can take inside this pretty, hungry cunt- fuck-”
long, stringy ribbons of cum shoot inside you merely seconds later as your legs cutely collapse on top of him. geto’s robe continued to prick against your skin as you wriggled against his lap, feeling him dump such a hot batch of cum inside of you. stubby, callused fingertips curl around your throat again as you whimper, feeling his free hand spank your pussy.
“atta girl. saved so much for you, s- soooo much,” he stammers, his flushed tip stiffly poking near your clit. he spills out a lot, and your legs quaked as your droopy, half-open eyes focused back toward his followers.
wide-eyed ‘n all - not a single peep came from them, and they continued to bow their heads while some sat on their knees obediently, witnessing their leader with his favorite cum-dump of a pet.
“s- suguuu-” you gasped, your eyes rolling once he smears a thumb down your sopping slit, sticky webs of cum gluing against his plump digit. geto’s cock was so big, but his load spilling inside you was even bigger. your stuffed insides hugged around him tight, and he’s sucking his teeth whilst still overflowing your pussy with more buttery ropes.
“good … little thing,” geto hums darkly - entirely out of breath. moving a few sticky, black tresses from the temple of his forehead. as you’re still straddling him with your back facing his chest, geto gifts your spewing wet folds with yet another spank, and his hooded eyes glance toward his obedient audience. “quite the show you put on,” and geto steadies your hips with both roughly-textured hands, making you sit upright on his fat cock before purring seductively into your ear.
“heh- but don’t get tired of me now, sweetheart,” you whined, feeling him pat your squelching cunt.
“think this pretty ‘lil cunt could use a bit more training,” and geto’s half-lidded eyes glance toward his followers, bringing a wet kiss toward your cheek. “mwah- this is just the beginning, sweetheart.”
✩ ˛˚ . NANAMI KENTO.
the first time nanami goes in raw - he gets addicted instantly.
one minute he’s showering your tummy with a trail of kisses and the next - he’s got you in a beloved mating press. nanami gets feral, and the moment he’s feeling you slickly trying to barrel all huge nth inches of his cock, that’s it.
“ugh- so warm for me,” he grumbled, staring at your body that’s oh-so stiff. your legs were raised from each side as his shaft’s just stuffed inside of your overflowed pussy. it’s dribbling with gooey, white masses of cum and you felt like you were about to burst any minute.
literally and physically.
nanami slows himself down, biting his lip once he feels the sludgy rawness of your perspiring heat stick against his weighty base.
“mng- fuck, careful now.. if i stay in this position any longer, i.. hah- might just get you pregnant, honey.”
“do ittt,” the risqué words quickly spilled from your lips as your fingernails dragged a path down the center of his back. nanami’s muscles bulged, and he couldn’t help but sloppily rock his way into your core with just a single jerk of his hips.
you wanted it - hell, you wanted him.
you wanted nanami to fill you to the very brim until he’s entirely milked out—until he’s got no more to feed your poor, starving cunt. the more he huskily rambled to you about just loving to see you, his pretty ‘lil housewife with a round, plump tummy, the more you started to whine against the soft, pointed shell of his ear.
“hic- ‘ken, do it. fuck me, fill me up pleaaase,” and he shudders, feeling the pad of your thumb playfully running a straight line down his fading undercut. nanami’s cock was just so thick ‘n fat, and he doesn’t even have to move to feel you already clenching internally.
“ngh- so hot inside, goddd-” nanami stammers, and while he’s pounding into you raw - he’s still partially clothed. his baggy slacks were lazily pulled down, hitting near his ankles with his button-up tickling against your skin.
as he’s fucking you deep, churning your gummy insides flawlessly like how one would churn butter, you lightly give his checkered tie a cute pull. sweating profusely on his forehead, nanami leans in—thinking he’s about to kiss you, but instead - his lips clumsily land against your nose. “mng- oh, sweetheart. you know how to.. hah- ruin me. ‘m gonna fill you up so good, ugh-”
“c’mon, kento,” you’d whimper, giving his tie an even tighter pull. without question—there was no denying that your pussy had him on a leash. a gripping hold that even left him speechless, damn near drooling.
nanami uses two veiny hands to shove your knees toward the center of your breasts. his balls never felt so full - they’re well rounded and swollen, slickly covered with dewdrops of pre-cum and your slick as he continued to pounce back ‘n forth against your body. “haah- hold me, hold me.. hic- sweethe- fuck.”
you cup his face with both hands, tenderly stroking two thumbs down each side of his hollowed sucked-in cheeks. nanami’s eyes were a dirty color of lust, and he was even whimpering at your touch. it’s quiet - but you heard it, and he’s giving your pussy its last final thrusts before he’s reached his racy peak.
he’s cumming hard, and as he sprays a slimy, gloppy load inside of you, his brain short-circuits. your pussy’s got him glitching literally - and nanami growls out a small, ‘ohhh fuckk’ once he starts to hear the mess ooze inside of you rawly.
“ngh- ‘ken,” you moan, feeling your walls involuntarily close up around you. he’s stuffed you full, and nanami’s hips shimmy slightly before his mushroomy tip pushes his dribbling cum even further inside of you - stopping it from leaking out.
he shushes you with his lips, finally—running his tongue against yours as his body’s careful not the crush you. shared, labored moans fall into each other’s mouths and you wrapped your arms around nanami’s torso. “f- fuck, that’s it- good,” you warbled between kisses, your legs still shoved to the front of your chest. nanami’s nearly frozen - yet he’s still pumping you full of sticky, viscous cum that starts to nastily pour between the pried cracks of your legs.
“s.. so messy, you … made me a messy husband,” nanami grunts, his voice so shaky that it gradually turns into a whimper. you’re chasing breaths right with him, and as your legs squeezed around his waist, you rubbed your ankle around his back in taunting circles. “ugh- you.. hah- really know how to ruin me, sweetheart.”
“kento-” you pouted, still hearing the wet, squelching sounds of him pumping such thick, sappy amounts of cum inside of you. nanami rubs the band of his wedding ring up and down the bare skin of your tummy, feeling you impatiently writhe underneath him. “don’t- don’t stop, fill me up again.”
nanami dryly chuckles—bringing a tender kiss toward the edge of your lips before delicately pulling his aching flaccid cock out. it’s a dark shade of coral-red from the very tip, and his frenulum felt like it was on fire.
tiny remnants of cum continued to spit out down the veiny sides before he bedaubs the head against your sticky pussy. pop after pop and he grunts, staying silent for a moment to hear the mess you made him create. “heh- my wife’s just never satisfied, hm?”
as he’s still gently thwacking the head of his flushed, wet cock against your slobbering folds, nanami starts to align himself back in. you’re clinging onto his tense shoulders, mewling out pathetic sobs of his name before preparing for that same, fat stretch.
“mngh- open up for me again then- that’s it, gooood- good girl,” nanami whispers hoarsely against your neck, kissing down your jugular. “you’re gonna make me the happiest daddy, sweetheart,” and you moaned, hearing the familiar plap of his shaft sliding its way inside of you once more.
as he’s gradually fucking his slippery, hot cum back inside of you after each raw thrust—nanami pushes one of your knees back up toward your chest before kissing the bridge of your nose.
“ ‘n i’m gonna make you the… hah- prettiest mommy, all for me.”
✩ ˛˚ . CHOSO KAMO.
“mgh- baby, your pussy’s gonna fuckin’ melt my dick,” choso groans, surprising the left side of your jawline with open-mouthed, sultry kisses.
it’s sticky, and he whines once the tip of his cock’s just crying against your cute pulsating nub. its pulses were almost akin to heartbeats, each thump! more dramatic than the next.
it feels like forever - time steadies, holding still as if it was taunting choso and he moans against your neck.
he hears the wet biiiiig stretch of your pussy once he’s wetly inserting himself inside. you’re holding his shaft hostage practically as your arms wrap around him. “ngh- so f- fuckin’ big, ‘cho,” you’d hum, pressing hot lips to kiss away his quivering chastened pout. “hah- ‘s like with the condom off you’re even bigger.”
“really?” choso paws a handful of your ass, eyelids trying oh-so-hard to not close themselves shut.
he looked so pretty like this - already pronounced cunt-drunk and you weren’t even riding him for that long. ridden, gripping skin pierces against each other all at once and it’s got every one of choso’s senses heightened. “heh- ‘m glad you think so,” he hiccups, growing a bit of a big head.
as he’s fully plugged in with every thick inch, choso brings both hands toward the edges of your ass before you heard a loud smack. it stings for just a millisecond and you let off a gasp before you’re starting to bounce.
“god, you’re so h- hot,” choso draws in various husky breaths, sucking his teeth at the brutal adequate force of both hips leisurely clashing. “mngh- ride my dick, baby. make me feel fuckin’ good. show me.. hah- what those pretty hips are made for-”
“choso, spank me again,” you’d cutely whimper, the speed of your hips instantly picking up. all of your gummed barriers clenched around the entirety of his length and you nip a soft nibble near his chin. “hng- i like it when you act nasty.”
“do you?” choso sheepishly grins - his lopsided smile haltingly morphing into a smirk. he’s still got big, callused hands that grabbed at your rotating ass before he spanks it… again.
the direct smack against your rear makes you moan and that made choso’s dick twitch from the inside. you felt it too, ‘cause your legs ended up nearly giving out at that exact moment.
“f- fuckk, ‘m startin’ to see why you wanted for us to try goin’ raw,” and as the lust-filled thrusts continue to create plop sounds in the background, choso starts to bounce his thigh to make his hits hit even more rigorously inside of you. “feels soooo hah- good. hips gonna k- kill me, oh- shit.”
each time your thighs loudly slap against choso’s, he’s spanking your ass harder. its a brief sting, and he could hear your cute ‘lil breaths picking up the more you moved. he’s thick - stretching you out from the inside after each, sloppy thrust and you’re just whimpering into his neck.
“ ‘cho- chosoooo~” you’d whine, running the sticky tip of your tongue all around the edge of his neck. both clamoring bodies continued to move and sync, and that’s when he’s starting to grab your hips, making you slam your cunt up ‘n down his cock at a much more hastened pace.
you feel him everywhere—tickling your pulsating g-spot with his tip before surprising it with wet kisses. “fuck- fuuuck, ‘m gonna cummm- ‘m gonna fill you.. hah- right up,” and he pauses, bringing raw-bitten lips toward the edge of your chin. “c.. can i, baby?”
“mhm-” you instantly replied, gasping as choso’s scarred, thick hands resumed to guide your ass. he’s helping you bounce on his cock, giving a bit of your jouncing flesh a playful squeeze. your cunt’s just greedy - swallowing every inch while dampening the entirety of his cock with your syrupy slick. “inside ‘cho- you can.. cum inside-”
“ugh- meltin’ me so good, fuckk-” he snarls, burly arm wrapping around your torso. as weak as your thighs were, you continued to swerve ‘n jolt your bestial hips against choso’s lap. he’s covered with sweat too, and he’s feeling his tip preparing to shoot a hot, sticky load right inside of you raw. choso’s fantasized about this exact scenario maybe more than once or twice.
fuck- just being able to stuff you full, feed your sloppy, greedy cunt with his seed - a dream.
a dream that was very much about to cum true..
because barely seconds passed before choso’s shooting blanks - white, velvety blanks that quickly started to pour inside of your pussy. it’s feeling so hot - and his arms remain wrapped around you, making sure every drop slithers inside. you’re gasping, wriggling a bit on his lap as you feel him giving you such a stuffing load. it's so much that you were sure a bit of cum sprayed a slimy path towards your womb.
“hngh-” choso gutturally groans against your neck, not once releasing his grip around your torso. he’s holding you tight while ribbony ropes continued to flood your cunt. his capped tip remains stilled between your salivating folds before he gasps. “mngh- baby, took it so good.” choso rasps, his voice so low it sounded like a mere grumble.
your legs remained wrapped ‘round his waist like a ribbon on a present before you sighed. it’s a content sigh, and as he’s filled you to the very brim with a gooey, thick load, you brought quivering, wet lips up to his. choso’s struggling to breathe let alone blink, and his lips fail to hit against yours. instead, they land near your nose and he moans.
“f- fuck, ‘m still…. hah- cumming-” choso grunts against your lips, and you let off a soft squeak once choso made you turn your body around.
as he’s still sloppily shoved inside of you with globules of milky, white cum dribbling from your cracked inner thighs—choso makes your back face him. through shaky, unsteady breaths of his own, he’s using two broad arms to slowly lift your legs. “c- choso-” you’d whine, leaning back against his bare chest once he’s locking his arms underneath your thighs.
choso grumbles, nipping a few stolen kisses near your nape before huffing out a feral breath. “ngh-c’mon, baby. ‘m not done fillin’ you up just yet,” and you gulped, feeling a big hand of his delicately press down on your tummy.
“big stretch f- for choso, c’mon-” and you moaned, feeling him brush thick fingers against your dripping cunt that’s still overly sensitive. right at his touch, you end up gushing out a sloshing wet sound, and choso snickers against your ear.
“hah- that’s it- let me hear her talk dirty to me, baby,” and he spanks your pussy, earning a cute gasp from you before rubbing eager circles around your folds - getting loud, sloshing responses from your lower lips instead of your top ones. “i’m listening-”
✩ ˛˚ . TOJI FUSHIGURO.
with a loud, abrupt ‘snap’ toji’s condom ended up breaking mid-thrust and he barely even flinches.
“heh, told ya i was a big boy. shit never fits on me, mama,” toji guffaws, his hips stiffening before he holds your hips upright. “mhm. loooook at her jus’ swallowin’ fuckin’ nothin,” toji pulls out, rubbing a cold thumb ‘round your twitching cunt. his digit’s immediately soaked with your lush slick that’s pouring riiiiight down between your sleek folds. “pretty pussy like this deserves more than a rubber, no?”
“toji- forget the rubber .. hah- just fuck me,” you’d moan out a desperate plea, feeling toji’s coarse gaze despite how you weren’t even facing him.
you were on all fours - prettily hunched over, ass up with your face smushed against one of toji’s pillows. you didn’t care anymore - you needed more, and the more he smeared his thumb around your aching clit, the more you started to grow impatient. “mmgh- you can . . fuck me raw, toji.”
“before i do that, first—let’s get that arch back up, lazy girl,” toji spanks your ass, earning a sweet ‘oooh’ from your trembly, spit-glossed lips.
such sass.
“yeaaah, toji’s gotcha. good girl, fuckin’ bend for me,” he continued, staring as you gave him the arch he wanted. you’re whining impatiently, bawling up a fist as you feel his maroon-shaded tip slap slap slap its way against your the outer part of your pussy.
one smack, two smack, three smack..
toji looooves more than anything to tease you before ramming straight into your sopping core. he’s got the hips of a machine, and you’re clinging onto the bed with your mouth dangling open, eyes goofily crossed. “ngh- fuck!” you’d squeal, hearing toji’s raspy groans from behind you. he’s shamelessly balls deep, driving into your core as the crown of his knees bury into the plush mattress. “fuck me, fuck meee toji, f-”
“ah, no talkin’ when she’s the star right now, baby,” toji gives the left cheek of your ass another cruel spank. his cock’s vehemently throbbing inside of you with all kinds of prominent veins running down each thick side.
“fuck- only back talk i wanna hear is from this chatterbox of a fuckin’ cunt,” toji groans, sneaking a hand between your thighs before rubbing circles ‘round ‘n ‘round. you let off an airy gasp, hearing the wet sounds sing away from between your thighs. as toji’s still drilling into you with all types of primal vigor, that’s when he starts to feel the raw feeling.
the feeling of your cunt - its rawness, and how you’re just swallowing him up continuously. toji’s jet-black brows crease into a furrow before you feel his tottering hips turn rickety. “f- fuuck me-” he hisses through clenched, tight teeth—and you could even feel him trying to run away from your sloppy cunt.
your leg wraps around toji’s waist from behind you and you moaned, raising your ass more before the brat in your returns. “mng- don’t run toji, isn’t that what you always tell me, hm?” and toji’s grunting, multiple taut muscles flexing through his dingy white tank. “keep fuckin’ me, hah- right thereeee. keep hittin’ there, ‘m gonna cum, toji. ‘m gonna fuckin’ all on your dick.”
“someone’s feelin’ haah- bratty,” toji grumbles, feelings of euphoria swelling in his chest all at once. it's intense - and the room’s starting to fill up with the scent of straight musk, cheap cologne, and the citrusy aroma of your own. it makes toji pump into you harder, hitting hit rounded tip against that same ‘lil nub that makes you belt out the prettiest wanton moans.
but as he continued to ram his hips hungry hips back ‘n forth into your slippery core, toji’s grunts started to turn into pure melodic whines.
his black brows furrowed in lust with the scarred edges of his lips shifting in a lewd pout. “ugh- fuck me then, slam those fuckin’ pretty hips back against me, girl- shit,” toji growls, his gruff breaths turning labored after each ramming thrust. his cock’s angry, its tip an even more furious red as it lodged in and out of your wet pussy. every time the curve of his dick stretches its way through your insides - you’re left utterly dumbfounded every time.
he’s hearing the cute squelches your folds make in between hits and he’s groaning, reaching a bulky arm to hold onto the headboard. “mmh- give it to me then, baby girl. hngh- take this dick, take it. f- fuck-”
the big stretch of toji’s cock kissing near your convulsing g-spot leaves you cross-eyed. he’s hitting you deep in all the right angles ‘n crevices, and you end up gushing right as he’s finally dumping a frothy, mushy load inside of you. it spits inside of you and you’re whimpering, spraying your slickness on his veiny dick before slumping your face into the pillow.
“f- fuck, oh- fuck,” toji moans, watching as your hips cutely fall forward. your ass was raised in the air and you were whimpering, hearing the sloshing wetness of his cock slowly drag its way out of your pussy. with a wet plap, he stares as his cum flows down the valley of your dripping slit. toji’s gruffly panting, bringing a fat thumb to smear down the cascading mess before putting it toward his lips.
“t- tooooji- again.”
“patience, ‘lil girl-” he grunts, licking the tip of his thumb. toji’s body shudders as he’s still feeling himself succumb to his awaited end—glancing at your sopping, stuffed pussy that’s just wetly soaking the satiny sheets with his cum.
as you tried to suppress an incoming whine, toji let off an ‘ugh’ once you ended up sitting up, flipping him over before lightly pushing him back. with a sheepish sly expression, toji’s sharpened abs curl forward before clenching at the touch of your fingertips running down his chest. “heh- oh? pinning me down, baby? you’ll hafta- f- fuck-”
cutting him off, you straddled his lap—sneaking a hand toward his leaking cock before giving it a few solid pumps. with it now being flaccid, your thumb runs along a prominent vein that strikes down the skin.
humming, that’s when you decided to give toji’s neck one long, hard suuuck. toji slips off an accidental whimper at your touch, the hotness of your lips making his breath in his throat hitch before you start to stroke his cock.
“are you gonna be a good boy ‘n cum again for me, toji?”
“you wish-”
you stop stroking his aching cock mid-thrust and toji ends up pouting. he’s huffing harshly, already missing your touch before his verdant eyes were almost pleading for you to continue. a big hand grabs onto your wrist and he groans, trying desperately to wrap your fingers around his weighty cock.
“alrigh’ fine.. just.. don’t stop touching me baby, please-”
‘Cause it's not just a figure of speech - you got me down on my knees.
It's gettin' harder to b r e a t h e .
Summary:
You hate it when Morgan teases Reid. So when Morgan says that you are Reid's 'Mommy' - you verbally fire back without even thinking about it.
Reid vastly overthinks it.
So much so that he ends up calling you Mommy by mistake. And you definitely don't hate the sound of that word coming off his lips.
Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Smut. Set during Season One.
Word Count: 6,300
Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link
Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: general smut fic - porn with some plot; dom/sub dynamics (but this isn't a pre-discussed dom/sub relationship, the characters just fall into these roles naturally), Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; the main theme is Mommy kink - Spencer discovers that he has a Mommy kink after a joke that Morgan makes, referring to the reader character as Spencer's Mommy; Spencer calls the reader 'Mommy' and the reader also refers to herself with that title; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (and breasts); it could be interpreted that the reader has larger breasts/is plus sized (but I think anyone of any size could enjoy this fic); the reader is part of the BAU; this is meant to take place during season one (baby Spence my beloved) but there are no other major canon events mentioned and the case being discussed is one that I have made up; some very background typical elements of Criminal Minds - murder, killing, systemic vicimization of women/violence from men towards women (passing mention of bodies being consumed by wild animals); the reader and Spencer fuck while on a case (but they aren't endangering anyone's lives from lack of their attention, so it's fine); mentions of potential injuries from a car accident (theoretical - doesn't actually happen during the fic); very slight threads of Morgan x Reader (mentions of Morgan being attracted to the reader - it could be one-sided); very passing mention of Reid having breeding kink (doesn't take place during the fic, just one of his thoughts); for the actual smut section: this could be interpreted as virgin!Spencer but that's not explicitly stated here (at most, this is just inexperienced!Spencer) (the reader is definitely way more sexually experienced than him); praise kink (we all known Spencer is so eager to be praised); mentions of breastfeeding - Morgan makes a joke about the reader breastfeeding Reid, which later turns into faux breastfeeding kink (the reader doesn't actually lactate, but she lets Spencer suck on her tits and calls it breastfeeding); the reader calls Spencer: 'baby', 'good boy',; descriptions of subspace - but it's not specifically called 'subspace' in the text; thigh humping - Spencer humps the reader's thigh; cumming in pants (Spencer); multiple orgasms/overstimulation (Spencer receiving); handjob - the reader jacks Spencer off while he is sensitive after his first orgasm; using lube as cum; dumbification kink - the reader calls Spencer 'dumb baby' and generally enjoys seeing his intellect drop the more turned on he becomes (Spencer also likes being called this); technically the reader doesn't get to cum, but she gets turned on from treating Spencer like the good boy that he is (and this is more about him). I think that's everything.
A/N: This was directly inspired by the scene from Reid's birthday party, where Morgan says 'Mommy to the rescue!' (talking about JJ) and then Spencer says '...Mommy?' and it seems like he is discovering his Mommy kink in real time. Especially because he is then trapped between Elle and JJ and he makes direct eye contact with their boobs, and he just has such a look of scared kink realization in his eyes. I considered copying that moment exactly and just replacing JJ with the reader character, but this seemed like more fun lmao. I had so much fun writing this and I think this is one of my best fics in a while. I hope you guys enjoy it!!
...
Generally, you hated being stuck with grunt work.
You knew that it was all part of the job - an important part of it. Paperwork, side interviews, background checks. Sifting through someone’s apartment looking for aspects of what kind of person they were based on their everyday life.
But you thrived more on being right in the middle of things. You preferred interacting with suspects, chasing people down, harsh confrontation.
Gideon said that you were overly controlling, impatient, brutally honest - that you had an ‘abrasive personality’ that put most men off. But that was why he often brought you into interrogations with male suspects. Many of the people you caught - men with superiority complexes who targeted the weak to make themselves feel powerful - they hated that you weren’t intimidated by them. That aspect of abrasion between you and the suspects often brought out a lot of information - things they spewed out trying to intimidate you.
But you weren’t needed on that front today.
No - instead, you were doing grunt work. The kind of work that made you impatient and generally aggravated.
The only upside was that you got to do it with Spencer.
He was one of the only men that voluntarily worked so closely with you so often, because he wasn’t intimidated by you. He took orders from you very well and naturally fell under your authority, bringing a natural chemistry to your partnership when you worked with him. Plus - his seemingly endless stream of ‘fun facts’ was like listening to the radio, which did help to soothe your boredom during these kinds of mindless tasks.
You were on a case in Texas. Five women raped and tortured before having their bodies hung from a tree and consumed by cotoyes that the UnSub knew lived in the area. Since police had closed in on him, he had gone on the run. He had killed three more women since fleeing, while leaving no clues as to what his ultimate endgame would be or where he would be going next.
Hotch sent you and Reid to find that out while the rest of the team worked victimology and profiled the scenes of the most recent murders, following the trail he was leaving.
After spending hours sifting through the suspect’s house, looking for any small clue about where he might be going - you came up empty. When you touched base with Hotch, he told you that you and Reid would be going to visit the suspect’s ex-wife - who lived four hours away. You needed to interview her to see if she could give you any further insight to the man, and perhaps - beat him to the house if she was the ultimate target.
(A lot of the victims looked like her, and it couldn’t really be a coincidence.)
You knew that lives were at risk, and it was juvenile of you, but all you heard was: long, boring drive. Boring day. You hoped that Reid would be good company through it.
Now, you were waiting outside of the police station in the bureau-issued SUV, waiting for Morgan to come and give you the file with the ex-wife’s address and contact information.
“Did you know that over forty-six percent of Texans own a gun? Texas is second only to Montana in registered gun ownership, where over sixty-six percent of citizens proudly tote their right to bear arms.” Reid told you, continuing to look over the case files that were sitting in his lap.
When you looked over toward him to reply to this odd factoid, your mind got caught up on something else.
“Reid, come on, take your feet off the dashboard!” You told him, reaching over to gently smack his knee, trying to encourage his legs down from the awkward position.
It bothered you for several reasons - the idea that he would leave shoe prints on the dashboard, which was minor and cosmetic, but still annoying. And the fact that if the car did happen to get hit head-on, the air-bag would explode out and push his knees into his chest, causing his shattered leg bones to pierce his organs and possibly kill him. (At the very least, he would never walk again.)
Speaking of which:
“And put your seatbelt on!” You barked, now noticing that he wasn’t wearing it past all of the files he had piled into his lap. “You of all people should know how many deaths are caused by not wearing a seatbelt.”
Spencer opened his mouth to spout out this exact statistic, but before he could get the words out, another voice entered the conversation.
“Aw, Reid, listen to your Mommy.”
You were almost startled by Morgan’s voice coming from the open driver’s side window so suddenly. His appearance there as if out of nowhere was so jarring that you couldn’t get caught up on the way he had called you Reid’s Mommy. Your head whipped toward Morgan so quickly that you didn’t notice the flash across Spencer’s features - worry, dawning. You didn’t take note of the way he rushed to comply with putting on his seatbelt. As if he was rushing to please you, even unconsciously.
“I bet if you’re a good boy, she might even breastfeed you when you get there.”
Morgan then pursed his lips and made loudly suckling noises, clearly imitating breastfeeding in what he thought was a comedic way.
Again - glaring at the muscled man through the open window, you didn’t see Spencer’s reaction. You didn’t see the way his large, glassy eyes flickered to your breasts (only emphasized by your own seatbelt crossed over the center of your chest) before he forced himself to focus on the files in front of him so that he wouldn’t feel so caught.
“Shut up.” You told Morgan, your voice so commanding and firm that his simple order was enough to get him to stop his antics.
“And give me the address already.” You held out your hand expectantly, and Morgan handed you the file, which you placed onto the center console.
Then, you turned back to him for one last point, determined to have the final word in the conversation.
“Besides, we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts, anyway. Just because you stare while wearing sunglasses, doesn’t mean I don’t notice. My eyes are up here, pal.” You told him sharply.
He let out a scoff at this, and rolled his eyes behind his dark frames - but he made no clever comeback.
You had successfully bested him. And with that knowledge, you rolled up the window and left him standing dumbly in the parking lot as you sped off.
…
You pulled over later to put the address into the GPS system, and you let out a long-winded groan when you found that it was more than four hours away. Four hours and twenty five minutes.
So you pulled over again to get gas and stocked up on snacks, and you were surprised that Reid wasn’t giving you some lesson about the colloquial use of ‘soda’ and ‘pop’ (thinking that you hadn’t listened the other ten times when he had gone on the same rambling point about linguistics and how language evolves).
He was being far too quiet for your liking.
But he was keeping his eyes glued to the files, and you guessed that he was churning over something in that big brain of his, like he usually was.
You were entirely surprised when the next time he spoke - it wasn’t about the case at all.
“How - how do you know that Morgan likes your breasts?” He asked, his voice low and mousy, looking straight ahead as he fidgeted with his hands in his lap.
“What?” You gaped, the word flying out of your mouth as your brain was utterly slow to process what he had just said.
Hearing Spencer use the word ‘breasts’ was jarring, but somehow utterly adorable. You found it stirring a slight heat within you. Especially because he was still so shy. The whole thing made you want to pin him down and force the shyness out of him.
Spencer felt the need to further explain himself.
“When - when you were talking to him, you said: ‘we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts.’” He said, repeating back what you had said, word for word, using that perfect memory of his.
You wondered if that’s what he had been doing, sitting there in his seat so silently for the past hour of the car ride - going over the conversation again and again in his head, trying to make sense of it. And because he couldn’t make any sense of it by himself, now he was consulting you.
Again, you found it so utterly adorable.
“Morgan didn’t deny it. So - was it a hypothesis based on something, or did you just call him out hoping that you weren’t wrong?” Reid continued, sparing only a singular glance in your direction, a look that you caught out of the corner of your eye with your gaze still mostly focused ahead on the road.
You found it intensely cute that he was using the word ‘hypothesis’ in this situation. You wondered if he ever turned it off - the textbook big words and the intellect that he always carried himself with. You wondered if you could make him turn it off. You wondered if there was any situation where Spencer Reid could be as stupid as any other man - chasing a bone, desperate to get his nut off.
For the first time ever - you imagined Spencer Reid underneath you, blabbering nonsense, begging for release with your hand around his cock as you pumped him, red and aching, so slick in your palm. Desperate, empty-headed, beautifully stupid.
(See, this was what happened when you were forced to do grunt work. You got bored. And when you got bored - you had to entertain yourself somehow.)
“It was a pretty well-informed hypothesis.” You replied. Now that Spencer had brought the topic up, you certainly weren’t going to shy away from the discussion. “Morgan often brings up my sex life, and wants to engage in detailed discussions about my sexual encounters with me. So I assume that he spends a fair amount of time thinking about me in a sexual way.”
Reid let out a choked-off noise at this.
You continued.
“Plus, he’s always staring down my top. He’s not exactly subtle.”
“You - you actually notice that kind of thing?” He chirped, his voice becoming a few octaves higher as worry flooded him.
You bit your lip, suppressing a grin.
Of course, you had noticed the times that Spencer stared at your breasts as well. He was even less subtle about it than Morgan was. You didn’t mind it when he did it, because you knew that Spencer wasn’t exactly casanova. He didn’t have a different girl every other week like Morgan did, so taking a glance down your shirt when he passed you a morning coffee was probably about as much action as he got.
Secretly, letting him get away with it was your gift to him.
“Don’t worry about it, baby.” You told him, the pet name slipping out mindlessly as you reached over and gently patted his knee as a form of reassurance.
This movement unintentionally drew his eyes toward your chest, especially in his desperation to look anywhere but your face, not wanting to make eye contact with you. But he found his eyes glued to the swell of your breasts once again - hating how perfect they looked, even through the simple cotton shirt and plain bra that you wore.
“Sorry, Mommy.” The word slipped out before he could even consciously process it. “Sorry!”
Spencer raised a hand to smack his own face at lightning speed, and slumped down into his seat in embarrassment.
You bit your lip to suppress a grin. It stirred a filthy heat in your belly. But you knew that Spencer likely needed a while to sit with this and wouldn’t want to talk about it - not yet. So you reached over and turned on the radio, letting the music fill the space so that the silence wasn’t so awkward and gutting.
…
Spencer didn’t talk for the entirety of the rest of the car ride, which didn’t surprise you.
When you finally arrived at the ex-wife’s house, his hands were shaking with nerves as he tried to unlatch his seatbelt. You probably should have just left him alone to struggle, but an evil spark, likely fueled by the boredom of the day, flared up inside of you. You couldn’t resist the urge to lean over the console, very purposefully showing off your breasts as you gently pushed his hands away and undid the belt for him.
“Here, let Mommy get that for you.” You said, distinct teasing on your breath as you mumbled the words into his ear.
Spencer huffed out a deep sigh and collapsed back into his seat, and pushed his hair out of his face in frustration. But he didn’t say anything more as you gathered the files in preparation for the interview.
He only spoke when you moved to get out of the car.
“Look, I-” He began a half assed explanation, and you easily cut him off.
“You let Morgan get in your head too much.” You told him with a chuckle, opening your door and getting out.
But as he forced himself to follow you with numb limbs - he knew that this definitely wasn’t all Morgan’s fault.
…
The ex-wife didn’t know much.
She described the marriage as hell - the suspect exhibited all the typical behaviors as a husband that they would have expected. He hated women, and he wanted full control over his wife at the time, which eventually led down the path of divorce. They had to sell the house they had bought together, but neither of them had moved out of Texas since. But he hadn’t contacted her in years.
She had two young kids from a new relationship, and when the woman stepped out to take a call, you picked one of them up to soothe his cries, hushing him gently while you rubbed his back.
Because of this, Spencer found himself even more dizzy and confused.
He knew that it was Frueadian - some deep, misguided part of his psychology - something broken and missing inside of him because of his own fractured childhood.
But seeing you being so sweet with a kid, especially after the day he’d had - he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be your baby, or if he wanted to shoot his cum so deep inside you that it would ensure he could give you one.
(Ultimately, he knew that it was likely both - and that didn’t answer any questions for him. It just gave him far more questions.)
…
Even though the ex-wife couldn’t give you guys much more than you already knew, Hotch wanted you and Spencer to stay close by in case the suspect decided to make his ex-wife the end game. The two of you would be able to make it to her first if she called for help.
So you and Spencer had dinner at a random local barbeque place off the highway and Spencer still didn’t talk much through it, other than posing some theories about the case. Even though he was a bit more talkative, he still refused to look at you - he stared down at his plate the whole time. Though whenever he did look up, you noticed that his eyes lingered on your chest - and he still wouldn’t look you in the eye.
By the time the bill came around and the two of you were ready to leave, you knew exactly what you had to do.
…
Spencer waited by the car with his bag while you checked in and got a motel room (needing to stay in town, you got a room for the night). When you came back, you handed him the room key and then moved to get your bag out of the car.
“Do… you already have yours?” He asked quietly.
“Hmm?” You hummed in reply, slinging the strap of your go-bag over your shoulder before you closed the back door and used the remote to lock up the car.
“Your room key?”
You suppressed another grin.
“I only got one room.” You told him. “You don’t mind sharing with me, right?”
You gave him a purposeful look - looked at him through your lashes, bit your lip slightly, and subtly squeezed your breasts together with your upper arms, emphasizing them. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, but hopefully it seemed subtle.
“I - uh - no.” Spencer stuttered. “It’s fine. We can share.” He gave a grin, not wanting to appear upset, even though his entire body was racked with nerves.
Spencer followed you to the room and he fumbled with the key with shaking hands for a moment before he sighed and then handed it to you.
His insides quaked when he saw that there was only one bed.
He wasn’t sure if he should say anything about it. The two of you had slept in the same room before, but you had never shared a bed before. Sure, you had slept near each other before. He had accidentally fallen asleep on your shoulder on the plane or vice versa. But you had never crawled into bed together with the intention of sleeping together.
And yes, just the entendre behind it made Reid’s head spin.
He had a heavy knot in his gut, and hatefully - a distinct stirring in his crotch. He could only imagine how embarrassing it would be for you to wake up and see him compromised in some way. Or god forbid, if you caught him moaning in his sleep because of unconscious dreams that he couldn’t stop - for you to think that he was some kind of dirty sex pervert because of it.
He felt an overwhelming need to clear the air overtake him. He had no clue how to broach the subject, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to spend the night like this. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with this anxiety hanging over his head.
He studied you carefully as you sat down on the edge of the bed, ditching your bag off to the side and heaving out a tired sigh as you began taking off your shoes.
Spencer put down his own bag and then stood there, fidgeting nervously as he searched for words.
“I - uh - I am sorry about earlier.” He mumbled out the beginnings of an apology. “What Morgan said was stupid, and I-”
“I don’t think it was stupid.”
You let out a chuckle, and reached up the back of your shirt. Spencer found himself frozen, his eyes tracing your every moment as you unhooked your bra underneath your shirt and then moved to maneuver the straps out from your short sleeves while you kept talking.
“I think he had a point.” You added on. “Good boys should get a reward. And I think you were fairly good today. You didn’t eat all your veggies at dinner, but you kept your feet off the dashboard and you were quiet during the car ride. You definitely get points for being patient during such a long trip, baby.”
Your voice smoothed into a soothing tone, that word - baby - melting like butter over your tongue in a way that made Spencer’s knees wobble. He hadn’t known it until right now, but you calling him a ‘good boy’ and listing off such mundane things he had done that made him worthy of a reward fired off sparks inside of his brain.
A breath choked off inside of his throat as you stood up off the bed and peeled your bra completely out from under your shirt. Somehow it was one of the sexiest things he had ever seen, revealing the hard peaks of your nipples and the beautiful natural teardrop shape of your breasts to him through the cotton fabric.
Spencer wanted to speak, but his tongue felt so heavy and dry inside of his mouth. He knew that he was staring at your chest so blatantly now, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away. He couldn’t even feel ashamed anymore.
That dull tingle in his crotch had turned into a full on stinging interest, and he unconsciously pulled at the fabric of his pants, trying to loosen some of the tension that was growing, not even considering how it might look to you - him dumbly reaching for his crotch to make it look looser when his hardening bulge was becoming more obvious by the second.
It was one of the most ‘caveman’ things he had ever done in front of you - standing there with his mouth hanging slightly agape, pulling at his crotch without caring how it looked. You definitely wanted more, wanted to see how dumb he could get. How far you could make him devolve.
“So what do you say, baby boy?” You hummed, stepping close into his personal space now, causing him to get a whiff of your perfume - something that was only a dull trace after such a long day, but still smelled so good. “Do you want Mommy to breastfeed you? Do you wanna suck on my tits as your reward?”
You gently ran a thumb across his cheek, and paired with the words, Spencer’s brain short-circuited.
He knew realistically that you weren’t actually offering to breastfeed him. There was no evidence in your life to say that your body could actually support the production of milk currently - but you were offering to let him play pretend. To suck on your tits with a very sexual air, to call you Mommy without the teasing humiliation behind it that Morgan had hinted at (or maybe Spencer liked that humiliation, he wasn’t even sure). (He hadn’t even known before this morning that he liked the idea of calling you Mommy, but here he was).
All he could conjure in response was the dumbest, non-human sound.
“Nngh.”
It was a grunt from the back of his throat - too much blood swelling to his cock all at once and too much direct attention from you making him dizzy.
You giggled quietly.
“Come on, baby. Just say the word. And Mommy will give you everything you need.”
Spencer inhaled sharply. At this point, he was desperate to get some oxygen to his brain.
His mind was racing, chanting out:
‘Yes! God, yes! I want it so badly, Mommy! I want anything you’ll give me. I need you. I need you so badly.’
But all his lips could form in the wake of such dizzying lust was:
“Please.”
“Good boy.” You sighed.
You used a hand on his chin to tilt his face up to meet yours, and you consumed him in a kiss - he was hungry and eager to meet your touch, moaning loudly into your mouth, his hands racing to touch you now, rushing up to grip on your hips in the most utterly needy way. He balled the fabric of your shirt in his fists, like he couldn’t get enough of you - like he was afraid you would dissolve away if he let go of you for even a second.
It was cute, to say the least.
You only let the kiss last for a moment, though. You pulled away to a disappointed whine from Spencer, which you quietly hushed.
“Hey, it’s okay baby.” You soothed him. “Come here. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you.”
You lead him toward the bed, getting rid of his tie in the process, and Spencer stepped out of his shoes along the way. You slid onto the bed and laid up on the pillows on your back, Spencer clumsily following you, crawling on all fours. The two of you had barely started, but he was full-on panting now, racing to catch his breath while his blood hammered through his veins.
He watched on with eager curiosity while you got comfortable, fluffing the pillow under your head before you then reached down and pulled up your shirt. You pulled the fabric to sit up under your chin, finally revealing your gorgeous breasts to him.
If he was lost for words before, then he had receded back to a total neanderthal now.
His mouth fell open and his salivary glands started working overtime as his eyes raked hungrily over your chest - enjoying the pure beauty of the fatty mounds, striped with zig-zagging stretch marks and completed by your hard peaked nipples.
“Here, come on, baby.”
You had to remind Spencer what the goal was, guiding him into place with a hand on the back of his head. You helped ease his body to lay on top of yours as he relaxed into you - and his mouth finally found its rightful place on your breast. He became greedy, suctioning hard on your nipple as though he might actually get something out of it.
Truthfully, he did get something out of this.
It definitely wasn’t any form of nutrition, but it was something that drove him lustfully insane and made his head fuzzy and warm in the best way. This was the only time in his entire life that he didn’t have ten thousand thoughts running through his mind like the news blasting on television in the background. This was the only time since his first conscious memory that he had actually known his mind to be quiet.
He felt intensely thankful for it. Intensely thankful toward you for giving him this feeling.
In that moment, without all the noise, all he knew was the comforting feeling of your fat tit under his mouth, the heat of your body under his own as you cradled him. The soothing firmness of your hands through his hair and down his back - and the distant, sweet purring of your voice in his ears.
“Good boy.” You hummed, loving the feeling of him moaning around your nipple - so constant and so greedy now that you were sure he didn’t even know that he was doing it. “Such a good boy for me. Such a good boy for Mommy.”
Your cunt was humming between your thighs, aching so hard at seeing Spencer like this. The usually composed, intelligent, practically robotic Doctor Reid reduced down to a blubbering, moaning, needy mess just because he wanted to suck on your tits.
Just because you had called yourself Mommy a few times in his presence.
It was so utterly beautiful, and you wanted more.
(You didn’t think that you could ever let him go after this. You probably wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of another woman touching him after this. But you would have to think on that more later.)
You noticed Spencer canting his hips, unconsciously seeking friction against his hard cock while he continued to suck on your breast. With his eyes closed blissfully, drool gathering around his lips where they met your skin in the most utterly adorable way. You couldn’t help yourself - you scooted your knee between his thighs. You then used a hand to help his hips into place, adjusting him so that he was getting good friction against your denim-clad thigh.
“There you go. There you go, sweet boy.” You hummed, feeling another jolt through your body when he let out a sharper moan against your tit, and began humping your leg in earnest.
You were quick to encourage him, putting both hands on his hips and helping him along while he greedily hung onto you. He had on your hip, the other hand slipping up to cup fingers around the bottom of your breast, making sure you didn’t escape him while he moved his body against you so frantically.
“That’s just what you needed, isn’t it, baby?” You moaned out, your voice wavering slightly as the pleasure of it all thrummed through you. “Just a dumb little baby who needed Mommy’s tit.”
The term ‘dumb little baby’ came flying out of your mouth before you could stop it. Though you knew exactly why it happened. Seeing such a brilliant genius reduced down to this truly did something to your ego. And apparently hearing those words from you did something to him, too.
He whined sharply against your skin and his hips stuttered abruptly. You knew it wouldn’t be long before he came in his pants, his cock throbbing against the friction of your thigh. And this thought alone caused your mouth to run off without restraint.
“Such a needy little thing.” You sighed. “You love being Mommy’s dumb baby, don’t you? Not a single fucking thought between your ears, just sucking on Mommy’s tit without a care in the world.”
Spencer moaned and it sent another jolt through your body - another harsh pang through your cunt. You loved how much he needed you. You loved how much he was clearly eating this up.
You didn’t even care if you got to cum tonight; you just wanted to exhaust him for all he was worth. Because he was so fucking pretty like this.
“You gonna cum for me, baby boy? You gonna cum for Mommy? Come on, baby. Cum for me.”
These words were what ultimately sent him over the edge. Well that along with your strong hands on his hips, encouraging him along while he was mindless and busy mouthing on your breast.
His jaw dropped open, finally loosening that desperate suction on your now slightly sore nipple as he began to pant frantically over your now spit-soaked skin. He moaned hotly while he humped you in an entirely adorable, almost distraught manner - absolutely desperate to have the most friction on his cock while his orgasm overtook him.
You could feel his needy cock throbbing against you, trapped inside of his pants, shooting off hot ropes of cum that quickly soaked into his underwear and even then, seeped into the fabric of his slacks. You grinned and bit your lip as you felt that wetness even beginning to soak into your jeans, knowing he must have set off quite a big load.
Spencer soon collapsed on top of you, gulping in air as he tried to catch his breath.
Any normal person would have taken pity on him (seeing as he was clearly nervous and inexperienced) and wound things down to end the night here. Anyone else would have likely let him rest.
But again, you felt devilish temptation overtake you. (It was a feeling that seemed to be much more ripe around Spencer Reid.)
You just felt thankful that your temptation and inclination toward chaos came in the form of lust, rather than something more violent, like the people you studied every single day. Everyone around you should be thankful for that.
You used your leverage (and the fact that you weren’t nearly as exhausted from the experience) to flip him over onto his back. He let out a surprised sound as his back made contact with the mattress - blinking up at you with shocked, glassy eyes as you moved down his body slightly.
“Wha-?” He mumbled out the question, only getting out part of the word before you reached for the zipper on the front of his now wet pants.
“Hey, shh, baby. I just wanna see you.” You told him quietly, causing him to stare down the length of his own body at your hands as you worked.
You got the button and zipper undone quickly and you let out a quiet ‘fuck’ as you peeled back the wet fabric of his grey slacks to reveal the sight of his simplistic (very Reid) white cotton underwear slightly transparent and stuck tight to his cock, coated in wet, sticky cum.
“So pretty baby.”
He only whined in response.
You couldn’t help yourself - you reached up and pulled down the waistband of his underwear, feeling more lust pricking through you as he was truly revealed to your eyes. He was perfect. Glossy and wet with his own release, his cock pinky red from the exertion and friction, still half hard. You pulled the clothes down over his hips and he lifted his body to help you, clearly glad to be rid of the mess, and the second you untangled the fabric from his ankles and ditched everything aside, you were back on him.
You skimmed the tips of your fingers oh-so-lightly up his shaft where it was sprawled across his pelvis, and his hips jolted. He let out a bitter gasp - as though cold water had been splashed across him.
“You said-” He choked on the words as you ran your thumb right underneath the crown, gently pressing into the head, causing him to choke on a moan while his knees quaked.
You sat on his knees to keep him still and his head became so fuzzy once again.
‘You said that you only wanted to look.’
The sentence died off in his lungs somewhere, and truthfully - he didn’t want to protest. He didn’t want you to stop.
“Sens-sensitive.” He whined. “Too much.”
“But you’re so pretty, baby.” You replied, your voice turning smooth and warm like butter again, melting over his whole body, causing all of his muscles to go soft and pliant for you. “Your cock is so pretty. I need to touch you.”
He let out another strangled noise when you cupped your hand and took him fully in your grip this time, giving one good tug across his cock from root to tip. When you did this again, faster this time, his lungs seized inside his chest - trying to take in oxygen so quickly, as though he were drowning on dry land.
“You gonna be good for me, baby?”
“Yes.” He gargled back in response. “Yes, Mommy.”
He was already so wet from cumming in his pants, and he let out a pathetic dribble of precum as you continued to move your hand - so it was an easy, slick slide. One that sent harsh shockwaves through him from overstimulation. Against his own will, he soon ballooned back to full hardness - becoming painfully swollen in your hand while you sped up your touch and closed your fist tighter around him. It caused the most wonderful hurt between his legs, and made a downright filthy wet sound as you pumped your grip faster along his needy cock.
Spencer heard wailing and felt the soreness against his throat before he realized that he was the one making those desperate sounds. He distantly wondered what it might sound like to someone else, if the rooms on either side were occupied, if the motel would receive a noise complaint about some frail woman getting fucked to death by her husband next door - because that’s what he sounded like in his own ears.
But any of those half-thoughts were chased out of his brain the second you flicked your thumb up over the head of his cock and your dirty mouth filled his ears once again.
“Gonna milk this pretty cock, baby.” You told him, your voice firm. “You gonna show Mommy how much you can cum for me? Gonna show me what a good boy you are?”
Spencer let out another pathetic sound, his body singing with pleasure at his pure need to prove to you that - yes, he was a good boy.
He felt tears wet on the side of his face before he realized that he was crying, but it was all too good to ask you to stop.
You used your other hand to cradle his balls and you swooped down to capture his gasping mouth in another kiss (a very messy, open mouthed kiss that Spencer could barely pay attention to). Spencer screamed into your mouth while he painted his stomach with cum once again.
You only stopped jerking his cock once you had truly milked every last drop from him, his hips seizing up off the bed and your hand almost slipping off him completely from how sloppily wet it was with more of his cum added to the mix.
He was purely exhausted then. His eyes blinked heavily, struggling to stay open. He vaguely remembered you cleaning him off and tucking him into bed - but he definitely enjoyed falling asleep curled up next to your warmth.
…
The next morning, Spencer felt hungover.
He wondered if that’s what good sex always felt like - the combination of endorphins rushing through your body and physical exertion tackling you over. His legs were sore, as though he had run several miles. (Which wasn’t even something he could make a bold comparison to anyway, because he didn’t exercise nearly as much as he should for someone with this job). He woke up starving, grateful when you drove to a diner down the road after checking out of the motel and planted him in one of the booths before going outside to call Hotch in order to touch base with the rest of the team.
You came back with a small grin on your face.
“Turns out that tip the ex-wife gave us about their first house in Arlington was pretty solid.” You told Reid. “They caught the guy on his way there. He had another girl in the trunk. They got her back mostly unarmed, and took him into custody.”
Spencer nodded. “That’s good.”
When he moved to grab another sugar packet out of the caddy on the side of the table, three of them already open and empty beside his cup of coffee, you grabbed him by the wrist.
“That’s enough, baby.” You told him.
His stomach curled, that distinct feeling running through him again. And against his will, that word slipped out - again.
“Yes, Mommy.”
...
A/N: This is a standalone oneshot. There won't be a sequel or a continuation, so please do not ask for one. If you liked the fic, please comment about the body of work that has been written, or consider reblogging to show your appreciation. If you want to see more Spencer Reid fics that I have written, you can check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist, or you can check out my Masterlists for other fandoms to see if anything catches your eye. Thank you for reading!
The corner of Silco’s mouth twitched upward into a slight smile, a rare treat from the usually austere man. “Not exactly, although there is something I’d like you to clear up for me.”
Slightly relieved, you shifted forward on the sofa. “I’d be glad to if I can. What is it?”
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
The simple question made your blood run cold.
Oh shit. He noticed.
Pairing: Silco x afab!reader
Rating: Explicit (18+ only) minors DNI
Word count: 5.2 k
AO3 link
Please click keep reading for the Tags/Warnings. Due to Tumblr's IOS policies, the actual tag system is now very strange and confusing, but all relevant warnings should be listed below.
Tags/Warnings: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Imbalance, Power Dynamics, Biting, Praise Kink, Light Petting, Age Difference, Older Man/Younger Woman, Pet Names, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voice Kink, Come Eating, Light Dom/sub, Light BDSM, Dom/sub Undertones, Naked Female Clothed Male, Cunnilingus, Multiple Orgasms, Smoking, Love Bites, Confessional Sex, Confessions, Desk Sex, Couch Sex, Creampie
The ghostly green glow of The Last Drop’s sign was the main source of light in the darkened office. It flooded in from the ornate window behind the desk and gave the room an eerie feeling, but it was not the reason that your pulse seemed to race faster than usual. No, that could only be attributed to one thing; the man currently sitting behind the desk calmly shuffling through papers.
------------------------------------
Silco had called you aside earlier that morning and simply asked you to stop by his office later to discuss something. In this case, “later” meant after the bar closed for the night, so it was some ungodly time between very late at night and early in the morning. Usually, the most emotion you would feel about a last-minute meeting was a slight concern that something had gone wrong or slight exasperation at the time. What made this particular talk much more foreboding than usual was the growing crush you had on the most dangerous man in Zaun.
It all began with his damned voice. His smooth, deep tone and calculated way of speaking were thorns in your side from the moment you started to take orders from him. Initially, nobody in the undercity even understood why Silco hired you; they all said you were too harmless to be of any use. You definitely were not a fighter, but you had a sharp wit and kindness that quickly made excellent connections. This meant increased pay and trust within the organization, but it also put you in near-daily contact with Silco himself. The information you dealt with became more and more crucial until you were almost always stationed in The Last Drop, receiving others’ reports and not out in the streets collecting it yourself. You learned that Silco valued your insight, and he would often use you as a sounding board for some of his riskier ideas that involved your networking. This proximity only worsened your secret infatuation, and you started to find any reason not to be around him.
You weren’t entirely embarrassed by your crush. Silco’s unwavering focus on his work and sheer determination were undeniably enticing qualities. He treated you extremely well and with respect, which could not be said for many other employers in Zaun. Having a crush on your older boss was so incredibly cliche, but at least he was a good boss. You could even bring yourself to admit that Silco’s rather unconventional appearance was captivating. The silver streaks in his hair gave him an aura of refinement, and his scar and corrupted eye didn’t scare you. They just gave him a roguish charm that made the older man more handsome.
However, you were also inexplicably drawn to his darker parts. Even though you would never admit it, the power of his position and the cold brutality he was not afraid to show his enemies lit something deep within you that threatened to flare up whenever you were around him. Being with him would mean protection and passion, but it wasn’t right; it wasn’t decent of you to be attracted to this. You were the lovely, sweet girl that everyone adored in the daytime, but your own fingers were buried deep inside you every night, and Silco’s name was on your lips like a prayer.
“Distracted, are we?” His cool voice suddenly cut through the thick silence.
Startled by the sudden question, you jolted upright in your seat and met the eyes of the man in your fantasies. Silco leaned back from his work and arched his eyebrow expectantly.
“A..Apologies,” you stammered before taking a deep breath, “I was only wondering why you asked to talk with me. I hope nothing is wrong.”
The corner of Silco’s mouth twitched upward into a slight smile, a rare treat from the usually austere man. “Not exactly, although there is something I’d like you to clear up for me.”
Slightly relieved, you shifted forward on the sofa. “I’d be glad to if I can. What is it?”
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
The simple question made your blood run cold. Oh shit. He noticed.
Silco calmly continued, “you work well with me, yet you seem to find any reason not to be near me. Your work is far too good and thorough for it to be a malicious reason, so why do you do it?”
You could only look at him in stunned silence as he cut the end off one of his usual cigars and lit it. Each passing second felt like an eternity as your mind raced to piece together a halfway decent excuse. The spicy, smoky aroma of tobacco filled the room as swirls of the perfumed smoke lazily twirled in the air. Silco raised it to his mouth and took a deep, cathartic pull, luxuriating in the taste and the rush of relaxation brought by the nicotine.
You honestly did try to fight it, but your eyes couldn’t help but flicker over his lips and the way his mouth moved as he savored the cigar and exhaled the hazy smoke. It was only for a second, but it was a second too long. As your eyes reconnected with his, Silco’s blue eye widened in barely-concealed surprise.
“Oh. I see.”
Shitshitshitshitshit. You blushed furiously and looked away, hands tangled nervously in the hem of your shirt. If he hadn’t noticed your crush before, he certainly knew now. You continued to stare at your hands as Silco calmly pushed his chair back, tamped out the cigar, and stepped over to the sofa.
“So this is why you were avoiding me,” he said matter-of-factly.
His cool demeanor suggested nothing but rejection, and you could only nod as tears of embarrassment threatened to well up in your eyes. You were prepared to be fired, for him to be disgusted by your attraction, but the absolute last thing you expected was to feel his hand caress the underside of your chin and tilt your face towards his.
Silco leaned down to meet your gaze, his corrupted, black eye unwavering as usual, but an indecipherable expression in his blue one. “You must know by now that I am not always a nice man.” His free hand traced the column of your neck lightly, almost possessively, and his voice ever-so-slightly deepened, “A sweet, young thing like you could have anyone she wanted.”
Adrenaline was running through your body, and you barely heard your own voice over the pounding of blood in your ears as you spoke. “But…. I want you.”
Silco’s unreadable expression shifted slightly, but by now, you had decided. You were going to be honest, even if it meant never seeing him again.
“I may be young, but I am a woman, and I know what I want. I think of you at night…. of your voice… of how you would touch me if we were alone.” Your voice was still quiet and slightly shaky, but it was underlaid in steel; all of your feelings were finally out in the open.
Silco leaned in closer until his lips were inches away from yours. His gaze slowly washed over your body. “I will only ask you one more time,” he murmured, “are you sure?”
Your slight nod was all it took for the man to take you in his arms. His unreadable expression continued as he studied you, and you realized it was uncertainty and wonder. As far as you knew, Silco had taken exceedingly few lovers, if any, for someone of his status, and his love life had long been a hotly debated topic in the Lanes. You had long stopped trying to figure it out because it certainly wasn’t for the lack of people interested in him, which only made his next move more confusing.
The first press of Silco’s lips was almost hesitant, like he was afraid you would disappear at his touch, but that first kiss was enough to seal your fate forever. The taste of the tobacco and spice on his lips was as addicting as the nicotine itself, and you knew you would never get enough. Your eyes fluttered shut, and a low hum of delight left you. Silco deepened the kiss, entwining his hand in your hair and almost pulling you off the couch in his eagerness to hold you. His lips pressed against yours, soft and insistent as you explored each other.
The two of you stayed locked in that embrace, savoring each other and trading kisses until his teeth gently nipped at your bottom lip. Your breath hitched, and you melted even further into him. That was the only invitation Silco needed; he broke the embrace to join you on the couch.
You felt Silco’s gaze wash over your body as soon as he sat down. He reached out to wrap around your waist and pull you in even closer. You met his eyes again, and his look of uncertainty was gone. In its place was a half-lidded gaze of desire. He finally spoke again, voice low and measured, “You have no idea how long I have wanted you.”
“But… I thought you didn’t take lovers?”
He reached out to tuck an errant strand of hair back behind your ear. “I don’t. But you…. you are different.”
Now, it was your turn to surprise Silco. You leaned into his embrace and gently kissed his bottom lip before trailing a line of kisses across his jaw and lightly sucking at his pulse point. The industrialist’s breath hitched, and his voice grew husky. “So eager.”
Silco moved you onto his lap with surprising strength. He pulled your back flush against his chest, and his hands roamed over your body greedily. One pulled your hair away from your neck, and he kissed down the exposed column of tender skin. He bit down lightly on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, soothing the sudden sting with a kiss. A breathless whimper fell from your lips as desire flooded your body. Silco let out a low hum of approval at your reaction, and his delicate, teasing caresses continued. He kissed the sensitive skin below your ear before pulling away slightly.
“You said you fantasized about my touch….” his voice trailed off as one hand finally traced over your breast, giving your nipple a light squeeze through the thin fabric of your shirt. He circled it with his fingers before rolling it between them, and you let out an honest-to-god moan. You felt his warm breath on the shell of your ear as he whispered, “So tell me, sweet thing, how do the hands of a bad man make you feel?”
Oh, that voice……. Another sharp pang of lust shot straight through you at his deliciously sinful words. Your head dropped back against his shoulder as you pressed your chest out into his hand, eager for more of Silco’s attention.
“They feel so good,” you purred as he took both of your breasts in his hands and continued his sinful ministrations, kneading and caressing to encourage more sounds from your kiss-swollen lips. Some of the tender caresses were accompanied by a sharp pinch or pull of your nipple that only amplified the pleasure and made it sweeter. Like the bite from earlier, Silco soothed every sting with praise and more caresses.
You were putty in his hands, but you could tell it was all affecting Silco just as much. His breathing was heavy, and every whimper or moan you made was met with his own sound of pleasure. Before long, you could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against you, and your core throbbed in eager anticipation.
One of his hands dropped down to rub the inside of your thigh possessively, drawing a deep moan from you. You could feel more arousal begin to pool between your thighs, and you ground your hips back against him. You were desperate for any friction, but your backward movement was only met with the feeling of his hard length pressing more firmly against you.
“Careful, now.” Silco hissed.
You pouted slightly and reached back to caress his cheek, “But I want to touch you too.”
Silco chuckled darkly, taking your hand and pressing a lingering kiss to the inside of your wrist. His other hand toyed with the waistband of your pants as you felt him smirk against your skin, “Oh, my lovely… I know.”
Before you could even think to respond, Silco spun you around to press your side against his chest. One of his arms wrapped around your back to prop you up, and the other traced more lazy circles on your inner thigh. Humming in approval, you softly kissed Silco’s scarred cheek and trailed down his jaw. Your kisses stopped at the collar of his shirt, and you gave his tie a slight tug, “May I?”
Silco let out a short, husky laugh. “You truly are such a sweet thing, treating me with that much care when most people call me a monster.”
“I don’t care what other people think. I want you to take me. Silco…. make me yours.”
That was all he needed. With a growl, Silco unfastened your pants and threw them to the side. He discarded your shirt and removed your bra as you kicked off your shoes. There would be time for ceremony later, but right now, your clothes needed to be off. His kisses burned with a deep hunger, and you returned them just as eagerly. You attempted to fight for dominance, but there really was no contest. He kissed you like he was hell-bent on consuming you whole as he retraced every previous path his hands had taken, luxuriating in the feeling of your soft skin.
“Perfect… and all mine.”
You moaned at the praise as Silco broke the embrace to lay you down on the sofa. He trailed more open-mouthed kisses down the length of your neck, and his hand finally reached down to trace the outline of your lacy panties.
“Silco, please,” you begged.
His hand teased open your legs, and you moaned as he slowly slid two fingers down your center. He stopped to toy with the soaked fabric, drawing more pleas from your lips as he grinned wolfishly above you.
More unintelligible pleas left you as Silco’s hands slowly pushed the flimsy fabric aside and exposed you to the cool air. A low, appreciative groan left him as he dipped two fingers into the arousal that had already pooled between your thighs. His voice, breathy with lust, enveloped you again as his fingers continued to tease with shallow strokes.
“So wet for me already.”
Your eyes locked with his, begging for more, absolutely pleading for any relief he could give. The arousal that burned through you like a wildfire was all-consuming, and you needed something -anything- to soothe the delicious pain as your core clenched around the air.
Silco spoke again as he pulled off your panties, “They were right about one thing…..”
You bucked your hips slightly, so desperate for any friction, and Silco slammed two fingers into the hilt. “I am a monster.”
You screamed at the sudden, sharp ache of penetration and your hand reflexively flew up to muffle the sound.
“Oh no,” Silco chided, “Don’t hide those beautiful noises. Let everyone hear you. Let everyone hear who is making you scream.”
Your hand dropped to your side as the pain quickly disappeared, blossoming into blinding pleasure that spread throughout your body like more liquid fire running through your veins. The delicious stretch of Silco’s fingers pumping in and out of your core had a litany of moans and whimpers falling from your lips, which only spurred him on. Of course, the Last Drop would be mostly empty now, but anyone with ears would know exactly what was happening in Silco’s office.
“You’re taking my fingers so well.” The low purr of his voice threatened to send you over the edge.
It was almost too much. The dangerous man you had so often fantasized about was currently giving you more pleasure than anyone ever had, and he was only using his fingers. The fact that you were almost completely bared before Silco as he remained fully clothed made this all the more intoxicating. He had complete power over you and your pleasure, free to give and take as he pleased. Your hands searched for purchase on the sofa, and you writhed in ecstasy as Silco continued his brutal assault on your body.
His fingers crooked ever-so-slightly, hitting the spongy spot that made sparks explode in your vision. The pleasure from before only grew and spread throughout your entire body as he added another finger. Desire was consuming you, making you desperate for more of him. All of him.
“Mmmmmm, please… Silco… I want more.”
One of your hands slid down to toy with a nipple, drawing a deep groan from the man above you.
“Good girl,” he growled, “keep touching yourself for me.”
The praise -the sound of his smooth, seductive voice- was the final, tiny push you needed to fall over the edge. Your head lolled back onto the couch as your core clenched hard around his fingers, and you fully lost yourself in bliss. Silco chuckled as your release subsided, removing his fingers from your core. You whimpered at the loss, but he stroked your cheek lovingly.
“So beautiful… all laid out for me to enjoy.”
He raised his hand to his lips and savored the taste of your release like a fine cigar, groaning in approval.
“Oh, my lovely, I’m going to fuck you until you can barely scream my name. I want to ruin you for all other men so deeply and thoroughly that you’re going to be mine and mine alone. But first, I want to taste more of you.”
Silco trailed his hands down your body, pulling your underwear off and tossing it aside. His wolfish grin returned as he moved your hips to the edge of the couch, kneeling in between them and pressing open-mouthed kisses against your inner thighs. The sight of the powerful man between your legs drove another molten rush of desire through your core, and your legs reflexively closed around his head. Silco moaned in response and bit down on the tender skin of your upper thigh, worrying it with his teeth until a sizable mark formed. He worked his way up to your core, breath hot and heavy against your delicate skin.
With one hand, Silco parted your folds and licked a long, leisurely stripe through your core, drawing his name from your lips in a broken moan. The sound of his name broke his last strand of patience, and he snapped. Silco lapped at your core like his life depended on it, fucking you with his tongue before replacing it with his long, graceful fingers and latching onto your clit. The same pleasure from before returned, but this time it was so much more intense as it flooded your body. Your back arched off the couch as your legs tightened around Silco’s head. You briefly worried about suffocating him, but his muffled groans of pleasure and vice-like grip on your legs dismissed your fears. It would surely leave bruises later, but you were far too gone to care. You were his now; he could mark you wherever he wanted.
He was too damned good at this; the once quiet office was filled with your sobs of pleasure. The sparks returned to the corners of your vision as you grew closer and closer to your second climax. You reached down to run your fingers through Silco’s hair, and he gasped as you tugged at the silver strands. Your core began to flutter around his fingers, and you came with his name on your lips as you did in your fantasies. He continued to lap at your core all through your climax, consuming you like he was having his last meal on Earth.
Silco rose from his kneeling position with a look on his face that said he was far from over with you. Strands of his usually neat hair fell around his face, which shone with your release in the dim, green light. He ran the back of his thumb across his chin to collect it before making direct eye contact with you as he licked it off.
“Sweet thing”
Your head already spun after two orgasms, but his smooth, purring voice only sent you further into bliss. He bent down once again to kiss you, and you moaned at the taste of your release on his tongue. Silco froze and ran his thumb over your bottom lip, grasping your jaw and tilting your head back slightly so he could look at you, “such a dirty girl for me, hm?”
More unintelligible pleas fell from your lips as Silco stood and walked over to his desk, undoing his tie and vest, tossing them both aside. He shoved all the various papers and objects to the side and returned to help you off the couch. Your legs were jelly, but somehow you managed to walk across the room with his help.
He helped you onto the desk, and you immediately pulled him close. Silco grabbed your waist to pull you flush against his chest, and you opened your legs to accommodate his narrow hips. His length pressed against your core, hard and insistent through the material of his pants. Silco’s heavy breathing was warm and fluttering against your swollen, kiss-bruised lips and the tension in the room was palpable as you slid your arms around his neck. Ever so slowly, you hooked one of your legs behind his, angling your hips up slightly and lightly grinding your core against his clothed length as you slipped one hand back into his hair.
If you thought Silco had snapped before, now he went feral. His mouth crashed onto yours as he thrust his hips forward, grinding back against you and exhaling through his teeth with a sharp hiss, “do you feel what you do to me?”
“Y….yes,” you whimpered.
You could feel how deliciously thick he was even through the fabric of his pants, and you barely managed to choke out your response. Your hands moved to undo the buttons to his shirt, but there were too many of them for your quickly dwindling patience, and you whined in protest.
Silco was just as impatient. His hands joined yours in their task, and soon his shirt was fully undone and tossed aside. He pulled away slightly to undo his belt, and you were left with a perfect view of his lithe torso.
“Handsome….” you murmured, trailing your hands over his exposed skin.
Silco rewarded you with a small smile before quickly ridding himself of his boots and pants. Your mouth grew dry as he finally stood before you in his boxers, and you certainly appreciated what you saw. The older man was just as handsome under his clothes as he was with them on, but right now, you were drawn to the noticeable bulge in his boxers as his fully erect cock strained against the fabric.
Silco watched you intently, blue eye glazed over with lust, as you trailed your hand down his chest and pulled the last bit of fabric down and out of the way. He stepped out of the boxers, and you were both finally completely bared to each other.
If you thought his cock was perfect from the feeling of it pressed against you earlier, now you knew it was. The lithe muscles of his body tapered down into a delicious v-line, and you couldn’t help but trace the path with your fingers in appreciation as you moved your hand to wrap around his thick, perfect cock. Silco hissed at your touch, blue eye fluttering shut in pleasure as you stroked his shaft. You trailed your fingers up to his tip, gathering a pearl of precum on your finger, and a wicked thought popped into your head. You mirrored his earlier action and brought your fingers to your lips, licking them clean.
In a heartbeat, one of Silco’s arms wrapped around your back, and he pulled you into him. His other hand snaked down to teasingly trail his cock between your folds, pausing over your entrance and giving just enough pressure to make you whimper his name.
“I would love to see that pretty mouth taste more of me,” Silco cooed, “but I think we both need something else right now.”
“Yes…. please.”
You met his gaze once more, and what you saw made your breath catch in your throat. Silco’s beautiful blue eye was hazy with desire, pupil blown out with lust, and his corrupted eye burned like it was lit from within. Even more strands of his normally neat hair had fallen haphazardly on his face, and his expression was somewhere between bliss and pure hunger as he looked down at you.
Silco leaned in to claim your lips in a passionate kiss, running his fingers through your core and using your release to coat his shaft. You whimpered in response and again in anticipation when you felt the tip of his cock press against your entrance. You couldn’t help it; your core absolutely ached for him to fill you -to fuck you- and make you completely his.
Ever-so-slowly, Silco pushed into you. Your breath hitched as you felt his tip enter, and you heard him let out a similar shuddering gasp. Time seemed to stand still as he slowly pushed further in, giving you time to adjust to his mind-numbing width. The sharp, delicious agony of being stretched had you whimpering and begging beneath him as you slowly took more and more of his length. Your walls fluttered and clenched around his cock, drawing a curse from Silco.
“Fuck, you feel perfect.”
You could only produce incoherent sounds as finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was completely inside. The glorious sensation of being filled so completely made your head loll to the side.
Silco caressed your cheek, tilting your head back up to meet his burning gaze. “Look at you, so beautiful with your tight little cunt stuffed full of my cock.”
Your walls clenched again in response, prompting another low groan from him. “You like that, don’t you? You like hearing me say such sinful things.”
He rolled his hips to punctuate his words, and you let out another desperate moan. “MmmmpleaseSilco….. more.”
A low, dangerous chuckle was the response from the man above you as he began to move with slow, deliberate thrusts. “Oh, I plan to do so much more.”
Stars exploded behind your eyes at the movement, the delicious drag of him inside you, and you began to move your hips in sync as he slowly sped up. Once again, his lips crashed into yours, and you melted into him, surrendering completely. You tilted your hips up more, and the new angle was devastating, making you whimper and plead into his mouth as he kissed you.
The pleasure was so intense that you could not tell where your body ended, and he began. All you knew was that you needed more of everything. Harder, deeper, more. You felt your nails digging into his back, but it only spurred him on.
Slowly, his speed and force picked up until you were no longer having sex on top of the desk. The angle and force were more like he was fucking you into the desk. A fleeting, sane thought said you were going to regret this later when you couldn’t walk. You decided just as quickly that you couldn’t give a damn. One of your hands wound its way into his hair, tugging at the greying strands and causing him to hiss against your mouth.
“You’re mine.”
You nodded as fervently as you could in your blissed-out state. “M’ yours…”
Silco was losing himself to bliss just as much as you were. You could barely think over the waves of burning pleasure that flooded your body, and his wicked words slowly began to string together endlessly as he fucked you senseless. His voice was quiet and breathy, but you could still hear it.
“Want to feel this pretty cunt around me when I’m sitting here working -fuck- want to see how long you can take it before you beg me to stop and fuck you properly.”
You could feel your third orgasm of the night quickly approaching. Pressure built in your core, and you threw your head back in sheer bliss. Silco took the invitation to kiss and suck on the base of your neck, drawing more whimpers from your kiss-swollen lips. Sparks flew across your vision as the blissful assault on your body continued. The pleasure built, and spread, and compounded until you shattered completely in his embrace, climaxing with his name on your lips once again.
Silco whispered incoherent praises as he continued to fuck you, chasing his own orgasm. The feeling of your walls clenching so tightly around him finally broke his rhythm. His thrusts slowly became more and more erratic, and his hands continued to rove over your body possessively. He kissed and sucked at every piece of your skin he could access, leaving love bites all across your chest. You moaned in response, completely spent and pliant in his hands. After a few moments, he pulled away slightly and managed a single word, “Where?”
“Inside,” you whimpered.
He groaned in approval as his erratic thrusts continued. They grew more forceful until finally, with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside your core, and you felt his thick ropes of seed coat your walls. Your walls fluttered around him, greedily milking his cock and his beautiful blue eye fluttered shut in absolute bliss. Utterly spent, he rested his head against yours and sighed contentedly.
The two of you stayed locked in your embrace, luxuriating in the feeling of closeness it provided. After Silco recovered slightly, he caressed your skin lovingly and pressed chaste kisses against all of the marks he left.
“You did so well for me, my lovely.”
Eventually, he pulled out, and you whimpered at the loss. He smoothed your hair back with a small, indulgent smile. “I know, I know, but we can’t stay here all morning. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”
You were still too far gone to string together a sentence, but you nodded gratefully. Then, the most dangerous man in Zaun lovingly picked you up and carried you through the door and into his bedroom.
—------------
Everything Silco had said was true; you were now his and he was yours. You started to work exclusively out of The Last Drop, under the pretense that you were now too important to risk in fieldwork. Of course, it was true, but nobody needed to know the exact reason why you were so important. Silco would eventually tell Sevika, but, in the meantime, if she ever noticed that sometimes you exited Silco’s office looking more than slightly disheveled or that his lips were often tinted the shade of your favorite lipstick….. she never bothered to mention it.
you tear your eyes away from the screen a few seconds after rintarou says it, too rapt by what's unfolding in the movie scene to look away too soon.
"what do you mean?" you ask, glancing over to the other end of the sofa where he's seated. he's slumped down in the corner of the sofa, nestled right into the valley between the cushions where he always sits—which has resulted in a permanent sort of vaguely rintarou-shaped indentation that you hide using throw pillows when company comes over.
he's watching you very intently from his side of the sofa, too intently almost. you'd thought you'd felt his eyes on you while you were watching the movie, but you aren't exactly sure how long he's been staring, and now it leaves you wondering what exactly he's up to.
rintarou nods towards the television on the other side of the room, you look back at the screen once more and see the male lead still at the centre of the scene. he'd just gotten into a fight—shirtless, glistening with perspiration, and a strangely erotic trickle of blood trailing down his philtrum. you swallow a little as you become engrossed in the movie again, forgetting momentarily that you were ever asked a question at all.
"so?"
your eyes snap back to rintarou—who's still focused only on you, but with a slightly more disapproving look this time.
"what?" you ask him, a bit huffily. you're still not even sure what he'd been asking you in the first place.
"you've been ogling that guy since he got the shit kicked out of him," rintarou says pointedly, lifting a hand and gesturing towards the television. "you into that or something?"
there's something kind of accusatory in his tone.
"wha—hu—no," you stumble over your words in your haste to defend yourself. "i've told you i'm not into hardcore stuff. and that would constitute like... doctorate level BDSM."
rintarou's lips purse slightly. "do you think that guy's hot?"
"i mean... yeah," you answer after contemplating it for a moment. "i didn't really think so before but he's kinda sexy in this scene."
"he just got the shit kicked out of him," the boy at the other end of the sofa responds flatly.
"so you've pointed out," you answer. you turn back to the screen, watching as the battered male lead winds a roll of bandages around his ribs, then drags his knuckles roughly across his lips to clear away some of the blood that clings to them. your tongue peeks out to moisten your own unconsciously. "don't you think there's something kind of hot about a guy with a bit of blood on him?"
"is this a trick question?"
you look back at rintarou again, and find him still fixated on you rather than the film. he's pouting a bit, and it kind of makes you want to laugh. instead, you push yourself up from your own little nest at the opposite end of the sofa, crawling down towards him.
"rintarou, are you jealous because i called the bloody guy sexy?" you ask him as you pause at his side, resting back on your haunches.
he nibbles on the inside of his cheek—a habit he's had as long as you've known him—and for the first time in possibly the entire 54 minutes this movie has been playing, he averts his eyes from you.
"...no."
you do laugh then, swinging one leg over his lap to perch yourself atop him.
"you're being silly," you say to him as you balance yourself with your hands on his shoulders. his own come slithering up to settle at your waist, and his grip is a little tighter than you expect. he's still sulking though, refusing to look at you.
there's a loud crash in the film playing on the screen behind you, but you don't turn to look at it—you doubt that would help the situation at hand very much.
"rin," you coax him, making your voice as sweet as possible.
he doesn't look at you, but he does seem to bite the inside of his cheek a little harder now.
you dip down close to him, your mouth hovering over his and your eyes level. "rin-ta-rou."
he finally looks at you, his lips parting in surprise at your sudden nearness. you're so close that your mouths brush slightly thanks to that subtle movement, and he leans into the warmth of your lips to kiss you properly after getting such a small taste of it.
rintarou pulls away after one long, deep kiss, slouching back into the sofa again—but this time pulling you down with him into his little him-shaped indentation—holding you tightly to his chest as he gets you both comfortable. you let him maneuver you however he wants to, placating him with your docility to make him feel better, and keeping any comment about his jealousy to yourself—at least for now.
the two of you eventually find a comfortable way to rest, entwined together on his end of the sofa but both with a clear view to the screen to resume your spectating of the movie.
"what's so hot about a guy with a nosebleed anyway? i used to get them all the time when i was a kid," rintarou mumbles bitterly after a few moments, and you feel the words reverberate through his chest as you rest with your head upon it.
you laugh lightly, and your boyfriend's arms tighten around your waist.
he pipes up again after a few moments more pass in the film.
"you don't want me to start fighting or anything, do you?" he asks you skeptically.
you've effectively lost track of the movie's plot now, but you don't really care that much.
"no, rintarou, i don't want you to start fighting," you reply, patting his chest reassuringly. "you'd get your ass kicked anyway."
"well, apparently you're into that," he mutters.
"will you be quiet and just watch the movie, nosebleed boy?"
(a week later, rintarou sends you a photo from practice—having gracefully taken one of motoya's receives to the face—with an angry red welt on his cheek, blood dripping from his nose, and an obnoxious smirk on his lips. unfortunately, you are kinda into that.)
Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader
SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.
──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).
Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.
w.c: 4k
a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)
───────────────
There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.
He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.
He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.
But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.
Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.
There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.
Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.
He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.
But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.
He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.
“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”
He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.
“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”
He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.
Oh.
“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”
You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.
Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.
In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.
“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.
You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”
You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”
He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.
“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”
This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.
Correction: he’s very into kissing you.
In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.
A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.
“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”
Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.
“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).
This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.
There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.
This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.
You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.
You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.
“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.
You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.
“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.
His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.
“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.
“I wanna cum.”
Eloquent.
Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.
Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—
“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”
He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”
He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”
It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.
“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.
It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.
“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”
You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.
He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.
“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”
“Praise kink, noted.”
You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”
“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.
His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.
Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.
“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.
Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.
“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.
“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.
Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.
The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—
This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.
“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?
He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.
You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.
“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”
Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.
You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.
Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.
“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”
“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.
You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.
You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.
And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.
“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.
Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.
Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.
There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.
He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.
He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.
Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.
You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?
Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.
“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.
“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”
“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.
“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.
It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.
He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.
Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.
It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.
“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.
You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.
“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.
“Yeah?” he breathes out.
“You we’re so good—“
He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“
He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“
He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”
Synopsis. When your younger brother gets a new babysitter, only two questions linger on your mind:
1. How come your parents didn’t trust you in charge?
2. How dare the sexy babysitter be so perfect - it made you want some attention too.
Pairings. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, babysitter! Choso, male masturbation, voyeurism (from reader), Choso with nipple piercings and eyeliner hngh, unprotected, 69, choking, overstim, oral (male + female receiving), creampie, dirty talk, friends-to-lovers, Choso is down BAD and always has been, mentioned younger brother, swearing.
Word count. 9.0k
A/N. Gojo longfic next time because I miss my pretty blue-eyed princess.
Your younger brother’s new babysitter was hot.
With a capital h.
Scarily hot, in fact, that it made you wonder why the hell people stopped having babysitters past the age of 14.
Ah, Choso Kamo, the ever-elusive eldest son of the Itadori’s from next door. You still remember the first time you met him - well, mostly.
The world was rocking gently at exactly 12:34AM after a night out with your old high school friends. And so were you, stumbling tipsily into your driveway, soaking up the warm summer air.
Fumbling with the doorbell, you fully expected your parents to still be away on that extravagant couples’ cruise they’d won - one that probably cost more than your tuition.
Which also meant you expected the old lady from down the street to be babysitting tonight. Still wide awake and absolutely bursting at the seams to give you a detailed rundown about the neighborhood tea - who’s divorcing who, and her top suspects for who stole her prized garden gnome.
What you certainly did not expect was for that door to swing open and to find yourself face-to-face with the most ridiculously attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Shirtless.
Dazed, your eyes involuntarily sweep his figure from head to toe - taking in every inch of those dark, sleep-mussed locks falling effortlessly around his slightly smudged eyeliner, all the way down to the chiseled- oh god, were those nipple piercings?
Alas, the universe isn’t on your side, and you don’t get to confirm, because suddenly the door slams right in your face, almost rattling off its hinges at the force. The sound echoes in your ears as you blink in disbelief at what the fuck that was. Was that real - was he real?
You double check the address you’ve known for years - just in case - because, hell, if you were dreaming then this was a damn good one. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on something that won’t make your head spin before reaching for the door again.
But before your finger could even graze the doorbell, it cracks open once more. The same mysterious man towered before you, this time - you note, with a tinge of disappointment - wearing a snug t-shirt that still doesn’t do much to hide that godly physique.
“Not that m’complaining, but who’re you and why’re ya in my house?” you manage to slur out, voice betraying the shiver that runs down your spine at his intense gaze. He simply leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and expression unreadable.
“Choso,” he drawls lightly, eyes never leaving your face. Shit, even his voice was hot.
You nod slowly, mind racing as you blearily try to remember just where you’d heard that name before. Some family friend? Nah, you’d know him if that was the case. An actor? God, he sure had the looks.
Mercifully sensing your struggle, he clears his throat, snapping you out of your drunken reverie. “Not surprised you haven’t seen me around, sweetheart, but my parents live next door.” he offers, tone laced with amusement and something else you can’t place. “M’babysitting your brother for tonight.”
You almost don’t hear the second part of his explanation, because it hits you like a ton of bricks - oh shit, this was Choso? Choso either-a-hallucination-or-a-vampire Kamo?
In all your years of having the Itadoris as your neighbors, you’d only seen fleeting glimpses of their eldest son - a flash of black hair at the window, or a sculpted, tattooed arm waving off Yuji at the doorway. And, well, you didn’t know what exactly you’d anticipated. You just didn’t expect him to be so…hot. Or stand half-naked in front of you.
God, he made you more dizzy than the alcohol.
“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than anything. Yet Choso still hears, quirking an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Everything alright there?” he hums, the hint of a tease in his tone. Smug bastard.
You nod your head, clutching onto the doorframe for support as you lean in closer. “Mhm, perfect.” Wait- was that a blush dusting his face? Damn, this dream just keeps getting better and better.
Liquid courage coursing through you, you bat your lashes, too tipsy to even attempt a wink, “Well, Choso, let me know if ya need any help babysitting, jus’ know I’m always down to-”
And then - perhaps to save you from the embarrassment of an awful pickup line - that’s when the universe decides to remind you of exactly how many kamikaze shots you’ve downed. The world lurches beneath you. Your hands scramble for something - anything - solid.
Ah, falling down really does feel good, especially when the ground is so warm, and soft. Smelling faintly of vanilla, with a hint of sunshine.
And then it’s all black.
To match his eyes.
---
The smell of vanilla still lingers in your mind as you slowly pry your eyes open, squinting against the harsh morning sunlight streaming in through your window. Groaning, you feel as though you’ve been run over by a truck. Five of them, in fact.
Trying to will away the pounding headache, you bury yourself deeper into the snug covers of…your bed…that you’ve been tucked into?
Oh shit. Sitting up with a gasp, you hastily try to rub away the sleep from your pointedly makeup-less eyes, remnants of last night now flooding back to you with a surge of embarrassment.
Choso. Shirtless. Babysitting. Shirtless. But most importantly - your awful display of drunken flirting. The man appears once in a blue moon and you hit on him? Perfect. Great. Wonderful.
And just as you’re entertaining the idea of convincing your parents to move neighborhoods, you realize with a jolt that he must’ve been the one that carried you up here and took care of you. Even after all of that.
With a sigh, you rub your temples, wincing as it throbs at the laughter carrying from downstairs - one of them so decidedly Choso. Deep voice ringing in your ears, you can almost feel the lingering traces of his strong arms holding you flush against his chest, or the warm hands gently wiping off your eye shadow.
And it seems Choso had a penchant for interrupting your barely-lucid thoughts, because the door creaks open, ripping through the heavy silence in your room. Heart in your throat, you startle as Choso carefully steps into your room, a soft smile playing on his lips.
“G’morning,” he says, voice so gentle that some small, strange part of you thinks you could listen to it forever. “Feeling any better?”
You offer him a sheepish grin, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks at the memory of your drunken antics. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for... well, everything.”
Chuckling softly, his gaze softens as he steps closer, taking in your slightly-disheveled appearance. “It was the least I could do, sweetheart. Now, c’mon, your brother and I are making pancakes.”
You fidget nervously under his gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious even as he turns to leave the room at your silence. Say it, you idiot. Say it.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, words tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to... y’know, act like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time-”
“It’s al-”
“I swear I’ve seen ankles-”
A large hand cradling your cheek, his thick rings searingly cold against your chin as he tilts your chin up to meet his warm gaze - and those suspiciously red cheeks. “S’alright, sweetheart. I didn’t mind.”
And, well, if this was his way of shutting you up then by God was it effective. Because you didn’t trust yourself to speak even as Choso gives you an easy smile. Even as he withdraws his hand, the air thick with something you were too hungover to overthink about.
Not until he turns back to the door, flashing you a teasing smile, “Besides, it was kinda cute.”
And with that, Choso steps through the door with the audacity of someone that hadn’t uttered words that sent your mind reeling.
As the creak of the door echoes behind him, Choso’s warm touch still sears into your skin. Something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach. Only one thought rings clear in your hazy, still-hungover mind - one that makes your cheeks flare: this was going to be a very interesting summer.
You just didn’t realize how interesting it would be. Not until two weeks, four days, and sixteen hours after you first met Choso.
It starts out innocently enough, taking the early shift at your internship, volunteering to help with the chores - you find yourself subconsciously making excuses to be around him whenever he’s scheduled to babysit.
You’ve probably learned everything there is to know about the man by now - from the way he likes his eggs (sunny side up) to that time he accidentally dyed his brother’s hair neon pink while trying out a recipe for homemade hair dye.
Likewise, Choso happens to be the only one who knows that you were the one that accidentally caused that flood in your dorm that required five floors and two plumbers to resolve.
At this point, Choso’s at your house more often than not - where Choso is, there is you, and where you are, there is Choso. And your brother…and sometimes Yuji, but semantics.
“Semantics” are probably why you find yourself rushing home straight from your internship, ignoring every invitation for an after-work drink - to see your brother, of course. No other reason - definitely not because of the way Choso will inevitably be there too. Or because of the way his smile makes something strange coil in your stomach. Or-
Okay, maybe you speedwalked up your driveway faster than usual a little bit because of Choso. But as you’ve said - semantics.
Yet, sometimes you even think there’s a familiar flicker of something more in those dark eyes.
…
Nahhh.
Stepping into the yard, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the deafening sounds of splashing, a smile tugs at your lips at the awfully wholesome view that greets you.
Your brother and Yuji are locked in a fierce battle, water guns being brandished like the most seasoned warriors.
And Choso - towering over everyone else - was at the epicenter of the chaos, his laughter booming over the commotion. Shirtless. Again.
His bare, tattooed torso gleams in the light, muscles flexing with each movement as if sculpted by the gods themselves. Droplets of water glistening on his dark hair like diamonds in the fading light.
Traitorously, your cheeks burn as you step closer, desperately trying to rip your gaze from the milky abs peeking out and the tantalizing glint of metal winking so sinfully at you under the sun.
So he does have nipple piercings.
God, you have to get your mind out of the gutter.
As you approach, Choso’s grin widens, a playful sparkle dancing in his eyes. Without hesitation, he scoops up a large water balloon and takes aim, launching it with frightening accuracy in your direction.
The icy water hits you before the realization, and you squeal in surprise as the balloon connects right with your chest, seeping into your shirt. Glancing down with a startled laugh, you realize a moment too late that your once-pristine white shirt is now completely see-through.
Heat rushes to your cheeks, but the damage has been done. Smug bastard, you think, glancing up at Choso, slightly red-faced yet wearing a sly grin as he surveys the aftermath of his well-aimed shot.
“Shoulda just told me if you wanted a peak, you lecher. This shirt was expensive, y’know.” you call out, mock-glaring at the man that stood so infuriatingly beautifully in front of you.
Choso throws his head back in a laugh that makes something tingle all the way down from your toes to your burning cheeks. “Maybe you shoulda just kept your guard up, sweetheart,”
You scoff, “Maybe you should stop being a distraction then.”
His grin widens, reaching for another nearby water balloon, “S’not my fault you’re so easily distracted. No need to be a sore loser.”
“Oh, it’s on now.”
“Well, well, looks like we have a new contender in the water war,” Choso remarks mischievously to the kids, gesturing towards you. Yeah, really smug bastard.
Ah, what the hell. This shirt was on sale anyway.
---
Now, Choso knows you’re hot - always has.
Ever since that first day he moved in next door, when he stumbled upon you sunbathing in your backyard wearing that sinful bikini. And, well, after hours of moving boxes upon boxes of Yuji’s dumbbells, the mere sight of you was like the gates of heaven spread wide open for him.
But, especially now - all drenched and disheveled. Your shirt sticking to your curves like a second skin in all the ways that should be illegal - and also makes some strange part of him slightly jealous. Beaming smile directed right at him - shit, this might as well just be the final nail on his coffin. Death by you.
Amidst the chaos and confusion, you're a force to be reckoned with. Choso can barely tear his eyes off of you, breathless and victorious in pure adrenaline-fueled bravado, declaring “Beg for mercy and I’ll let you off easy, Choso.”
“Kinky, but absolutely not, sweetheart.”
Clutching a particularly large water balloon, raising your hand high high high - hurtling it straight at him with an unapologetic smirk, “Then, better run for your life.”
Oh? Maybe Choso was a masochi- what was that-
A flash of his favorite lacy pink, your poor buttons faltering at the sheer force of your throw. Choso doesn’t even feel the cold splash! square on his chest as he’s drenched icily from head to toe. Too transfixed.
Too focused on trying not to make it obvious he’s mentally calculating the chances of your shirt coming off altogether…
Eyes locked on the sliver of soft skin peeking out at him. Only registering you and the traitorous rush of heat flooding his cheeks - and his cock - as he averts his gaze, internally smacking himself for letting his thoughts wander into such dangerous territory.
Both thanking and cursing the gods above, Choso realizes with a pang that he’s not just screwed, he’s absolutely twisted, tangled, and tied up in knots.
So utterly screwed, in fact, that he probably needs to make a quick run to the bathroom now.
Like, right now.
Shit.
With a muttered excuse of a bathroom break, each step more urgent than the last, Choso can’t help but wonder if the water balloon incident was some sort of cosmic punishment for his wandering thoughts. Some divine intervention from his ancestors for being such a pussy around you all these years.
And as he slams that bathroom door closed, bunches his pants bunched underneath his heavy balls, and takes his throbbing cock in his hands, Choso thinks he might just see the gates of heaven - well, at least he’ll be able to give his ancestors a piece of his mind there.
With a groan, he leans against the closed door, eyes scrunching shut as he takes his swollen cock in his fist. Leaking hot precum and glistening in the dim bathroom light. He grips the base tightly, pulsing and achingly hard for you.
Cold rings searing against his skin, Choso wastes no time - wanting to get this over with and join you again more than anything - starting up a hasty, desperate pace up and down his length that makes his knees buckle. Tighter on the base, just teasing his furiously flushed tip. Pink. Pink to match your bra.
With you so sinfully soaked through, wearing that goddamn lacy bra out there, Choso wasn’t as strong a man to possibly get you out of his mind. He can’t help but imagine your sultry smile, how it would look wrapped around his cock.
Arm straining now, a shiver runs down his spine - all the way to his throbbing erection. “Shit.” he breathes, “J-jus’ like that, sweetheart.”
Head only filled with you, and your lips and you-
He milks his base tighter - would you take him all in one go? Look up at him with those beautiful, teary eyes as you choke around his cock?
One hand pulls in urgent, jerky little moves that have his hips bucking into his fist. The other reaches up muffle the fucked out moans leaving his swollen lips. God, it would take everything it had in him to not fuck up into your pretty lil’ mouth. Watch you cock-drunk and taking him so well.
Or maybe…
Eyes rolling to the back of his head, Choso fights back a groan as he reaches a hand up to teasingly thumb under his slit. Delicate beads of precum dripping onto the cold tile with a deafening drip! drip! drip! Smearing at the way he rubs maddening little circles under that one spot, grazing his sensitive veins.
Maybe you’d be a a fucking tease - run your tongue under his pulsing head so agonizingly slow. Knowing you, you’d probably pull away as soon as he bucks his hips into your mouth. Lips swollen and glossed prettily with his precum as you whisper, “Now now, baby. If you don’t act like a good boy then you won’t get to cum~”
“Sh-shit, hah-” Choso thinks he’s going insane, he can practically hear your hums as you kiss along his length, tongue darting out to trace his throbbing veins so obscenely. Flicking at his sensitive head. Eyes sparkling - ready to positively devour him.
All for him.
It’s too much.
“Ah- Ngh, fuck.” he moans hoarsely, letting out a low, fucked-out little call of your name. “More. Need m-more, sweetheart.”
Body shuddering violently, sweat dripping from his brow, Choso’s thighs quiver as he fucks his fist at an almost-animalistic pace. Chasing his release with reckless abandon.
Choso’s heart pounds wildly in his chest as he tries - and fails - to maintain control. Raspy whines of your name escape through the crevices of his fingers, cracking ever-so-slightly in a way he knows he’d be embarrassed about if he was in a better state of mind.
Giving up his futile attempt, long fingers snake down below to cradle his balls in a way he knows you’d do better. Tugging and pulling at a jerky rhythm that matches his hand.
Some tiny, practical part of his brain hopes - prays - that you won’t call off the water fight early and come up to check on him. He knows he should hurry up, he knows he’s fucked if you ever found out. Shit, he should bake you apology cookies tomorrow.
But fuck are so you perfect for him. Voice so pretty and eyes so warm as you turn your gaze to his undeserving self. He’d kill to see if you still look at him that way when - if - he absolutely ruins you.
Would you be able to take all of him? Would you pout adorably until he shoves his dick down your throat? Gagging as he hits the back of your throat over and over - oh how Choso would love to mess up your mascara. He’d fucking tattoo your lipstick stains on his dick if he could.
“Cum f’me, baby.” you’d mewl, and shit would he burn down this entire world to hear you call him that. “Mm, fill me up with your cum, wan’ taste you, baby-”
“Fuck,” he curses again, voice thick with need, and tight balls twitching so sensitively. “Fuck...fuck fuck fuck. M’gonna cum- shit- gonna cum, sweetheart.”
You - all see-through white shirts and lacy bras that drive him wild. Giggling with the audacity of someone who isn’t making him slowly lose his sanity. You with prettily lips painted white with his seed. Cum and saliva mixing into a lewd pool on the sterile tile as you suck the soul out of him.
You.
And then he’s cumming.
A raw, drawled-out keen of your name and he’s spilling into his fist. Thick, hot spurts of cum that paint his palms white in a way he wishes he could do to you. And behind his closed eyes all he sees is you - you you you-
You, dragging out his orgasm so torturously, lips decorated with his seed, dribbling down to your lacy pink bra, gushing so lewdly down your ready throat. You with your eyes dazed, lips swollen and quirking up into a fucked-out smile as he does so well for you - cumming, all for you.
You, with your wide eyes and disgust on your face as you realize just what he’d been doing on this suspiciously long “bathroom break”.
Shit.
Body still twitching with the shockwaves of probably one of the Top 5 orgasms of his life, Choso all but collapses against the bathroom door, panting heavily, utterly spent. For a moment, he lies there, wondering if this is what heaven truly felt like.
But as the euphoria of his high ebbs away into nothing but mere tingles, a slight wave of nausea crashes over him.
Sighing, Choso reaches for the paper towels, ready to clean up his mess. If only you were there to milk him dry then he wouldn’t have to-
…
God, he was definitely baking you apology cookies tomorrow.
Now, when it started drizzling shortly after Choso left, you took it upon yourself to usher the kids back home and hand over his t-shirt personally like the good samaritan you are - out of the goodness of your heart, of course.
Not for any reason whatsoever because you were hoping to get at least one more glimpse of those sinful nipple piercings up-close.
…
Okay, perhaps there was a slight ulterior motive involved.
Either way, what you’d expected was for a flash of silver as you handed over his drenched t-shirt. Or maybe that familiar easy smile to warm you up from the icy water.
Literally anything but to find yourself frozen outside the bathroom door, cunt dripping, and ears ringing with the muffled echoes of his pornographic groans.
At first, completely mortified, your fight or flight instinct had kicked in as you realized just what those rhythmic, fucked-out little grunts meant. Only for you to choose neither option - staying rooted to your spot with the utterance of one, simple, word - your name.
Confusion whirls in your mind almost as much as the throbbing in your cunt, knees weakening. Heart thumping louder and louder in your ears at each whine of your name. Shivers running down your spine - all the way to your wet cunt as it really sets in that this was Choso. And he was fucking his fist in your bathroom. To you.
And you didn’t mind?
In fact, you find yourself leaning against the door, thighs squeezing together - mere inches away from where you imagined him slumped against it. Soft strands sticking to his forehead, cock hot and heavy, aching for release. Ragged breathing as if caught off guard by the intensity of his own pleasure. Broken whispers of your name leaving him over and over-
Really, you know you should give him your privacy. But if the white-hot ropes of pleasure running up your spine are anything to go by then, well, is it really that bad?
You have half the mind to just reach down down down - just a little release. Almost jealous of Choso-
Click!
You’re sure you could rival Usain Bolt with the way you ran down those stairs. Cheeks flaring, his damp t-shirt still clutched tightly in your hand. Mind racing with only one thought - this little fuck wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.
---
You can barely remember what transpired after your little discovery. You couldn’t decide who looked more dazed - you or Yuji, who was being practically dragged out that front door as Choso exited hastily with vague mentions of baking and cookies
And in the ringing silence that followed after that front door slammed, you couldn’t help the smirk that found itself onto your face. This was going to be fun.
But if there’s anything you’ve learned about Choso - it’s that even after twenty-something years on planet Earth, that man can not take a hint.
You somewhat had an inkling after the fifth time you decided to sunbathe in just a skimpy bikini at exactly when you knew he’d be watching. Well, you might not have gotten any reaction other than an extremely flushed face at the window, but at least you knew he’d have more very fun bathroom breaks.
Hell, one time you even bought ice lollies for the whole house - but especially Choso. Making sure those dark eyes followed every lick and trail of it dripping down your fingers under the scorching summer sun. Ultimately resulting in nothing more but a heavy gulp and for his ice lolly to hit the grass faster than it could even begin to melt.
Ugh, should you get your brother to start another water fight? That went down well last time.
It’s only after another failed attempt at trying to get him alone and a few hours of deliberating whether you should ship your interrupting brother off on a cruise too that you realize you have to get out the big guns.
“The big guns” being stealthily organizing a sleepover for your brother at the Itadoris, then inviting Choso over for a movie night. Simple, right? And, well, if anyone asked, you could just say the movie just so happened to be rated R.
It wasn’t too hard to convince your brother that a sleepover with Yuji would be the best thing since sliced bread. The excitement in his voice palpable as he agreed, not suspecting a thing.
You just didn’t think it would be even easier to convince Choso to come over with a simple playful text of “Netflix no chill. Haha jk…unless?” But then again, when has Choso not surprised you?
And that night, as your brother eagerly headed off to Yuji’s place, you couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of guilt - but, hey, it was for a good cause, right?
It’s a win-win either way - your brother gets to spend the night with a friend and you get to be here, so achingly close to Choso on that couch. So close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, stealing glances at his sharp profile as the conversation flows easily about the movie playing on screen.
Shifting ever-so-slightly closer, electricity crackling between you two was palpable. You smile in anticipation, after all - you weren’t lying about the movie being rated R.
Now, Choso certainly didn’t come over to your house tonight expecting a wholesome rerun of Cars 2. However, he also wasn’t expecting the blockbuster action movie to suddenly unfold into something so steamy.
Goddamn lecherous directors and their goddamn pervy movies.
Eyes firmly trained on the ground, instead of the actress currently fake-moaning dramatically onscreen, Choso tries to ignore the subtle shift of your hips or the way the temperature in the room has currently increased by about 10 degrees. Or the way your moans would sound a million times prettier in his ears.
Alas, Choso was not a strong man, and he especially tries to will away the blood rushing straight to his cock right now - but how could he? You were such a vision of temptation, so close and warm and close to him on the couch.
This was absolute torture.
“God, this is so painfully fake. Don’t you think so?” your voice rips through the deafening silence between you two, tone careful and balanced, startling Choso out of his little reverie.
His eyes flicker hastily to meet yours, and for a moment, he seems caught off guard by your sudden interruption. “Oh, yeah.” voice rough with a hint of nervousness. “I’ve seen better performances in middle school plays.”
You nod, the tension between you thickening as you lock eyes. “I mean, who even writes this stuff?” you continue, leaning in even closer to Choso, words positively dripping in sarcasm. “It’s like they’ve never actually had sex before.”
Choso lets out a shaky laugh, the sound strained as he shifts subtly in his seat - but not subtly enough. Because you catch the way he desperately tries to adjust his now-uncomfortably tight pants. Success.
“Yeah, exactly,” he clears his throat, ripping his gaze away from yours.
You study him for a moment under the dim lighting, noting the way his hands clench and unclench in his lap, the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to control his breathing. He was nervous. Nervous and horny - exactly where you wanted him.
A sudden rush of adrenaline courses through your veins, and you lean even closer to the man. Not even a hair’s breadth between you two - you relish in his strangled gasp as your tits press so enticingly against his arm.
“Choso, just a thought.” you hum casually, lips mere inches from his ear. “Wanna recreate the scene better?”
His breath hitches at your words, muscles rippling so deliciously beneath your touch. “Do you know what you’re saying?” he rumbles, lowly. Eyes darkened and unreadable.
You smile, heart pounding against your chest as your lips brush against his earlobe. “Absolutely.”
It was like something snapped.
Because then he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him. Because goddammit you haven’t spent the last month sneaking glances at those pretty lips for nothing.
Movie completely forgotten, Choso is warm under your touch - all sculpted chest and urgent pulses as his lips kiss you dizzyingly. Groaning lowly as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.
He breathes you in with an infectious desperation that bleeds into his hands, wandering every inch of your skin - as if he didn’t have enough time. And he probably didn’t. Distantly, Choso thinks that no time in the world would be enough to absolutely fucking wreck you the way he wanted to.
Large, hurried hands grope your chest, squeezing so teasingly in a way that almost made you think he was trying to feel out what bra you were wearing - lacy pink. His favorite, of course.
You minx.
Urgently tugging the hem of your tight shirt over your arms, Choso tosses it god-knows-where. Mouth watering as he pulls away to greedily take in the heavenly view of your heaving chest - the same one he’s shamelessly fucked his fist to for too long.
God, you were perfect. With a soft, little oh! Choso leans down to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses on every bit of exposed skin he could reach. Nipping, and tugging lightly. Relishing in the way you whine for his lips again.
Threading a hand through his soft hair, you lightly pull him back to you. Breath fanning his face, lips ghosting over his own.
“Kiss me, you fool.”
And, well, Choso didn’t have to be asked twice. Molding his mouth against yours once more. Letting your lips part, you intertwine your tongue so sinfully with his. He tastes just like he looks - so intoxicatingly delicious.
With a breathy sigh, he lightly taps the curve of your ass. Hands lingering for far longer than necessary, kneading the flesh in a way that has your skin searing.
You get the signal. Urgently, you loop your legs around his waist. “Choso- bed.” you whisper, muffled in-between kisses. “Now.”
Shivers run down your spine at the way he chuckles darkly, “Honestly, sweetheart. I don’t even hah- know if we’ll make it there.” Mumbling against your lips, “Would you kill me if I take you right here right now?”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t fucking do something.” you hiss, words dripping in desperation. Ah, but Choso, ever the merciful man, shuts up whatever other retort on the tip of your tongue with his own. Kissing you with almost-bruising intensity as he gets up from his seat. Strong arms securely wrapped underneath you, holding you flush against his warm skin.
Choso doesn’t pull away even once as he hastily makes the route to your room. And honestly, with the speed at which your back hits the soft mattress, bouncing at the sheer force at which you two fell on top, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he teleported there.
Now safely in the confines of your room, you all but rip off Choso’s snug t-shirt. Those familiar obscene nipple piercings winking at you under the dim lighting in greeting.
“Always wanted to do this.” you murmur, surging forward as if on autopilot. Lips latching delicately onto the pretty pink nipples, tasting the cold metal on your tongue.
“Oh- oh, fuck. A-always knew you had a thing hah- f’my piercings, sweetheart.” Choso breathes out, letting you have your fun. His favorite bra now at the foot of your bed. Fingers deftly sneaking under your skirt, blood rushes straight to his cock as he feels the positively soaked state of your panties - if you could even call them that.
Sanity snapping, he immediately flings off your skirt. Throwing it somewhere across the room with no care or concern for where it ends up. All so he could look down at oh-
Oh god, if you had to describe Choso’s face as he takes in the sight before him - it would be absolutely losing his sanity. Your pussy dripping and clenching around nothing - all for him.
Strings of slick trail down your thighs as Choso hooks one, long finger under your slutty g-string, tugging impatiently.
You keen as the cold air hits your dripping cunt. Yet Choso’s eyes stay locked hungrily on the sticky fabric intertwined around his fingers “Guess you were expecting this, huh?” he murmurs, voice thick with desire.
Scoffing, you buck your hips up for something - anything. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since that first night I hit on you, y’know,” you admit, the heady air of your room melting away any reservations you had previously.
And that seems to snap Choso out of his trance - eyes flickering over to you, darkened with something so carnal that it makes your cunt throb. “Oh yeah?” he mumbles, swiftly stuffing the g-string in his pocket before leaning down, hot breath hitting your ear. “Now, what was that pick-up line you were gonna say that night?”
You gasp in embarrassment, heat flooding to your cheeks at the memory. “Wha- that doesn’t matter. I was drunk and-”
Smack!
The delicious sting on your ass hits you before the realization that Choso smacked you. He smacked you. Even later do you realize that you like it - slick beading so obscenely at your sloppy hole.
“What was it, sweetheart?”
You shudder at the tone that leaves no room for argument. The words tumbling out of you as Choso caresses soothingly over the handprint on your ass. “I- it’s stupid. I was gonna say that I’m down to sit on your face, baby.”
“Thought so,” he grins, pulling away from the dizzying proximity. Shifting - well, more like manhandling - you to flip positions.
God, you could almost sink into his muscles as he lays back on your bed. Voice low and dangerous as he utters words that go straight to your dripping pussy, “Now, sit on m’face.”
And before you know it, you find yourself hastily straddling Choso’s pretty face. Hands snaking down his milky abs, lips kissing along his tattoos, catching purposefully on his sensitive nipples.
Warm breath fanning your quivering cunt, he reaches up to cup your ass, nudging your needy core to his mouth. Kneading. Groping.
Not stopping his ministrations even when your slick oozes slowly, torturously through your swollen folds and onto his awaiting tongue. A maddening drip! drip! drip! ringing in your ears above your thundering heartbeat.
Choso groans at the mouthwatering sight above him. You - spread so shamefully open for him and clenching around nothing.
“Luckily for you, sweetheart, wanted you to sit on m’face ever since I saw you.” sweet juices flowing down his throat, words muffled against your throbbing lips.
He barely even gets the words out before he’s surging forward. Licking a long, languid stripe up your heated folds. Again. And again. Faster at the pretty moans that spill from your lips.
Pushing his tongue in between your slit, past that first, tight ring of muscle. Bullying it deeper and deeper. Chin pressing against your throbbing clit, ravaged at each movement of his face.
He caresses your warm walls, relishing so filthily at the way you clamp down on him in surprise. “Hngh- oh shit, baby. Ah-”
Your sweet moans are music in his ears and shit - you called him “baby”. It’s as if every wet dream he’s ever had has come to life as Choso dips in and out at a ruthless pace. Pulling out to tease your dripping entrance, pushing past mercilessly into your plushy walls. In and out in and out in and out-
His cock strains so painfully against his pants at the way your sloppy hole sucks his tongue in so obscenely - almost as if it hurts to part. Tongue fucking you the way he wishes he could with his cock right now.
“Oh- Hah- Choso! Fuck, baby. S’good.” your body arches into his absolutely depraved tongue.
Desperate whines spilling incessantly from your mouth at the way he quirks his tongue up just right to graze that spot he knew would have you grinding down on him for more. “Ah! Right there - jus’ like that!”
As if he knew exactly how to drive you wild. Exactly how to break you. You almost don’t notice the mindless, shallow little thrusts of his hips into your open palm. Almost.
Eyes snapping open at the tremors, you reach a hand across his quivering thighs. All the way down towards the very obvious dark patch on his pants - right where his furiously hard tip was leaking thick, relentless precum that made your mouth water.
Oh, how you’d kill to taste him - see if the rest of him is as intoxicating as his mouth is.
So you do.
Choso was so pussy-drunk in-between your thighs that you think he barely notices the way you fumble with his belt. Shakily pulling those pants down just enough to glimpse the rock-hard erection that those boxers do nothing to hide.
“Shit,” you whisper, voice strained with need.
You always imagined Choso had a big cock - but this was ridiculous. Your pussy clenches in both nervousness and anticipation as you imagined the delicious stretch of him splitting you apart on it. Breaking you.
And that’s probably when Choso notices - you clamping down so filthily on his tongue.
“Oh?” he rasps, voice sending white-hot vibrations of pleasure right up your spine. “Didn’t think you were so desperate for my cock, sweetheart. Gon’ make me cum, hm?”
Now, you’ve always thought of yourself as a woman of action rather than empty words. Which is probably why you urgently pull down his boxers. Choso’s painfully hard erection springs out, hitting his lower abs.
You take a moment to admire the long, heavy cock in your hands - a deliciously pretty pink on top, furiously leaking glistening precum. Saliva pooling in your mouth - you shove it as far down your throat as you possibly could.
Oh, how many times in his life has Choso imagined this moment right here. In the shower, right before bed, right after waking up too. You’re really a dream come to life.
A startled, strangled moan of your name leaves Choso’s kiss-bitten lips as you take him all in one go. Only to pull back and spit once- twice on his throbbing cock. The steady stream of spit cool - followed so maddeningly by the warm heat of your mouth once more. You start up a torturous, filthy pace bobbing your head up and down on his cock.
He strains his head to catch a glimpse - even just one - of your nose pressed against his pelvis. Breathing in the heady scent at the tufts of hair at the bottom, already wet with precum and spit. His dirty girl.
Popping off with a lewd squelch, “Feels good, baby?”
“Feels perfect.”
But he wasn’t gonna fall far behind.
Immediately attaching his lips with yours once more, Choso dives nose-deep in your dripping cunt. Rolling your throbbing clit in between his lips. Flicking his tongue along the sensitive bud in a way that makes your head feel so light. He alternates between a slow, languid torture on your clit and fucking into you unforgivingly.
Your movements stutter as you teasingly lick at his sensitive slit. The salty flavor of his precum is probably your favorite taste now. That bastard.
Reaching down, you cup his heavy balls, massaging the tender flesh in harsh, hasty circles that match your mouth down his length - up and down up and down up and-
Muffled moans and lewd squelching filling the heated room. A rhythmic, sinful cadence that both of you were losing your sanity to. Movements more frantic now. Desperate to make the other cum. Desperate to be first.
Letting out soft, raw grunts, Choso fucks up his throbbing erection into your mouth. Your eyes water as his tip abuses the back of your throat. And it makes you wish you could see how messy he looked right now. All smudged eyeliner and slick-glossed lips.
Gagging around him, a mixture of drool and precum drips sinfully down the corner of your mouth as you increase your pace, pooling messily on his lower abs. Sloppy - so sloppy.
So it only made sense that your orgasms were the same.
Pleasure dizzyingly overwhelming, you gush around Choso’s mouth with a stifled squeal. Stars behind your eyes, vision blurring, mind blanking - the only things you register being the languid tongue lapping up at your sweet juices and the guttural groan of what sounds like your name as Choso shoots thick, hot spurts of his cum down your throat.
Throat burning as the salty taste fills your senses, you milk his cock for more more more- his dick pulsing and stuttering in your mouth. Cum staining the fresh sheets below - a problem for later.
Right now all you were focused on was riding out your high, grinding almost animalistically on Choso’s pretty face.
You’ve barely removed yourself from him with a lewd pop! before Choso’s wrestling you back onto the mattress. Two fingers squishing your cheeks into an embarrassing pout, cold rings digging into your skin. The other hand snaking in between your thighs to play with your still-twitching cunt.
“Didn’t say we were done yet, sweetheart.” he mutters. You weren’t done - no, far from it. Because fuck a refractory period - both of you were going to take all you could get.
And before you can think of anything else, Choso is leaning down, hand prying your lips apart for him into a brutal kiss. Teeth clashing, lips bruising. He forces his tongue down your throat. Tasting himself before you barely get a chance to taste him as well.
“Hah- fuck-” you flinch as he swears into your bruised lips. “So fuckin’ sweet. You taste so good sweetheart.” The sheer debauchery and ache of his cock too much for him.
Tasting him. Tasting you. Both a heady flavor that leaves you yearning for more.
You bite down on his bottom lip in retaliation, relishing in the drawn-out groan that rumbles into your mouth at this. The kiss is feral. It’s animalistic. It leaves you feeling so fucking dirty.
And you barely recognise the dazed, predatory glint in Choso’s eyes as he pulls away, his mind clearly miles away as he spits once. Twice. Three times on your face.
The wads of saliva and cum hit your face with a warm, wet jolt. You whine at the way it seeps into your skin, dripping down your cheeks so fucking obscenely. Pooling at the sheets below in a way that makes you feel sorry for whoever had a shift at the laundromat tomorrow.
“Now, what do we say, sweetheart?”
A fucked-out, delirious smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you realize - yeah, you wouldn’t have it any other way. “Thank you.”
Not even when Choso lets out a dark chuckle, throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders and manhandling you so that you’re splayed out so shamefully for him. Dripping cunt spread for his greedy gaze and clenching around nothing - aching for him. Begging for him.
Not even when he lines up his still-rock hard cock at your entrance, tip - angry and red - weeping so desperately as he nudges at your sloppy hole. Dragging his head along your folds collecting every bead of slick, just grazing your pulsing clit. Every muscle in your body trembling and anticipating what was to come.
You mewl at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, boderling insane, and exactly what you wanted right now. Splitting you apart on his throbbing cock.
And especially not when he bottoms out inside you in one, harsh thrust. Burying himself inside your sloppy walls till his twitching balls smack against your ass.
“Ah- hngh- oh fuckkk.” you keen in both pain and pleasure - broken, raw moans leaving you uncontrollably. But not for long, because suddenly Choso’s shoving two ringed fingers in your mouth, bullying their way inside till you’re gagging and moaning around them.
Pressing right at that spot on the back of your tongue that makes your eyes tear up so prettily. Hey, if he couldn’t see you choking on his cock properly, the least he could do is see you choking on his fingers, right?
“Now now, wouldn’t want anyone else to hear, hm? Our brother’s would get worried.” he chuckles. Pure, dark amusement in his eyes as he takes in your swollen lips, the teartracks down your cheeks, how utterly beautiful and debauched you look underneath him. So much better than any lust-hazed imagination of his.
And yet, even when you’re being gagged and split apart on his cock, you find it in yourself to be mouthy. Words muffled around his thick fingers as you raise a brow. “There’s no one else home, though?.”
The corners of Choso’s lips lift into a devilish grin, “The neighbors, sweetheart.”
His tone is teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness that sends a chill down your spine. He’s just joking, right? Right?
“Wha-”
And probably because he was losing his patience - and partly to shut you up - Choso begins to move.
Pushing past the resistance, beginning to fuck into you in shallow, uncontrollable movements of his hips. Just little motions to get him off, groaning at how sinfully tight you were - the way you were sucking him up so good.
Next time, Choso thinks, reaching down a hand to draw tight, little circles on your poor, abused clit - next time he’ll fuck you right. Hours upon hours of teasing you so you don’t know what it feels like when you’re empty without him.
But fuck does he think he could just about pass out right now.
There’s no going back now. Choso fucks you in a way that makes you feel so deliciously filthy. Plunging into your heated cunt with no restraint. Thrusts positively savage.
Pulling all the way back so that his leaking tip just barely kisses your sloppy entrance, slamming down down down, Choso fucks you at a merciless pace. Relishing the delicious stretch of your cunt as he thrusts into you with a desperation that surpasses the need for reason.
“Sh-shit, sweetheart. God, s’tight. better than I ever could’ve imagined.” he moans breathlessly, brows furrowing, eyes rolling to the back of his head, the feeling of you milking the absolute soul out of him just too much.
“Oh, yeah- wanted this for so long-”
You yelp every time he rams his cock into you, the smacking of his toned pelvis against your thighs stinging almost as deliciously as his tip kissing your cervix. The obscene slapping of skin on skin makes your cheeks burn - both pairs as his heavy balls smack against your ass each time he shoves his throbbing cock into you.
And because you can’t leave him alone, of course, you find your nails digging harshly into his muscled shoulders.
Pulling him impossibly closer. You want more. You need more.
Maybe you say those words out loud - you don’t even know anymore, too delirious and cock-drunk from Choso and your last orgasm and Choso - because his eyes widen ever-so-slightly, mouth falling open into a small oh. Your cunt twitches at the surprised, fucked-out little laugh that leaves him, “More? My sweetheart wants more?”
And, as you’ve come to learn with Choso - anything you want, you will get.
“Then fucking- take it.” he grunts lowly, each word punctuated by a harsh thrust of into your plush walls that sends both of you spiraling deeper and deeper into insanity.
And God does he make you take it. Every inch of him fills you, stretching you beyond your limits - both your cunt and your senses as he leans down to bury his head into your neck, hips moving so sloppily, hiking your leg further up his shoulder. The change in angle making you see stars.
Your hips buck up in tandem with his, uncontrollable little ah! ah! ah! leaving you at each thrust. You whimper in pleasure and overstimulation into the heady room, “Yes. Yes yes yes- wan’ cum. Need more. Need you-”
“Fuck- Hngh-” is all he manages to gasp out, pleasure overwhelming his sensitive cock. Choso’s balls twitch almost painfully as they keep smacking your ass. Brain still not keeping up with his body because shit, this is all he’s wanted for years, the least he could do is make you cum before him.
“Sh-shit, sweetheart.” he rasps into your heated skin, “So close- m’ so close.”
You all but sob at his words, “M’too- hngh- ah, m’gonna cum, baby.”
You didn’t expect the petname to be what breaks him, but then again you didn’t think there was anything more left to break. Because Choso groans gutturally, cock twitching inside you “Shit, you’re driving m’crazy, y’know that?”
“I know.” you mewl, voice breaking at the way he increases his frenzied pace on your clit. You could barely even call them circles, just filthy little movements to get you closer and closer to the edge. So close. You writhe beneath him, desperate for release.
And what you didn’t expect was for Choso to connect his sweaty forehead with yours. You take a second to admire just how beautiful he is - all smudged eyeliner, tousled hair, your release still shining on the lower half of his face, and yours. All yours. You could probably stare at the sight forever.
Choso’s hot breath fans your face as he moans breathlessly against your lips, words slurring together as he ruts into you mindlessly, “Always did, y’know?”
“I know.”
“No- y’don’t hah- understand, I- for so long fuck- I-”
“Choso, just kiss me.”
And then you’re kissing him. And he’s kissing you like you’re the most precious thing on Earth. A slow, tender little dance that doesn’t match the way he rams his cock inside you.
And then you’re cumming. Stars behind your eyes - or maybe those were tears - clamping down desperately on the harsh, jerky movements of his glistening cock that fuck you so sinfully like his little slut.
White-hot pleasure runs down your spine, or maybe that was Choso - painting your insides the prettiest white you’ve ever seen. Shooting thick, hot ropes of his seed into your waiting pussy. A creamy ring forming around his base as he spills his cum into your snug cunt as he moans against your lips.
It’s messy. It’s sloppy. And as Choso fills you to the brim, hips still unforgiving, seed dribbling out of your dripping pussy at the way it was so overfilled - you think that it’s all you could ever want.
As his cock twitches finally, exhaustedly - and you distantly wonder how the fuck it isn’t seizing up - Choso collapses onto you, thoroughly fucked-out. Finally pulling out with an obscene squelch, you hiss lowly at the pool of cum that forms beneath you. Gushing out of you sinfully.
A weighty silence in the air as you both try to catch your breaths.
In the haze of your orgasm you realize that even after all that transpired, he still isn’t laying his full bodyweight on you.
Too afraid to break you.
To break whatever this tender little understanding in the air was.
And it makes some part of your heart clench so delightfully. Subconsciously, you thread a hand through his damp hair, breathing in that familiar smell of vanilla and sunshine - and the heady scent of something so Choso. It makes you intertwine your body so impossibly close with his, not knowing where one of you ends and the other starts.
“My parents are coming home tomorrow.” you start, casually.
“Mhm. But I’ll still be around here, sweetheart.” Choso rumbles into the crook of your neck. Kissing soothingly over the marks he’d made in the heat of the moment - some carnal little part of him proud of the way you looked like you were fucking thrown to a pack of wolves.
Words hiding a tense little fear beneath them as you probe further. Something prickly and scared rolling around in your stomach. “For babysitting?”
“Nope.”
Settling deeper into the covers, basking in the afterglow of him. You know you should get up and clean, but right now this was all you wanted. And maybe no other words were needed.
“God, am I glad your parents aren’t home.”
Except maybe those.
You chuckle as you pull back to stare into those deep, dark eyes. Cheeks flaring at the tender little warmth in them much more than they had when he was fucking you so sinfully. A devious idea coming to mind - because now that you got a taste, you were absolutely hooked.
Choso Kamo was absolutely intoxicating.
“Well, we still have time so how about-”
A distant click!
“Honey, we’re home~!”
Shit.
A/N. Fun fact this was originally supposed to be called Timeout! but it was giving too much me during beep test.
The thing with living with a man like Simon, who's been through so much, is that you pick up habits to help the both of you. There is no tiptoeing through the house, no jumping around corners. Not like you could anyway. He's got a habit of keeping you in sight most of the time.
When he's deployed, you leave a note on the fridge saying where you've gone, in case he comes home without telling you. Sometimes you leave more information, like what time you should be home, which of your friends you left with. Sometimes its just the location and a reminder to take care of himself.
You started doing this after the first (and only) time it happened. You had been out with friends, when he'd returned home from deployment. Home to an empty house. Your car sat in the driveway (you'd carpooled with your friends), and Simon assumed the worst.
He'd torn through the house, desperately trying to find some sort of evidence that you were still there. That you hadn't been kidnapped, or left him. His search ended empty handed, and he'd had a panic attack in the bathroom, reliving the events of losing his family.
You came home thirty minutes later, almost giddy when you'd seen his truck in the driveway. That feeling quickly evaporated, when you stepped inside the house. It looked like a tornado had swept through, living room torn apart, all the kitchen cabinets thrown open.
"Simon?" you call, setting your bags down by the front door.
You've never been scared of Simon, never had a reason to be. But when he came out of the bathroom, staring you down, eye black smeared across his face, looking more like Ghost than Simon, you suddenly understood why people gave your boyfriend wide berth.
"Simon?"
He doesn't respond, backing you up against the door. When he reaches out to gently caress your face, you notice his hands are shaking.
"Thought something happened to ya," he whispers, voice hoarse. And then he's dragging you into a hug, crushing you against his chest, arms like a vice around you. It takes you a second to realize he's shaking all over, that there's tears in his eyes.
"No, baby. I was just out with friends," you reply softly, gently running your fingers through hair, nails scratching against his scalp. Guilt eats at you, feeling horrible for causing him this kind of distress. You hadn't expected him today, didn't think to leave a note or something.
"I'll leave a note next time," you promise. And that's stuck since then.
welcome to wonderland @h4wkz - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
