ruby 🩻

she/her multifandom bi

[impalaaa-67]

btww!! i’m okay with being mutuals but in the nicest way possible, please don’t message me trying to be friends!!

[seraphiism]

"told you already," arthur murmurs, the reflection of campfire flames a dull haze in tired eyes, "this life ain't meant for someone like you."

you don't answer right away-- never do, he notices. always deep in thought, always thinking ten steps ahead in a future where it's all uncertainties and unknowns. you sit shoulder to shoulder tonight, the late hours dismissed as you watch the calm orange dance before you. you adjust the blanket that covers you both, fingers carefully draping it over him just a little bit more.

"...ain't meant for someone like you, either."

a tired chuckle, then subtleties in the way he leans into you : just the slightest bit, but not too much. he can't afford to be more indulgent than he already is when it comes to you. you're already too good for him, you and that heart of yours ; he knows better than to be greedy.

"think you think too much of me, sugar."

"i think the world of you, arthur." this time, your response is immediate. no reluctance, not an ounce of hesitance, and that makes something in his chest tighten. almost makes him feel like he can't breathe, almost makes it feel something close to some kind of excruciating hurt that he can't describe. "i think you're good and kind. i think you're selfish and selfless and some kind of silly fool who doesn't think he deserves anything other than the grave he's burying himself in." you mumble, hand slipping into his, fingers intertwined.

a gentle squeeze, and maybe just the slightest waver in your voice.

you think you could talk for ages about everything you love about him. you want to, you intend to, but something in you chokes up, and the words die down in your throat, that familiar lump present in the knowing of incoming tears.

so you cut yourself short, silent as your mind races. short and sweet ; that's all he needs.

"...i want a happily ever after with you, arthur morgan. and if that's in this gang, in this camp, then so be it. wherever you go, i go. you're my home, you hear?"

you don't look at him, lips pursed, hand aching from how tightly you grasp his. but he doesn't protest, doesn't make you face him. something in his shoulders lighten, and in his heart, there is quiet relief in the knowing of being wanted forevermore.

he doesn't get you, never will. and maybe he's okay with that. maybe he won't ever understand the way you see him, but just this once, he'll allow himself to understand the sentiment in your words.

there's just the faintest smile and shake of the head as he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your skin.

"...wherever you go, i go."

[deansfreckledtummy]

salty kisses in dark rooms

pairing: sam winchester x reader word count: 1130 genre: fluff warnings and content: pda, movie theater, "i like you" notes: i wrote this in just a couple hours. i'm still trying to get back into writing, so here's something small! also for anon <3

“C’mon,” Dean practically whines from the front seat of the Impala. “You never want to do anything fun. Seeing one movie isn’t going to put us that behind.”

Sam turns to face his brother in the seat over, “are you kidding? Dean, we haven’t had a lead in weeks on this thing. It’s probably states over at this point.”

“Sam,” you reach forward to touch his shoulder, “you haven’t slept well in weeks. We’ll find the shapeshifter. But it’s laying low. We won’t know anything, we won’t find anything. I’d like to relax for one night. It’ll be fun.”

“Straight back to a motel after,” Sam concedes, “nothing else.”

“Attaboy, Sammy!” Dean cheers, turning the car around, back towards the cinema you’d passed.

You don’t really care what you’re seeing. You’d planned on taking a nap through it anyway since the three of you luckily found a theater with the more comfortable reclining seats. As you walk into the lobby, the scent of popcorn hits you like a wall, and your stomach involuntarily growls. It’d been a little bit since you’d eaten, and you’re relieved to hear Sam’s do the same.

“Wanna split with me?”

He looks down at his feet with a smile, “you heard that?”

“We didn’t get around to lunch today,” you laugh, “we were a bit busy.”

“Just a tad,” he laughs back. “Wanna drink, too?”

“Yeah, I do,” you step into the concessions line and turn to see Dean at the bar. He’d found a pretty girl, and now you know he wouldn’t be joining the two of you like you’d planned. “Check out your brother.”

Sam groans when he sees that. “Typical Dean. Think they’re gonna make out next to us the whole movie?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” you sigh, “he’s telling her there’s an extra open seat next to him right now, I bet.”

The taller man sighs and steps forward, “should’ve guessed he’d do this. How does he always find the lonely girl at a movie theater? It’s gotta be a weird superpower.”

You laugh, “the most useless power. How often have you guys stopped through a theater in the past few years?”

“This may be the third time in fifteen years.” Sam scoffs, “I do kinda miss the popcorn.”

“Me too. It’s been a long time since I had a spare few hours.”

Sam steps to the counter and orders the popcorn and two drinks. You pick up a couple packets of candy and set them down in front of the cashier.

“You can’t go to the movies without candy, Sam.”

“You two are adorable,” the teen says as they scan the two packages, “remind me of my boyfriend and I. How long have you been together?”

He answers for you, “oh, we’re… we’re not together.”

“Just friends,” you back him up, forcing a small smile. You’d been carrying a torch for Sam for a couple years, but hunters don’t have time to date. The teen sputters out an apology and steps away to grab the popcorn and empty cups.

He’s silent as he pours the butter onto the popcorn, and silent again as he fills his cup up. You hand him a straw and he smiles softly. You follow him to the seats, and shortly after, Dean’s walking hand-in-hand with the girl from the bar.

Each seat is coupled together with another, the middle arm rest lifting up so dates could cuddle close. You get to your seat, sliding down next to Sam. Dean and his mystery woman barely wait for the previews to start or for the lights to dim before starting to make out. You turn slightly so you have a shoulder to them.

“Do you mind if I put this up? We can put the popcorn down more sturdy if we do that,” Sam asks as he grips the arm rest. You nod, letting him move it.

You jab a thumb towards your shoulder, “new record?”

“Gross,” he sighs, “sorry about him.”

“I’m used to it by now.”

About halfway through the movie, you blindly go to grab a handful of popcorn at the same time Sam does. Your hands bump and you jump slightly. The movie was more engrossing than you had thought it’d be. With the glow of the screen, you see him blush a bit.

The second time your hands bump, it felt less like an accident. And the third, you know he did it on purpose. You pick up the popcorn and move it away from its spot, taking Sam’s hand. He seems to melt a little at the contact and you scoot a little closer. 

His arm moves from next to you to around your shoulders, and you curl into his solid side. He’s warm and his heart rate is picking up as you get comfortable against him. As the lead man in the movie grabs the damsel in distress, you cast a glance at Sam, looking away when he looks back at you.

“I’ve got you,” the man onscreen says, echoing Sam’s words after you get an injury in a hunt, “you’re safe now.”

The woman on the screen reaches up to his face, brushing a thumb on his cheekbone. “You’re always there. Every time I need you.”

The characters kiss and you look back to Sam once more, studying his profile in the blue-ish glow. He pulls you closer before looking back down at you. “They look a little like us, huh?”

You nod, “they do.”

His gaze drops to your lips, and then flicks back to your eyes. You tilt your head just slightly and let him close the distance. The rest of the world became a blur, you were kissing Sam, and that’s all that mattered. His lips are softer than you would have thought, more sure, and more give. His lips are salty from the popcorn and the faint taste of the diet cola hits you, too.

When he breaks away, you chase his lips for a few centimeters, wishing he hadn’t. He smirks a little before he leans back in, grabbing your face and kissing a little more urgently. Then, sliding his tongue into your mouth, a lot more urgently. 

“Sam,” you whimper as he pulls away again, “you’re always here for me and…”

“I like you.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” you grin at him. He leans back in to kiss you again. And again. And again. When the lights come up in the theater, you didn’t even realize the movie had been over. You pull away from each other and you’re almost embarrassed by the string of saliva that connects your mouth. He wipes his mouth as you quickly do the same.

“Finally,” Dean says from behind you, “took you two long enough.”

[its-djover]

NSFW // MDNI

warnings/tags: steve x reader, smut, slight degradation, one use of the word slut, mention of king steve era, this is literally just a horny thought i heard

-

thinking about dating steve after you both started working at family video, you’ve literally had a crush on him since high school and yes, that includes when he was ‘king steve.’ he was never mean to you; you were just a shy, sort of nerd who blended in well. you admired him from afar. back then you’d actually masturbate to the thought of him touching you, him being your first…

one time after a date, the two of you were sitting on his couch and you mentioned this fantasy to him.

“remember when you were king steve?” you started, mumbling softly.

the first thing he did was groan, dragging his hand down his face. “yeah…yeah i remember when i was that asshole, don’t tell me i was mean to you…was i?? im so sorry if i was—“

you cut off his rambling with a quick kiss, his eyes wide open, shocked that this was how you reacted. “you never did anything to me in school steve, i promise.” whispering as you break the kiss, “i just…want to tell you something.”

he nods his head slowly, still unsure of where this is going to go. “of course, yeah, go ahead sweetheart.”

you take a deep breath, fiddling with your skirt between your fingers. “i…i had a huge crush on you back then, like massive. and well, i can’t really say the crush ever went away but when we were like 16 it was super bad.”

steve smiles softly, “i wish i actually paid attention to you back then…”

a blush burns on your face, “well…let me finish before you say that…” you were getting really embarrassed about what you were going to say.

he nods, his mouth shut, he was so painfully perfect….

“i would fantasize about you being my first, like you’d have me in my little skirts i used to wear and humping your thigh, e-except i’d be humping my pillow pretending…but uh yeah…” you couldn’t look at him, after the words left your mouth you instantly regretted it.

steve sat there, flabbergasted, a blush moving from his neck to his cheeks as he slowly exhaled the breath he had been holding. “w-wow…now i really wish i knew you back then.” chuckling softly to himself as he ran a hand through his hair.

you whip your head around to look at him, “w-wait that’s hot?”

he laughed harder now, still nervously running a hand through his hair. “are you kidding?? you all sweet and nerdy, getting that worked up over me? wanting me to…be your first…thinking about rutting yourself on my thigh in your pretty little skirt…” his fingers gently feeling the material of the skirt you had on, you swore your heart was pounding in your ears. “why don’t you show me huh?”

you blink slowly, head cocked to the side. “now??”

steve spreads his legs out, patting his thigh. “right here baby, let’s just pretend huh? i won’t touch you until you get off on my thigh…i’ll be big bad mean stevie again for you princess.”

your whole face turns crimson, your lungs feel like the wind got knocked out of them. you nod, slowly moving from the couch to his thigh, straddling his leg, and then you start to slowly rock yourself. your hands hold tight on to his shoulders, his hands stay on your waist as you rock back and forth on his thigh. “o-ohhhh” you whine softly, your poor clit was already swollen just from talking about those memories, it was entirely different actually living this fantasy out.

“aren’t you a good little girl huh? good little girls get off on king steve’s leg like a horny little puppy huh??” he coos, hand moving from your waist to your hair, gently gathering your hair and pushing it behind your shoulders.

“mmhmmm…” you hum, rocking a little faster. you can feel the arousal oozing out of your slit, gathering in the thin cotton probably smearing all over his pants.

the most steve does to help you is bounce his leg, other than that his hands stay on your waist, fingers pressing into your soft sides. “ya want more baby? want me my fingers between those pretty thighs?” he whispers in your ear. you throw your head back, whining a loud, “yes!!”

steve clicks his tongue, shaking his head, “nuh uh, sorry baby girl, not gonna touch you until you cum on my thigh like the horny little slut you are…”

[femcmcr]

i present…… THE BOYFRIENDS!!!!!! i want to be sandwiched between them

[joekeerysbellybutton]

fellow religious kink hello!!!!! sorry if this is too gross but erm… gator fuckin reader with a rosary? any takers?? okay goodnight

Thank you anon for saying the thing I have been thinking but was too scared to say out loud ….

Gator walks in on you doing your nightly prayers and he just watches for a while. How your fingers fiddle with each bead, how your lips move as you say the prayer.

All of a sudden he’s snatching them from your hand.

“Gator! I’m not finished!” You yell at him but he’s already got his grabby hands on your panties.

“I ain’t waitin’ any longer, you look too fuckin pretty like that…. All innocent…. Makes me wanna ruin you….. give you something to pray for.”

He’s got the beads in his hand, draped through his fingers as he rubs his big palms over your thighs.

You watch with bated breath has he raises the rosary up above you, dangling it, and he slowly lowers it down to the unclothed lower half of your body. The crucifix makes contact with you first. The cool metal rests on your mound and your hips jolt into it.

Gator smirks. “Knew you’d get into it baby girl, you’re fuckin filthy that’s why you gotta pray so freakin’ much.”

He lifts the beads again and this time he lowers them he swings the cross into your pussy, you squeak when it hits sharply into the sensitive skin and gator sees you grow wetter instantaneously.

He does it again and with each hit you grow needier. Until he wraps the beads around two of his fingers and strokes through your folds.

“Gator…” you moan. The fleeing of the beads and his warm fingers rubbing you is so strangely electric. Rough yet comforting.

“You’re being such a good girl, think you deserve a little more.”

Gator then slowly inserts his bead covered fingers into you and if you thought him just stroking you was strange… this was…. alien. So foreign but so so good. The way the beads massaged at your walls, gator’s long fingers reaching so deep.

He slowly drags in and out of you, a few dangling beads graze you clit with each pump of his fingers.

“Oh…. oh god!”

“Not god, baby. Just me.”

Gator speeds up and you cry out for him as your orgasm approaches fast. He takes one of the loose beads under his thumb and rubs it over your clit which has you coming undone without so much as giving him a warning. But he knows, the way your back arches, the way you clench, pushing the beads into his fingers.

“Yeah you fuckin dirty girl, coming on your rosary beads, what would god think about that huh?”

He slowly works you through your orgasm. The beads make you squelch more than usual, the sound filling the room enough to drown out any prayers you might shout out for forgiveness.

Then he pulls his fingers from you, tosses the wet beads at you and they land on your chest.

“Better finish those prayers, angel. You got a lot to repent for.”

……… you finish the rosary with your cum covered beads while gator jerks off over you because he got so worked up…….

Big thanks to @jas-mines-things for being debaucherous with me in the dms while we thought this through

[darksuccubuss]

ꨄ︎ I just knows he uses mock sympathy (mdni..)

Ben wasn't gentle. He never was. He rode you with a relentless, punishing rhythm, his hips slamming into yours with enough force to make your vision blur. Each thrust was deliberate, heavy, and utterly dominating, designed to remind you exactly who held the leash. He watched your face intently, fascinated by the way your eyes welled up and your breath came in ragged, broken gasps as he pushed you to your absolute limit.

When he saw the first tear track down your cheek, he didn't stop. Instead, he slowed down just enough to savor the reaction, a cruel, mocking smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leaned in close, his sweat dripping onto your skin, his breath hot against your ear.

"Oh fuck, what's this?" he drawled, his voice dripping with false concern. He sounded like he was performing for an audience, faking a concern he didn't fucking feel. "Why's my beautiful little doll cryin' all of a sudden?"

He gave your hair another rough tug, forcing your tear stained face upward so he could inspect the damage. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Did Daddy get a little too rough for ya?" His laugh was rough and condescending, completely devoid of real sympathy. "Should've thought about that before you started beggin' for this shit."

Despite the mockery in his words, his cock kept driving deep inside you, punishing you for your vulnerability even as he teased you about it.

"C'mon now, don't ruin that pretty face. You wanted this, remember? You wanted to be my little good girl?."

Sorry girl I need him so much lmao🫩

[covered-in-you-now]

Shared space - Kurt Kunkle

Summary : Sharing an apartment with Kurt was supposed to be a practical decision. But after a cruel prank, pretending he was just your roommate became harder than you expected.

TW : hurt/comfort, kinda cruel prank :( smut, Kurt is pathetic and I love it

Words : 5k

A/N : Okay here it is ! once again I fumbled with the taglist sorry if I forgot your username !

Living with Kurt Kunkle hadn't exactly been part of your life plan, and neither had having a roommate, but California rent had a funny way of changing people's plans. You'd put up an ad online three months earlier after your previous roommate moved out halfway through the semester.

Looking for one roommate. Clean, pays rent on time, doesn’t mind a college schedule.

Kurt had answered less than an hour later. At first, you'd almost ignored the message because it was suspiciously too polite. He had introduced himself with his full name, listed his income and attached screenshots proving he'd paid rent on time at his previous apartment, before ending his message with : I understand if you choose someone else. Have a wonderful day regardless.

It took you a few minutes to recall the name, Kurt Kunkle, you had known him in high school, he was the guy who sat a few rows away in English class. He was always super awkward and shy, and the both of you probably had exchanged fewer than twenty sentences before graduation. After that, years passed and you had completely forgot about him up until he replied to your little ad. Now he lived with you, and the arrangement had worked surprisingly well, probably because Kurt was rarely home.

He spent most of his time driving for Spree, hoping every passenger would somehow become the video that finally made people notice him. When he wasn't driving, he was in his room either streaming or recording a video while refreshing the view count every few minutes, trying to build an audience that never seemed to grow as quickly as he wanted.

The apartment was usually quiet, the only real downside was that Kurt remained one of the strangest people you'd ever met. He struggled with eye contact, apologized constantly and asked permission for things that absolutely did not require permission. Sometimes he would knock on your bedroom door just to ask whether throwing away expired yogurt required your approval because, technically, it had been in the shared fridge.

Living with him often felt like sharing an apartment with someone who had read about social interaction instead of actually experiencing it. Despite everything, he was ridiculously kind. You had never once found dirty dishes in the sink, your mail was always neatly stacked on the kitchen counter and if you accidentally fell asleep on the couch, you would wake up with a blanket over you. He never mentioned doing any of it, he just did it. 

You were lying on your stomach across your bed, laptop balanced in front of you, surrounded by books, highlighters, and three empty coffee mugs. Your essay refused to cooperate and by now you had rewritten the same paragraph four times. “This is awful.” You whispered to yourself as you rubbed your eyes. Maybe if you looked at the screen long enough, inspiration would eventually appear, but instead, there was a soft knock on your bedroom door. “Come in.” The door opened just enough for Kurt to peek inside.

“Hey.” He stayed in the doorway, one hand still resting on the doorknob, as if he wasn't entirely sure he was actually allowed to come in. “Umm … What do you wanna eat ?” You frowned.

“What ?”

“For dinner.” Dinner ? You reached for your phone to check the time, 10:21PM. 

“Oh my God.” You sat up so quickly your laptop nearly slid off the bed. “Kurt, I am so sorry. I lost track of time with this stupid essay. ”

“I didn't wanna interrupt you.”

“Kurt, you've been waiting for me ?” He shrugged, looking embarrassed. 

“A little. I figured you'd come out eventually.” You closed your laptop and shook your head. 

“You should've come and gotten me hours ago.”

“I know you had your essay.”

“I still do but I would've taken a break.” He looked down at the floor, still standing in the doorway, not wanting to come into your space. 

“You looked busy, I didn't wanna bother you.” Your expression softened, he was always like this. 

“You're not bothering me.” He shifted awkwardly where he stood, rubbing the back of his neck. He was cute, still had that boyish look that you liked. “You've been waiting for me to eat ?” He nodded once, not quite meeting your eyes. 

“I don't really like eating alone.” Your heart squeezed, you felt bad for letting him wait that long. Usually, he would eat dinner by 7PM sharp, his internal clock was used to this, and you’ve disrupted it. 

“You could've just said that.”

“I know but…you just … looked really focused.” You smiled again, god he was so … endearing ?

“I was actually losing a fight with Microsoft Word.”

“Oh.” A small smile tugged at his lips, almost shy. You climbed off the bed and walked towards him. 

“Come on.” He stepped back to let you through. “What are we making ?” His smile grew just a little.

“I was hoping you'd decide.”

“You've been waiting three hours and you still don't know ?” He shrugged.

“I had ideas. Um … Pasta.” You laughed again, it felt so easy with him.

“That's all you've got ?”

“I was hungry.” You both laughed again, and started making dinner together, like you did everyday. 

Two weeks, you only had two weeks before your essay was due. It seemed like plenty of time, except you had been telling yourself that every day for the past week, and somehow the deadline felt closer every morning. You sighed loudly and let your forehead fall onto your desk. “This is impossible.” Maybe you just needed five minutes away from your laptop, so you pushed your chair back and stepped into the hallway. The apartment was unusually noisy, sounds of cardboard scraping against the floor and tape ripping. “Kurt ?”

“Yeah ?” He appeared from his bedroom carrying a ridiculously large box.

“What on earth is that ?” He looked down at it, smiling.

“Oh. I umm … ordered some clothes online.”

“You ? You hate buying clothes. What happened ?” His smile somehow grew wider, showing his excitement. 

“Bobby.” You resisted the urge to sigh right away. You couldn't stand Bobby, he was one of Kurt's streamer friends, or at least that was what Kurt called him. From your perspective, Bobby spent most of his time making Kurt the butt of every joke, both online and in person. Every stream seemed to end with your roommate being laughed at instead of with, but he never appeared to notice, or maybe he noticed and convinced himself it was normal. Either possibility made you dislike Bobby even more.

“What did Bobby do this time ?”

“He set me up a date.” The word caught you completely off guard.

“A date ?”

“Yeah.” His voice was lighter than usual, clearly excited. “I've never really been on one before. He said this girl watches all of my videos.” You’re not sure why, but something suddenly felt tight in your chest. 

“And you've met her already ? Or talked to her at least ?”

“Not yet.” You frowned, confused. 

“So... how does this work ?” You asked, and Kurt shrugged.

“I don't really know. Bobby organized everything for us.”

“And you've never even seen her ? Not even a picture ?”

“No, but if she watches my videos I already know she’s cool.” He said it with complete confidence, as if none of that sounded remotely unusual. You looked at him for a few seconds, something about it didn't sit right with you. Bobby organizing a blind date for Kurt without him even knowing who the girl was. It sounded exactly like the kind of thing Bobby would think was funny. You wanted to say something, but he seemed so excited about this, and maybe you were overthinking it. So you closed your mouth and just looked at him. Kurt carried the big box back inside his room and placed it on his bed. “I need help with… choosing.” He looked almost embarrassed. “I don't know what's... normal for a date.” Your heart sank a little more.

“You're asking me ?”

“You always say it when something looks bad, so I know you’ll be honest. And I wanna look good.” You just nodded, unsure why your heart was feeling so tight at the idea of Kurt going on a date with another girl. He immediately started opening the box, pulling out shirts, jeans and a jacket still wrapped in plastic. He disappeared into his bathroom with the first outfit and stepped out a minute later wearing it. “Well ?” You looked up, the jeans fit perfectly and the dark T-shirt was simple, way cleaner than what he usually wore. He shifted awkwardly under your gaze. “So ?”

“The jeans look good, they fit great.” He looked down at himself, cheeks slightly turning red. He disappeared inside the bathroom again and came back wearing a button-up, but he hadn't buttoned the sleeves correctly, one cuff was folded and the other wasn’t. You walked over before overthinking it. “Hold still, you messed this up.”

“Oh.” You reached for his sleeve and your fingers brushed his wrist as you fixed the cuff. Kurt stayed perfectly still, watching what you were doing with complete concentration. You rolled the other sleeve to match.

“There. Much better. ”

“Cool.” He smiled, his cheeks definitely redder than a few minutes ago. 

“You should keep this one. It makes you look really good.” 

“Really ? Thanks.” He disappeared back into his bathroom and you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. A few minutes later he returned wearing a light gray sweater and you stared more than you meant to. It really suited him but he looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight. “This one's itchy.” You laughed.

“So that's a no ? Shame, it looks good on you.” Kurt blinked.

“Oh.” He looked down at the sweater, then back at you. “You think so ?”

“Yeah, of course. You look really good like this Kurt.” He smiled to himself and quickly returned inside the bathroom, so you wouldn’t catch how red he was. After another few minutes, the bed was covered in neat piles : keep, return and maybe. 

“Thanks, this actually really helped. I hope she likes them too.” There, you felt it again, that small, sharp feeling in your chest, but you smiled anyway.

“I hope so too.” You headed back towards your bedroom, your essay was still waiting on your laptop.

Your essay hadn't gained a single paragraph, and you had somehow decoded to rewrite the introduction, the blinking cursor had become your worst enemy. You leaned back in your chair and let out an exasperated groan. As if on cue, another frustrated noise echoed through the apartment coming from Kurt’s room, then something hit the floor before you heard his voice. 

“Oh, come on.” You looked towards the hallway, his door was open and curiosity got the best of you. You stepped out and walked towards his room.

“Kurt ?” He looked up from his mirror to meet your eyes, immediately feeling embarrassed. 

“Oh. Umm … sorry. I was too loud, sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck while you smiled. 

“What happened ?” He gestured helplessly towards the small jar sitting on his dresser.

“I bought... hair stuff.” You looked at the containers, some hair gel and a volumizing powder.

“You don't know how to use it ?”

“I thought I did.” He looked back at his reflection, his hair was definitely a mess now.  “I definitely don’t.” You took a good look at him, he had already changed into the jeans from earlier, the ones you had convinced him to keep, but he hadn't put his top on yet, leaving him shirtless. He was standing barefoot in the middle of his room, hair damp from a shower, trying, and failing, to style it. You looked away before your thoughts could wander too far.

“Need help ?” He turned towards you right away, hope in his eyes.

“You'd do that ?”

“Sure.” His shoulders relaxed as he pulled his desk chair around and sat down in front of the mirror. You stepped behind him. “Don't move.” You scooped a small amount of product onto your fingertips. “You used way too much product.”

“I figured more would work better.”

“That's not usually how hair stuff works.” You smiled while he laughed quietly. You ran your fingers carefully through his hair, working the product through before reshaping it, all while Kurt stayed unusually still. Every now and then your fingernails brushed lightly against his scalp and his shoulders loosened a little more each time.

“It actually feels... nice.” Your thighs pressed together at his comment, and you don’t know why, it wasn’t even sexual, but him saying this combined with the feeling of your fingers in his hair made you feel a little lightheaded. You kept going, and realized Kurt hadn't said a word in almost two minutes. You looked at him through the mirror and he was staring determinedly at the floor.

“You okay Kurt ?”

“Yeah.”

“You're very quiet.”

“I'm concentrating on like …sitting still.” A laugh escaped you.

“You're doing a great job.”

“Thanks.” A few seconds later, without saying anything, Kurt reached towards his bed, grabbed the nearest pillow and settled it across his lap while he waited for you to finish. You didn’t really register it at first, but then your eyes dropped where he was trying to hide himself. Was he getting hard from you brushing his hair ? No way, you were being ridiculous, maybe he was just getting confortable. 

“You've got a weird cowlick back here, but I think it’ll be fine like this.” You stepped back, admiring your work. Kurt slowly looked up at the mirror, his hand reached for his hair before stopping halfway.

“…Wow.” He turned slightly towards you and you smiled when his eyes met yours. 

“You're really handsome like this.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and Kurt froze completely, ears and cheeks turning pink. He looked down at the floor again, suddenly embarrassed. 

“…Thanks.” His voice came out quieter than usual, and he still wouldn't look you in the eyes.

“You're welcome.” You gave his shoulder one light pat. “Good luck tonight.” He nodded once and you slipped out of the room before either of you could make the moment any more awkward.

About twenty minutes later, three careful knocks landed against your bedroom door. “Come in.” The door opened and Kurt stood there with one hand still on the doorknob. He'd put on the gray sweater, the itchy one from earlier. “You kept it.” He looked down at himself.

“You said it looked good.” Your heart squeezed inside your chest.

“It does.” He smiled shyly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

“Hmm… I should probably go. I’ll...” He gestured vaguely towards the hallway. “Be back later I guess.”

“Okay.” You forced a smile. “I hope it goes well.”

“Me too.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he just nodded. “See you later.”

“See you.” He quietly closed the door behind him. You waited until you heard the front door shut, only then did you let yourself fall backward onto your bed. Your essay was still open, the cursor was still blinking, but somehow, concentrating felt even more impossible than it had an hour ago.

You weren't hungry, not even a little, but sitting in your room imagining Kurt across town, laughing with some girl you had never met, wasn't helping either. So, you forced yourself downstairs, the apartment feeling strangely empty without him. You opened the fridge and settled for leftover pasta.

When you were done, you rinsed the bowl, carried it to the dishwasher, and wandered into the living room. You turned on the TV, not really paying attention to it. You were thinking about Kurt, about the way he had smiled before leaving, about the gray sweater, about how nervous he looked standing in your doorway. You leaned your head back against the couch cushions and sighed.

Less than an hour had passed when you heard the front door unlock. Your head snapped towards the hallway as fast footsteps crossed the apartment. You barely caught a glimpse of him as he hurried past the living room, head down, not even noticing you were sitting there. He took the stairs two at a time and a second later, his bedroom door slammed hard enough to shake one of the picture frames on the wall.

The date couldn't have lasted more than forty-five minutes, maybe less. You wanted to get up and see what happened but decided on leaving him alone. If he'd wanted to talk, he would've stopped. Instead, you unlocked your screen and opened Instagram, mindless scrolling sounded easier than overthinking. The first story belonged to Bobby, you wanted to skip it but tapped it anyway. 

A screenshot filled your screen, a YouTube thumbnail. Kurt was sitting alone at a restaurant table, and across the image, huge white letters. 

I MADE MY UGLY FRIEND BELIEVE HE HAD A DATE 😂

Your stomach dropped as you clicked on the link. Bobby's voice came through your speakers before the picture even appeared. “There he is.” Laughters as the camera focused. Kurt sat alone near the restaurant window, a bouquet of flowers rested beside him. He had clearly tried to fix his hair one last time and kept checking the entrance every few seconds, looking up whenever the door opened.

Behind the camera, Bobby snorted. “He's been sitting there for twenty minutes.” Someone else laughed.

“I can't believe he actually dressed up.” The camera zoomed in as Kurt looked at his phone, typed something and waited.

“He even brought flowers.” Another voice said, and they all laughed together.

“Oh my God. He really thought somebody wanted him.” More laughter. Your chest tightened painfully seeing him like this. On the screen, he smiled politely at a waitress who stopped by his table, probably asking if he wanted to order. He shook his head and pointed towards the empty chair. 

The timestamp in the corner jumped, thirty-four minutes. Bobby whispered to his dumb friends next to him. “Alright, let’s go.” The camera started moving as three of them walked straight towards Kurt's table, still laughing. He looked up, smile disappeared when he saw the camera pointing at him. 

“What are you doing here ?” Kurt asked and Bobby burst out laughing.

“No way you actually came.” The others joined in immediately.

“Bro even bought flowers !”

“You really thought some random girl was into you ?” Kurt looked between them, confused. 

“What ?” He asked, eyes glassy. 

“There is no girl dumbass, there never was.” More laughter. “You seriously believed that ?” One of them grabbed the bouquet from the table. “Should we send these to your imaginary girlfriend then ?” Another roar of laughter erupted behind the camera, but Kurt didn't laugh, he just stood there. The smile he had practiced all evening was gone. Bobby hit him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.

“Relax, man, it’s content. Everybody's gonna love this.” Kurt looked down at the flowers, then at the floor, eyes even more glassy. He blinked a few times, as if he was trying very hard not to let anyone see how badly that hurt. Behind the camera, someone laughed again.

“Dude looks like he's about to cry.” The video ended there as you stared at the black screen, heart aching. You knew Bobby was a stupid prick, but you never thought he could go this far. You couldn't stay downstairs, not after that. You climbed the stairs, stopping outside Kurt's bedroom and knocked gently. Nothing, so you knocked again. Once more, silence as you rested your hand on the doorknob.

“Kurt... I'm coming in.” You pushed the door open, he was sitting on the edge of his bed still wearing the gray sweater and the jeans. His elbows were on his knees and his head hung low enough that his hair hid most of his face. He didn't look up when you walked in, and didn’t either when you sat next to him. 

“There wasn't a girl.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“I know.”

“You saw the video.” It wasn't a question, and another long silence settled between you. Kurt let out a quiet laugh. “Guess that's... pretty embarrassing. I should've known.” He finally looked up, his eyes were red from trying hard not to cry. “I don't know why I thought...” He laughed quietly again. “I actually thought somebody wanted to go on a date with me. That's kinda pathetic.”

“Kurt, I watched a guy spend an hour getting excited because he thought someone wanted to have dinner with him. I didn't think he was pathetic, I thought he was sweet.” He blinked, finally looking at you. “I thought he spent half his paycheck on clothes because he genuinely cared about making a good first impression. And I thought the people laughing at him were the pathetic ones.” His eyes went back to the floor. 

“They laughed because I'm a loser. They’re right, who would want to go on a date with a loser ?” You reached over before you could overthink it, your fingers slipped gently around his hand. He looked down in surprise.

“Kurt, I would've liked to be at that restaurant tonight.” His eyebrows pulled together.

“What ?”

“I would've liked to be sitting across from you.” He blinked, confusion spread slowly across his face and staring at you as if you were speaking another language.

“You don't have to say that to make me feel better.”

“I'm not saying it because I feel sorry for you. Come here.” You tapped the space between you on the bed, and he sat closer to you. He looked up, his lower lip trembled slightly before he bit down on it.

“I’m twenty-three years old. And no one's ever…” He stopped, face turning red.

“No one's ever what ?” He hesitated for a few seconds before finally spitting it out. 

“No one's ever touched me. Not ever, I’m a …” He couldn't even say it, his gaze dropped to his lap, where his fingers had gone still against his thighs.

“Look at me.” You said, and he did, hiss hazel eyes still a little red. “You want me to touch you ?” His breath caught and his lips parted. And then, this sound escaped him, a fucking whimper. His whole body started trembling.

“Please. I … yes please.” The words came out broken. You reached over and placed your hand on his thigh, fingers curving slightly inward towards the seam. His hips jerked, an involuntary twitch that made him gasp. You leaned in and kissed his lips. He tried to kiss you back but it was messy and awkward, a clear sign he was telling the truth earlier, he still hadn’t kissed anyone. When you pulled back, he whined. 

“You think about this when you’re alone ?” You asked, voice dropping. He nodded frantically, reaching for your lips again. The second kiss was a little better, but still messy. “Tell me what you think about Kurt.”

“I can’t…” He swallowed hard and you pulled your hand away. He whined again, and caved in. “I think about…your hands.” He struggled to catch his breath. “I think about you coming out of the shower and your hair's wet and you smell like…like vanilla and soap and I just…” Your fingers went up his thigh to find his zipper, and he made a sound you’ve never heard another human make before, between a moan and a sob. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” He babbled, hips lifting as you worked the button free. “Every night, I…in my room, I'd just…just imagine…”

“What did you imagine ?”

“Your mouth.” His confession seemed to humiliate and electrify him equally. “Your hands, your…god, anything and everything. I'd hear you in the hallway and just…please, please don't stop…” You pulled his hard cock free, he was flushed and already slick at the tip, way bigger than expected. 

“Keep talking.”

“I can't think when you’re…” His head fell back when your hand wrapped around him. “Oh god. Oh god.” Your hand moved slow at first, loose grip sliding up, then tightening on the downstroke. His whole body arched. “You’re so…” His voice broke into a whine. “Your hand is so…it’s different than mine …I’ve never…”

“I know.” You twisted your wrist slightly on the upstroke. “You’ve never had anyone's hand on you but your own.” He shook his head desperately. 

“No, never. Only you. Always wanted it to be you. Please…”

“Please what ?”

“Please let me touch you too.” The words tumbled out of his mouth. “Please, I need to…I’ve thought about what you look like under your clothes for years, I've imagined it so many times but I know it's not the same, I don't know, please just let me…” You released him and he made a sound of pure distress.

“Stand up.” You said and he scrambled to his feet, cock bobbing out from his open jeans. His hands hung at his sides, trembling. “Go on, undress me.” For a moment he just stared, as if he wasn’t sure he heard you correctly. Then his shaky hands came up and found the hem of your t-shirt. He pulled it upward so slowly that you had to resist the urge to grab his wrists and guide him faster. His eyes dropped to your breasts, still covered by your bra, and he made a sound like all the air had been punched out of him.

“Oh my god.” 

“You’ve seen breasts before.”

“Not in real life, and not yours. You don't understand…I’ve… the things I've thought about…” He reached behind you, fumbling with the clasp. His fingers were so clumsy you almost laughed, but the sight of his desperate expression killed any humor. He finally unhooked it and you let the straps fall off your shoulders.  When he pulled the bra away, he actually staggered backward.

“Kurt.”

“They’re perfect.” His voice had gone hoarse. “You’re perfect. I knew you would be, I just knew it.” He reached out, then stopped, hand hovering an inch from your skin. “Can I…”

“Yes.” His palms cupped your breasts like they were made of glass. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, feather-light, and you both inhaled sharply at the same moment.

“You’re so soft. I didn't know… I didn't know skin could feel like this.”

“Take my pants off.” He dropped to his knees right away with a loud thud, but he didn't seem to notice. His fingers hooked into your jeans and dragged them down, taking your underwear with them, and when you were bare before him, he just knelt there, mouth open. “Kurt, you can…”

“I would literally die for you.” He cut you off, and your heart flipped inside your chest. 

“Don’t die. Fuck me instead.” His eyes snapped up to your face. 

“Are you… you’re serious… you want…”

“I want you inside me. Right now.” 

“Please.” The word had become his entire vocabulary. “Please, yes, please, I'll do anything, I'll be so good, I promise I'll be good, just please don't change your mind, please…”

“Lay down on the bed.” He moved so fast he nearly tripped over his own jeans, which were still tangled around his thighs. You watched him kick them off and lie on his bed. His cock slapped against his stomach, leaving a trail of moisture on his skin. You straddled him.

“I’m not going to last.” He warned, voice high and strained. “I’m going to…I’ve never…the second you…”

“Then you'll just have to watch me finish after you're done.” You had no idea where that confidence was coming from. His eyes rolled back before you even touched him. You positioned yourself above him, one hand wrapping around his shaft to guide him. The head pressed against your entrance, and he let out this wounded animal noise that went straight to your clit. “Look at me Kurt.” He did. His eyes were wet and his lips parted, cheeks flushed a deep red. You sank down, and the sound he made, a desperate thing that pitched upward into a whine, filled the entire apartment. His hands flew to your hips, gripping so hard you knew there would be bruises tomorrow.

“Oh god oh god oh god…” He was babbling, hips twitching underneath you like he couldn't decide whether to thrust up or stay still. “You’re so… it’s so… I can feel you, you’re so warm and wet.” You started to move and he gasped. “Please please let me come inside you, please, I need to, I've thought about filling you up so many times, please just let me…”

“Not yet.” He actually sobbed, a tear leaked from the corner of his eyes, falling down towards his ears. Your hand found your clit and you started circling in rhythm with your hips, rising and falling in a pace that was clearly destroying him. “You can’t come until I'm ready, okay ?” 

“Please please please…” His begging turned into whimpers as his hips bucked. His fingers dug into your thighs. You rode him harder and faster, feeling the pressure build low in your stomach. Every stroke made him cry out like he was being tortured.

“You can cum now Kurt, cum inside me.” He came with a moan that cracked in the middle. You felt the hot pulse of him flooding inside you, and you didn't stop moving and grinding while circling your clit, even as he squirmed underneath you, overstimulated and sobbing.

“I can’t… it’s too much, please…”

“Almost there.”

“You’re going to kill me.” He was laughing and crying at the same time, gripping your hips like you were the only solid thing in the world. You chased your high, rolling your hips down onto his still hard cock, using him. “Please.” 

You came with a gasp, your inner muscles clenching around him. He whined and you felt a second, weaker pulse of warmth inside you. You collapsed forward, catching yourself on your hands, your face hovering inches above his. He was a mess, tears and sweat covering his face. You placed a delicate kiss on his lips, and he smiled. “That was… insane.” You smiled too, and collapsed on the bed next to him. 

His arm wrapped around you as he nuzzled his face in your neck, and you knew it then and there that he wasn’t thinking about that stupid prank anymore. 

general taglist : @proooof @maaaachiii @us3r4682 @delphinemix

[nothxbb]

can't stay here ~ sam winchester x reader

set somewhere mid S10, I just finished the season and after dean beat the shit out of Charlie I thought well, what if you had to deal with the fallout of that

3k words, angst, smut, smoking a joint, dry humping with sam

summary: after dean loses it on you and Sam, you decide to leave the bunker for a while. you and Sam reunite and feelings come out to play

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

You know he hadn’t meant to do it, that if he had any ounce of control over himself, he would have cut his own hands off before hurting you. But he did do it, and you had a few days in bed to think through what the right thing to do was while you healed enough to function again. The mark of Cain was winning, and as much as you wanted to help, you couldn’t do anything if he accidentally killed you. He lost it on a hunt, attacking you and Sam after he ripped the witch you’d been chasing apart. 

Sam walked away with another strained shoulder, back in his stupid sling, and you had two black eyes and a couple of bruised ribs. You’d dragged each other back to Baby, a solemn Dean trailing you with shaking hands. He didn’t say anything, locking himself away in his room as soon as you got back to the bunker. Cas came right when you called, playing security in case Dean went dark side again. 

“I don’t think I can stay here, Sam,” you whisper softly, fighting back the tears you feel trying to build. Sam just sighs and nods, sitting on the edge of your bed with his head in his hands. “Not forever, I’ll keep digging, I just can’t keep putting myself in danger like this,” the first tear falls, you swipe it away quickly. Sam’s shoulders drop, he scoots forward to wrap his arm around you, tucking your head under his chin. 

“I understand,” he murmurs, “it’s okay, I understand.” You feel his breath stutter, know how hard this has been for him too. He doesn’t let go, holding on to you like he’s afraid you’ll never be back. “I’ll call you as soon as we fix him,” he clears his throat, tightening his arm around your shoulders. “And we will fix him,” he adds quickly, dropping a kiss to the top of your head for good measure. 

“I won’t stop looking,” you promise, hands fisting in his shirt. “Just keep me updated on him, I won’t go too far,” you suck in a breath, feeling how he nods above you. He finally pulls away, sliding back on the bed and eyeing you sadly. “I’m sorry it got to this point,” Sam whispers, pushing his hair back and swiping his own tear away. 

“Me too.” 

You turn to the door quickly, finding Dean standing with his hands shoved in his pockets. He looks haunted, eyes shining and guilty. “Dean,” you start, not missing how Sam puts his body between the two of you. He just shakes his head, “it’s okay, you’re right to go.” You stand slowly, making an effort not to shrink in his presence. “I’m not giving up on you, I just…” you trail off, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. 

Dean says your name quietly, “I’m so sorry.” He drops his head for a second, like he can’t stand to look at you, to see the damage he did. You approach him with gentle steps, seeing how he tenses. “I know,” you whisper, “I forgive you, Dean, but it can’t happen again.” He doesn’t fight when you pull him into a hug, just wraps his arms around you and takes a deep breath. You feel how his hands tremble, hear the shake in his voice when he whispers, “stay safe.” 

And then he’s gone, leaving you to pick up the pieces of the life he shattered. Sam helps you pack your bag, lightens the mood by poking fun at the romance book he finds on your dresser. “So all those times you made fun of my porn, you had this?” He laughs softly, snickering when you shove his arm and snatch the book from his hands. “It’s not porn,” you grumble, ducking your head to hide your smile, “it’s literature.” You shoot him a look and step around him, fishing out the clothes from your drawers. 

When you turn around again, he’s sitting on your bed, leafing through the book with a grin on his face. You sigh, “I’ll leave it for you to remember me by,” said with a smirk and a wink. “Take a book from the library, we’ll make it a fair trade,” he chuckles, raising his brows when he flips to a steamier scene. 

Cas knocks then, poking his head in with a frown on his face. “You’re leaving.” Not a question, just a fact. You nod, “yeah. I’m not going far, you’ve got my number.” He steps further into the room, glancing at Sam before turning to you fully. “It’s a good idea,” he states, “it’s not safe for you here.” 

Sam sets the book down, standing with a sigh. “Come on, I’ll walk you out,” he lifts your bag, following you through the bunker until you’re standing beside your car. 

“You gonna be okay?” You ask, leaning against the trunk. Sam throws your bag in the back seat and looks around, resting against the door before his eyes land on you. “I haven’t given up hope, if that’s what you’re wondering,” his brows are furrowed, mouth turned down. “He’s got a long road ahead of him, I just have to be there for him,” he shifts his weight, turmoil rolling off him in waves. 

“You’re a good man, Sam,” you smile, reaching up to swipe away a tear on his cheek. He pulls you into one more hug, laughing wetly when you let your own tears fall. “Who am I going to cry with while you’re gone?” He whispers against your temple, melting when you stroke his hair and hold him tighter. “You’ve got my number, I’m always available for a phone cry,” you sniffle, kissing his cheek and stepping back. 

He gives you one more nod, opening the car door for you. “Stay out of trouble,” he points at you playfully, offering a hand to help you in. It’s overkill, you both know it, but he needs this, needs these last vestiges of closeness before you leave him. You watch him linger in the rearview mirror, his frame shrinking with the distance and breaking your heart a little. 

—---------------------

You keep in touch, Sam sends you updates every few days, checks in to make sure you’re safe, that you don’t need help with anything. He calls you late at night when he feels too alone, talking about the movies he’s watched recently, sharing recipes he’s found online, doing everything he can to keep you with him, to hear your voice for a little longer. The first time he whispers a quiet “I miss you” across the line makes your breath catch. You whisper it back, picturing the smile that must break across his face. 

The hardest calls are the ones where his voice shakes. He reaches out when he needs someone to listen, someone who understands the weight on his shoulders. And you always listen, letting your own tears fall when he cries too hard to talk. “I’m scared,” he says after a few emotional nights, “I don’t know what to do,” he tells you like it’s the worst secret in the world. 

So you head back to Lebanon, texting him the address of the motel you’re going to stay at. You’re not surprised when he beats you there, the sight of the impala making your stomach flip. It’s only been a few months - you spent most of the time with your nose in books, hiding away in libraries between small cases - but the sense of safety that comes with seeing Baby almost takes your breath away. 

Sam is leaning against the hood when you pull up, “got you a room,” he smiles, laughing when you roll your eyes and take the key from him. You throw your arms around him, feeling the tension in your shoulders finally ease. He relaxes too, sighing as he pulls you close, like he’s been holding his breath since you left.

The setting sun casts you both in a warm light, the parking lot feeling more like home than anywhere you’ve been while laying low. Maybe it was the man holding you so tenderly, but then he lets you go, leading you to the motel room with your bag in hand. “So, where have you been?” He asks, accepting the beer you hand him from the groceries he brought along. “I spent a few weeks in Colorado,” you drop into the chair across from the couch. He follows, ignoring how the sofa creaks under his weight. 

“Found a spot with good weed, hung around for a bit until my pants started getting tight,” you smile, eyes shining when he throws his head back with a laugh. “Did you bring any with you?” He raises his brows, a small flash of interest crossing his face. You point to your bag sitting on the small table between you, “of course.”

He eyes it, biting back an embarrassed grin when you nudge it toward him with your foot. “Relax a little,” you chuckle, “there’s a preroll with your name on it.” He pokes through your bag, cheeks going red when your bra is the first thing he sees. You hide your smile behind your hand, giggling when he grumbles, “you knew that was there.” 

The joint lights easily, he takes a deep drag, blowing it out with his eyes closed. “How’s Dean?” You ask quietly. You know how he is, Sam tells you how he is every day. But you have to ask, have to wonder if he told Dean he was meeting you. “He’s okay,” Sam answers with another puff. “He’s managing, better than before but still not… you know,” he shrugs. Still not safe, still too unstable to have you there. 

Home, you find yourself thinking. He’s too unstable to have you home. 

“And Cas?” You help him out, get his mind moving to the next thing. “He’s Cas,” and that was it on him. He passes you the joint, his fingers brushing yours, and you watch how he sinks into the couch. A few pulls has you loosening up, your shoulders slumping and your head falling back on the chair. “Porn and weed, you just keep surprising me,” he smirks, taking the joint back. “Girl’s gotta have something,” you kick his foot lightly, meeting his eye with a challenge.

He’d called a few weeks ago and told you that he’d been reading your book, that he was halfway through and absolutely could not believe that you read this. “It just really paints a picture,” he snorted. But then he called a few days later and quietly admitted, “they’re so in love, oh my god.” And then he asked if you’d left any other books behind, meaning now he’d read through half of your small library, giggling over the phone with you about these stories. 

You stand from your chair and reach for your purse, emptying the contents on the bed until a book falls out. He shifts to make room for you on the couch, patting the seat until you bring the book to him. You sit close enough that your leg presses against his, watching his profile as he reads the back cover. “I just finished it last night, take it with you,” and he laughs again, turning to see you. “Thanks,” he sets the book down and leans back, resting his arm on the couch behind you. 

You don’t miss how his eyes flick to your lips for a second, how he bites his lip as he looks away. “I really missed you,” he murmurs, exhaling when you relax into his arm. You nod, “I missed you, too,” you whisper, shifting your whole body so you’re facing him. 

“Sam, I’ve had a lot of time to think -”

“I’ve been thinking about this -”

You talk over each other, freezing when you realize. “You first,” he smiles, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Yeah, okay,” you can’t help the laugh that slips out, “I’ve just been thinking about you a lot,” and something like regret sinks in. You see it in his face too, the hesitation, the doubt that you could have something so nice as love at this point. After all the shit you’d been through, all the things you’d done. 

But then you see when he accepts that he’s willing to try, to see what might happen if he takes the risk. His hand comes up to cup your face, he gives you the most lovesick eyes, and he leans in to kiss you. He takes his time, wraps his fingers around the back of your head slowly, bumping your nose gently. 

And all at once you understand what home is. It’s shaggy hair and a towering posture, it’s the smell of pine bodywash strong enough to cover the coconut conditioner, and it’s in the way Sam Winchester holds you like you’re more precious than the stars in the sky. And you laugh at the thought, feeling how he smiles against you and huffs. 

He drops his hands to your hips and pulls you to him, doing most of the work to get you over his lap. You don’t even realize you’re straddling him until he rolls your hips into his, the pressure sending a small shock through you. The moan you let out encourages him, his fingers flexing on your waist. The energy shifts, then, and he speeds up his movements, licking into your mouth and groaning when you meet him so easily. 

You’re happy to let him lead, happy to give him what he needs in this moment. He lets out a quiet whine, it’s desperate and needy and so Sam that it makes heat pool low in your stomach. Wet kisses work their way down your jaw and neck, a light bite nipping through your shirt making you grind down a little harder. He whispers your name in your ear, kissing the corner of your mouth before his head tips back. 

You feel how hard he is under you, know he could come just from this. And you feel the heat building in your core, sparks shooting through you every time your clit catches on your jeans. His name falls from your lips again and again, each thrust from him pushing you closer to the edge. He looks at you with hooded eyes, his chest heaving, his hands grip your ass with a possessive edge. 

“I’m close, Sammy,” you moan, smiling when he moans right back with a nod. “Let me have it,” he all but begs, voice strained and low. The coil snaps suddenly, ripping a whine from you and curling your fingers in his hair. He practically growls as he jerks his hips a few final times, holding you down against him firmly. When the aftershocks have finished rolling through you and he settles back into the couch again, you drop your weight on him shamelessly. He just chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and breathing into your hair. 

He ushers you to the bathroom first, going out to get his bag from the car with a sheepish look to you. He planned to stay the night before he even left the bunker. When you’re both clean and comfy, he reheats the takeout he brought, carrying it to the bed where you’re waiting for him. The domesticity of the moment strikes you both, a charged look leading him to cup your face again to plant a chaste kiss on your lips. And everything feels normal again, you fall back into your routine, the conversation flowing easily, comfortably. 

When you’ve eaten and curled up together, legs tangled in the sheets and hands moving soothingly, he gets a little melancholy. “I’ll let you know as soon as we get rid of the mark,” he mumbles, the frown on his face making you pause. Tomorrow you’ll get back on the road, keep chasing some lead a historian gave you. It would end up being nothing, and you know that, but you’ll follow every trail until that mark is gone. But you want to open the door, to trust Sam to keep you away if it’s truly too dangerous.

“I’ll start coming back more,” you promise, interlocking your fingers with his. “Float it by Dean, I want to visit next time I’m in town.” Sam shoots you the most hopeful look you’ve ever seen, “yeah?” You nod, “he won’t hulk out over dinner, especially not if I cook,” and you smile at him. He’s going to ask you to come to the bunker tonight, you’ll labor over enchiladas and laugh when Dean groans like it’s the best meal he’s had in years. 

And after dinner, Sam will ask you to stay the night. You’ll say yes after seeing how relaxed Dean is, your fears being laid to rest for the moment. 

That will be the olive branch Dean needs, a peace offering from you, a chance to move forward knowing that he didn’t scare you away from them, from Sam. He won’t mention seeing Sam sneaking into your room, or the hushed giggling he heard passing by his door as you pulled Sam to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a cookie. And he definitely won’t mention how much happier his brother is now that you’re back around, but he’ll show his appreciation through actions.

Your water bottle will always be full, fresh coffee will always be ready, he’ll add a couple of chick flicks to the DVD collection. The trust will come back with time, and he’ll work for it because you’re good for them, you balance their wild with reason, and he can’t be the reason Sam loses you.

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

s10 final few episodes were so good, what great television

[mistveiloctavia]

⋆˚𖤓˖° Not So Sweet

Sam Winchester ⋆˚𖤓˖°

Summary: Sammy wanted a cuddle after a restless hunt, him spooning you from behind while his arms wrapped itself around your waist— him getting hard after taking a whif of your familiar scent he loves.

Warnings: Fluff, Smut, MDNI 18+, Dry humping, whimpering, neck kisses, softdom!Sam, Pet names, no use of Yn.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x f!reader.

The lamps flickered as you sat on the edge of your bed, waiting for Sam to come back home. You knew he's been restless because of the numerous hunting he's been doing with his brother Dean. But it's necessary, so you didn't mind. Alas, you just want Sam to have a peaceful night for once a while.

Huntings were always stressful, even for you.

The bedroom door opened, and Sam stood by the door with a grumpy look on his face. He walked in without another word, pulling his flannel off and strolled towards you tiredly. An amused grunt leaving your lips when he hugged you tightly.

You wrapped your arms around him, and felt him bury his face on the crook of your neck. You breathed out softly, pulling him on the bed the lay down.

"Sammy?"

You received a quiet hum, feeling his thumb rub back and forth on your skin. "You okay, baby?" You whispered on his ears gently, only for him to pull back and hug you from behind.

"Yeah, of course." He mumbled, breathing put against your neck and you can feel his hot breath on your skin. You let out a quiet chuckle, running your hand through his hair with your arm lifted towards behind you. He breathed on your neck, peppering light kisses on the hot skin. You felt his arms tightened around your waist, and felt him pull you back against him.

"Sammy?" You whispered in question.

”M’yeah?" He hummed in response, feeling himself harden at the sight of you pressed on him. You felt his arm tightened around your waist as he peppered kisses on your skin. You can feel him smile against the nape of your neck.

"Nothing." You breathed out, and he took that as an answer and grinded his hips against yours. The delicious brush of the fabric against his clothed cock made him whimper quietly. His length rubbing against his briefs and your backside. He bit your neck and sucked to leave marks and supress his quiet sounds.

"Damn it, baby." He grunted, rutting his hips on yours roughly. So you took that as your queue and moved against him, rolling your hips so he can feel it even more.

His hands slid up from your waist to grip your left boob, squeezing gently. Circling your nipple against the thin fabric of your shirt.

"Oh, gosh.." Sam whined, his release smearing on the fabric of his underwear. He rested his face on the crook of your neck, kissing the skin tiredly.

[swtnerry]

ICE CREAM INCIDENT

pairing: steve harrington x bff reader

summary: a melting hawkins afternoon, one dripping ice cream cone, and steve’s eyes that can’t look away.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

warnings: 18+, smut, mdni, dry humping, heavy sexual tension, best friends to lovers, public risk (car), swearing. not proofread.

the summers in hawkins were unbearable. the pavement burned through the thin soles of your shoes, and the sun pressed down so heavy it felt like it was melting everything it touched. your light tank top and shorts clung to your skin, offering no relief. you hated summer. in winter you could bundle up and escape the cold. here, even breathing felt like swallowing fire.

“i can’t believe i followed your stupid idea of getting in the car,” you muttered, wiping sweat from your forehead. “it’s literally hotter here than inside the mall.”

“it wasn’t an idea,” steve shot back, wiping his own sweaty palms on his jeans. “it was a suggestion.” his blue t-shirt was turning darker in patches, sticking to his chest. “and i said: maybe the car is colder because we parked it under a tree.”

“do you know what maybe means?” he added.

“yeah genius, but didn’t you think about something called sun that moves?” you replied.

“okay okay, eat your ice cream. i don’t want this baby getting sticky and covered with vanilla.” he gave up, knowing he’d never win an argument with you.

“it’s hot and we’re eating ice cream, steve. i can’t promise anything,” you shrugged.

his eyebrows stayed furrowed, eyes locked on every little movement you made. he thought you didn’t notice, but he was already clutching a wad of napkins, ready to wipe away any drip before it could touch the leather.

you loved pissing him off. two years of friendship and you still never got tired of it. he was funnier when he got grumpy, and he was used to it. he’d act annoyed for a minute, then be laughing at your dumb jokes three minutes later.

this summer you’d both decided to find jobs. you and robin teased him endlessly about not needing the money, but he insisted. he wanted to prove he could do it without leaning on his parents. robin had already landed something at the supermarket but steve hated the uniform and the pay, so the two of you kept applying to new places every monday like clockwork.

somehow you’d ended up at the ice cream shop, and now you had to deal with steve’s neat-freak ass and his obsession with keeping his car extremely clean.

“relax your annoying ass. it’s not my fault your big mouth devoured your cone a second after we got out of the mall.”

“i’m not gonna say anything else, but i swear if you mess it up, you’re cleaning it,” he said, running a hand through his damp hair. wet brown strands clung to his forehead.

“i’m not cleaning anything. especially not so you can keep showing off to your failed dates. it gives me secondhand embarrassment,” you laughed.

“one: those are not failed dates. and two, you only say that because you’re clearly jealous.”

“oh my god, you definitely have heatstroke. you’re literally talking nonsense now,” you said, bursting into laughter.

“i’m not making anything up. you only say that when you don’t have an argument against me and i’m just noticing a pattern.”

your smile faded a little. he had never gone there before, even when you teased him constantly. the words made your stomach flip with a nervousness you didn’t want to name.

of course he was your friend. that was the title you gave everyone else. but you spent every day together, crashed at each other’s houses, shared everything. nothing suspicious.

still, when he said it, your brain short-circuited. the silence that followed stretched on for a bit too long.

you cleared your throat and changed the subject, desperate to save your own sanity. you didn’t notice the way he was staring at you the whole time, waiting for a real answer.

“stop talking and listen,” you said after an awkward pause. “we have to check this new shop near the park. molly just told me they’re hiring. i don’t know what for but—” you kept talking, dragging the little plastic spoon through the softening ice cream and licking it slowly.

steve wasn’t listening anymore.

his mouth was still slightly open, shiny and pink from the flavor he’d finished earlier. you felt a cool shiver run down your spine despite the suffocating heat. you cleared your throat, forcing yourself to look away before your thoughts wandered somewhere they shouldn’t. he was staring straight at your lips.

you kept avoiding his eyes, trying to focus on talking, until the melted cream started running down your arm. “oh fuck,” drops of vanilla slid onto your thighs. you reacted fast, licking every streak from your skin, then opening your mouth to catch the falling scoop.

your tongue passed over your sticky fingers, cleaning them, before finally circling your cold, sweet lips.

when you glanced up, steve wasn’t complaining about the mess. his eyes were fixed on you.

he turned his head sharply, tapping the steering wheel, then shifted awkwardly and looked out the window.

the silence stretched too long, again.

“what are you getting weird for?” you asked, finishing the last bite of the cone.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, staring straight ahead.

“you know what i mean. why are you suddenly quiet and not yelling at me for almost ruining your car?”

“it doesn’t matter. can we go?” he reached for the keys, but you stopped him. your hand, still a little sticky, wrapped softly around his wrist. “why won’t you even look at me idiot? i’m serious.”

he wiped his hands, and your eyes followed unconsciously.

that’s when you saw it.

the obvious bulge straining against his jeans. heat flooded your cheeks, hotter than the sun outside. sweat slid down between your breasts, but this time it had nothing to do with the weather.

you gulped and looked at him. his t-shirt clung to every line of his chest like a second skin. the few inches between you suddenly felt impossibly small.

when he finally met your eyes, his pupils were blown wide.

people would call you a liar if you said you’d never noticed how attractive steve was. how broad his back looked when he stretched, how his biceps strained against those tight shirts. knowing you’d caused this reaction in him made your head spin.

“steve…” you breathed. you quickly glanced outside. the street was empty; it was the worst hour of a summer afternoon. no one was stupid enough to be out.

“fuck, i’m sorry, i don’t know why—” he started, hands moving nervously, but you weren’t listening anymore.

you bit your lip, then moved without thinking. you straddled him, settling on his lap. the sound that left steve’s mouth sent shivers through you. his body burned under yours, skin slick with sweat.

you slid your hands down his damp chest. he tensed, hips lifting instinctively to meet you.

“shit,” he moaned softly. his hands settled firm and sure on your lower back, holding you close like he’d been waiting years for permission.

“what are we doing?” he asked, eyes dropping to your lips before finding yours again. “i don’t know—” you struggled, because he kept moving, pressing his hard cock right against your core. “you’re the one who had a little problem down there,” you teased breathlessly. he smirked, and you laughed, the sound shaky with want. “says the one on top of me right now.” his hands slid down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter.

you couldn’t wait any longer, so you kissed him, one hand cupping the back of his neck while the other slipped into his hair. when he pulled back for air, looking around nervously, you rolled your hips slow and deliberate. “someone could walk by and se—fuck.”

“we’re the only idiots trying to get heatstroke in the middle of the street, steve.” you kissed him again, deeper. that was all it took. he opened his mouth, tongue sliding against yours, turning the kiss messy and desperate. the salt on his lips mixed with the lingering sweetness of ice cream. your hips ground together, pulling soft, needy sounds from both of you.

“god, you feel so fucking good.” he murmured against your mouth. one hand stayed on your hip guiding you, while the other cupped the back of your neck, pressing your foreheads together.

his other hand tugged at your soaked tank top; you helped him pull it off and did the same with his shirt. your palms slid over his bare biceps, squeezing the firm muscles as you moved faster.

your lips brushed with every shared breath, every gasp. you clenched around the hard press of him, desperate for more. he thrust up harder, chasing friction. the heat started pooling low in your belly, almost burning.

steve set a rhythm, steady and deep, like he never wanted it to end.

“i’m close,” he whispered into your mouth.

“me too,” you breathed, blood buzzing under your skin.

he gripped your ass again, helping you move exactly how you both needed. “just like that… oh god.” his head fell back against the seat, neck exposed and shining with sweat. you kissed along his throat until the pleasure crashed over you. “fuck,” you moaned, hips stuttering as waves rolled through you. steve kept going, chasing his own release until his body tensed and trembled beneath you, a soft whine pressed into your ear.

you stayed like that, foreheads together, breathing each other in while the car windows fogged from the heat of your bodies. the tension melted away, and suddenly you both burst into laughter, giddy and a little dazed.

you left a small, sweet peck on his lips.

he kissed you again, slower this time, cupping your jaw gently while his other hand rubbed soothing circles on your sticky back.

outside, the sun kept beating down, but for once the heat felt perfect.

——————————————————————————

divider by chateaubarnes

[xxxsl33p-l0vr]

I Saw This Plot In a Porn Once!

pairing: professor!spencer reid x reader

word count: 11k

check out the masterlist for more! spencer requests welcome

summary: you’re just like many other college students with a crush on your criminology professor, spencer reid. sweet, handsome, oblivious spencer reid. except you were never one to ogle from afar. you were determined to be the one to seduce him.

tags and warnings: smut, no use of y/n, sub!spencer reid x dom!reader, afab!reader, pretty mean dom reader, professor x student, slight dubcon, dynamic implies age gap but not specified, masturbation (reader), implied fingering during masturbation, reader is a nasty gal!, reader wears a very mini skirt at one point, reader gets off on shaming spencer, p in v sex, oral (fem receiving), cowgirl position riding, face sitting (fem), slight blackmail for a moment, creampie, mentions of pregnancy but no preg bc WE DON’T DO THAT HERE, author is waaay into foreplay, most of spencer’s rambling is random stringed-together criminology jargon as i pretend to know what im talking about

a/n: original thought for this fic. this is like if a smut fic was very silly. reader wants that cookie baaaad. this is a very small concept that stretched into a big long fic i hope no one gets bored. also IF YOU’RE READING THIS GET IN MY INBOX!!! I AM WILLING TO TAKE REQUESTS!!! I WANT SPENCER IDEAS, EVEN FLUFFY ONES!!!!

taglist: @the-bee-creations @mxss-rosebud @honkimimimimi @ratgarbage @zmbiereid @spaceagebachman8

It was certainly hard to focus when in the class of Professor Reid. Almost every seat in the front row was taken up by a girl twirling her hair or chewing on her pen. Or both. And you really couldn’t say you were any better.

Spencer stood at the front of the lecture hall, adjusting his glasses with one hand while holding a stack of papers in the other.

He didn’t mean to be distracting, but he so very was. Tall, lanky, always dressed neatly in button-ups and vests, and his intelligence just radiated from him. And when he was teaching, his voice gained such weight and precision it was impossible for the attention of the room not to be drawn.

He was certainly handsome. And it was sweet of him to pretend he didn’t know it.

You couldn’t blame the ogling women. You'd be lying if you said you weren't taking this class at least partially for Reid. You sat near the middle, your notebook open but mostly blank. You’d spent the last ten minutes sketching tiny hearts in the margins instead of taking notes. you were listening. You just… liked looking at him, too. The way his hair fell slightly over his forehead when he leaned forward onto his desk, how he bit his lip when concentrating, how soft-spoken yet assured he sounded. It was all kind of unfairly attractive for a professor who probably didn’t even realize half these girls were here for him and not criminology.

But you were a woman of drive. A woman of initiative. And a woman of... well, perverse sexual desires, honestly. And Professor Spencer Reid would see that soon enough.

You pretended it was a coincidence that you’d arrived earlier than could possibly be accidental.

And it was a coincidence, technically. A class of yours prior had been canceled last minute, and now roaming the halls of the building, the open door to Spencer’s hall was just too inviting to possibly ignore.

You hadn’t planned to show up an hour early just to secure a good seat. But now here you were, walking in at 8:05 AM for a class that started at 9, eyes roaming over the empty front row with a giddy greed.

Part of you had hoped to spare just an extra minute with the handsome professor before his lecture began. But much to your pleasant surprise, he wasn’t one to arrive two minutes before class was to begin like your other professors. As you stand in the door, Reid stares back at you with brown eyes like saucers, mid-scribble on the board, slightly alarmed to see someone so early.

His hair was unruly. The eyebags under his eyes, not dark enough to be troubling, but just enough to make you wonder if he had spent more than a few hours resting.

Spencer straightened up quickly and nearly knocked over the empty coffee cup on his desk. He clears his throat, and gives her a stiff wave. “Oh! Uh… good morning.”

You clear your throat and shift your bag on your shoulder, moving to secure a front row seat. “…First one, huh?” you say, like it’d been accidental.

Spencer nodded, still slightly flustered by your presence. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re… pretty early! 53 minutes early, actually.”

He turned back to the board and picked up his marker again, but didn’t resume writing just yet. Just stood there shifting it in his grip awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that someone was watching him work.

He slowly turns back around. “Did you… uh… have a question? Or something I can help you with?”

It makes you a little giddy inside that he was talking to you directly now. Like being alone with a celebrity. It was quite invigorating to have a crush.

“Oh,” you wave your hand, settling into your chair. “Nope. No questions here.”

He stares at your for a moment, eyes just subtly roaming over your figure. “…Cool,” he said lamely, then turned back to the board and started writing again, a subheading to yesterday’s lecture notes.

Crossing your leg over the other, you tap your fingers on your knees. You sit front and center, watching Spencer like he’s on display. The silence is a little uncomfortable, the only sound in the room the squeaking of the marker as his hand flies across the board, but you didn’t care. You were too busy getting an eyeful of his derriere each time his blazer rode up with his arm.

Eyes still fixed on the prize, you muse, “You like to be early too, huh?”

Spencer nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I like to get everything set up before class starts. Y’know… organize the slides, make sure the projector’s working,” He gestures vaguely to the ceiling. “Helps to not feel, uh, overwhelmed, actually.”

“Ah. A lot to do, I imagine.”

“Mhm!” he hummed in agreement, scribbling more notes on the board, something about a list of common stress triggers in violent offenders.

“Anything I can help with, sir?”

He turns slowly, marker in hand. “Uh… no? I mean, I’m good.” He smiled awkwardly, then immediately went back to writing before the conversation could continue further.

Your face falls. The slight sting of embarrassment makes you grimace behind his back. “Not even get you another coffee? …You look like you need it, sir.”

At that, Spencer considers. “…Actually,” he said slowly, “that would be really nice.”

You pop up from your chair like a spring. Spencer is slightly startled. “I, uh, take it with a lot of sugar!” He calls as he watches you move to the door, then retracts it as soon as he feels too demanding. “Actually, just— just bring the sugar here, I’ve got it.”

“Aye, aye, professor.”

Five minutes later, you returned, holding a steaming cup of coffee and a generous amount of sugar packets between your teeth.

You climb up the steps to the stage, for the first time being on the same level as your professor. And just a few feet away at that. You bite your cheek.

He carefully takes the cup with a tiny, grateful smile, but hardly makes eye contact with you, much to your dismay. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

He immediately ripped open three sugar packets, dumping them in at once. He stirred it with a spoon from his desk, watching the swirl of cream and sugar mix. When he finally sipped it… perfect. Strong. Sweet. Just how he liked it.

Still not looking at you directly, too aware that you were just standing there watching him oddly, he gave another quiet thanks.

You were lingering a little longer than necessary if you were being honest, eyes following the way his throat bobs as he swallows another gulp of the coffee.

Spencer stares at you awkwardly. You give a sheepish grin as you catch yourself. “Sorry! I’m not, uh,” you bite your lip, humming, “bothering you or anything by being here so early?”

“Oh, no! No, it’s— it’s fine,” he said quickly, setting the coffee down. He fidgeted with his cufflinks and finally looked at you properly for the first time since you arrived. Maybe you were obsessed and ready to froth at the mouth over scraps, but something about the eye contact felt intimate. “It was really thoughtful of you,” he says again, gesturing to the coffee. “Besides, your performance in this class is excellent, might I say,” he compliments.

You suppress a grin. Score. You knew furiously scribbling down those notes as your head spun from all the criminology jargon, studying all night until you could recite the pages back to him was all worth it just for that tiny compliment.

“—So I don’t think you’re in any need of extra help outside of class,” he continues, smiling with a nod, “Therefore you’re… more than welcome to come in right at the time of the lecture. Don’t feel like you need to arrive early or anything.”

You deflate a little at that.

Goodness, you hadn’t even considered that. A little private tutor session? Just you and Professor Reid? Goddamn it, none of it was worth it at all. You should’ve been failing.

Spencer seemed to notice the shift in your expression, how your smile faded. Whoops. You forgot to be subtle.

He backtracks quickly, “I mean… unless you wanted extra help?” He offers, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Always more to learn!” You smile brightly, voice a little too chipper.

Spencer’s eyes brightened at your enthusiasm. “Okay! Cool,” he nods. “If you want, you can come by my office after class? I can go over some advanced profiling techniques for crime assessment and inputs.”

You struggle to keep the fireworks booming in your body from exploding out of your mouth. God, he had no idea. “Yes! Y-yes. yeah,” you nod rapidly. “Sounds great.”

He smiled, a genuine one that made her insides clench. “Awesome! My office is 208B,” he said, pointing down the hall with his thumb. “I’m usually there until around five?”

With a final nod, Spencer turns to organize some papers. You see the opportunity and seize it.

Leaning on his desk, you ask casually, “Ah, five, huh? Gotta… get home to the wife?”

His eyes snap back to yours, confused and startled.

“Oh! N-No, no, I’m not married.”

“Whaaat? Get outta here. Not even a girlfriend?”

He blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Then looks down at his papers, suddenly very interested in alphabetizing them. “…Nope.” Why was this conversation happening?

Meanwhile, you could practically fall over and die. “Wow. That’s… yeah, that’s crazy.”

He opens his mouth with the strange need to defend himself. “I… I mean… I just haven’t—” He cleared his throat and gestured stiffly to the board. “Anyway! Should probably finish this, uh, lecture prep.”

“Right, right! No, of course.” You shuffle away, moving to the steps to make your way off the stage. But you halt, pivoting on your heel. “…Aaanything else I can help you with?”

Spencer thinks. The room was quiet, the air thick with the smell of coffee and faint scent of whiteboard markers. He turns to spare you a glance, and realizes you seemed… eager to help.

“…You could hand me those slides?” He asked, pointing to a stack of pages on the side table that needed sorting into order.

“Hah, fuck…”

Laying back on your bed in your vacant dormitory, you let the back of your head hit the mattress again. Hair tussled, cheeks warm, a layer of sweat on your body.

As your fingers work between your legs, the only thought in your mind was your handsome professor. The thought of his lips greedily sucking your heat, dark locks falling over your thighs, as those long, wiry fingers work in and out of your cunt. The fantasy played out vividly in your mind, every detail sharp. His wide brown eyes shining with tears, his erection straining against those stiff pants he insisted on wearing to each class. His lips would be swollen and glistening from lapping and suckling. How sweet he’d sound, you think, with his moans muffled into your pussy as you grind against his face.

You fantasized about your Professor more often than you were ready to admit. When you were sure you were alone, the words “professor”, “teacher”, or “college” found itself in your laptop’s search bar frequently, often accompanied by your fist down your panties.

It certainly wasn’t the one fantasy you had. Gripping his wrists like a vice, fucking yourself on his dick while he could only watch helplessly— that was another contender. God, the sound he’d make if you yanked his hair just right. Or clamping a hand over his mouth as he sat between your legs, your fist working his cock faster than he could possibly keep up with. How flustered he’d be, stammering something sweet and nervous between kisses.

You thought of stuffing that tie in his mouth, of tugging that unruly hair, of bending him over your knee, of—

You lay back on your mattress, panting and flushed with a sheen of sweat, basking in the afterglow with your nerves still buzzing.

You hadn’t meant to get that carried away, but once you started thinking about him like that… it was impossible to stop.

You kicked your legs in the air, letting a breathless giggle escape you, the excitement of seeing him again so soon enough to send another rush of arousal through you.

You’ll admit, you were a little disappointed with the result of the small tutor session, none of the fantasies exactly coming to life.

“Well, I gotta say, I think you’re keeping up incredibly well,” Spencer flips a page in a file as he sits in his office chair across from you. “You’re remarkably competent. I mean, I don’t think you’re in need of any help outside of my class at all.”

You sat stiffly in the chair across from his desk, knees pressed together.

Remarkably competent. Keeping up well. That was… great. But also so boring. You wanted him to say something like “you’re stunning,” “I think about you constantly,” “let me kiss you.” But instead, it looked like you were losing the opportunity for these sessions.

“It’s… nice,” he says, looking up at you properly now, “to have someone actually enrolled who cares about the subject. It’s funny, did you know you’re just about one of the only students of mine actually registered?” He laughs lightly. God, you would eat him alive. “Turns out, most of the people I get in my lectures are only auditing, it’s… it’s a little disappointing, actually.”

“Yeah, I know,” you nod casually, far less oblivious as to the reason for that.

Spencer pauses, sensing something. “You… do?”

“Yeah,” you shrug.

“Oh!” He glances off to the side for a moment. “Well, it’s, uh… kinda weird, right?”

“I mean… have you noticed it’s only the girl students doing the auditing?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “…Yeah,” he says slowly, “I guess I have.”

With a slow, strange shock, you realize. “Oh, you actually don’t know.”

Spencer’s face scrunches slightly. “Don’t know… what?”

“Uh, well. They audit the class for you, sir.”

His lips part slightly. He blinks at her for a moment in surprise. “For me?”

“Yeah. Like… they think you’re cute.”

The color drains from Spencer’s face, then floods back in a rush of red.

“Oh,” he squeaks, then clears his throat. “Oh.”

“Mhm. Kind of flattering, no?”

Spencer is already not handling this well. His fingers tap nervously against the file on his desk. He can’t look at you. His eyes keep darting to the ceiling, then back down.

“It’s… um,” he stammers, “I mean… I don’t— I never considered that.”

He was so oblivious. Painfully so. “Yeah.” You fiddle with your pencil and decide to test the waters. “You could, like… fix your whole ‘single’ problem with just about any one of them.”

Spencer looks mildly horrified by the idea. “I don’t—” he starts, then stops, “I mean… I could, but I wouldn’t want to.” His nose scrunches slightly.

“You wouldn’t?” you ask quickly.

“No,” he says automatically. Then he suddenly gets a little shier. “I mean… it’s not appropriate. I’m their professor.”

“Oh,” you say softly. “So it’s a moral thing.”

He nods, happy to be understood. “Yeah, professional boundaries, and all that. It just… wouldn’t be right.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never liked something that’s wrong?”

Spencer frowns. That was a very specific question. He shifts in his seat, suddenly feeling very warm under his button-up. “…No? Not like that?”

“No?”

“I mean…” he swallows hard, “not in a way that would ever matter.” This conversation had suddenly veered very personal before Spencer had even realized.

You’re leaning closer across the desk than he remembers you were five minutes ago. “So, if you did, hypothetically, happen to like one of those students, you wouldn’t date them?”

Spencer’s hands clench slightly in his lap.

“…No,” he says quietly, but there's a strange waver in his voice.

The sly tease flies out of your mouth before you can help it, “…Are you considering it now, Professor?”

“I’m not—!” he starts, defensive. His eyes flicker to yours for half a second before darting away again.

Got him.

After letting the silence linger for just another tense second longer, you stand abruptly. Your chair screeches against the floor, and Spencer nearly jumps out of his seat at the sudden movement. Slapping laptop down and sliding it under your arm, you flash him a smile. “Much to think about!”

“Uh— wait,” he blurts, standing too. “M-Miss—!”

But you were already halfway to the door, bag tucked under your arm. “See you in class, sir!” you call over your shoulder.

The door clicks shut. Spencer stands there, frozen in the middle of his office, staring at where you’d just been.

His palms are sweaty.

He slowly sinks back into his chair and stares blankly at his desk.

What just happened?

A few days later, he’s a little startled the by the sound of a cup enthusiastically landing on his desk.

His eyes trail up the arm attached until he meets your sparkling eyes, and he immediately relaxes. “Morning!” You chirp.

This had become routine between the two of you now. Every morning you’d show up, steaming cup in hand, sugars and all.

“Ah, my prized student,” he says back warmly, and accepts the cup with both hands.

“Oh! Will that graduate to favorite student if I keep bringing you these coffees?”

Spencer’s lips twitch into a smile, his lips around the rim of the cup. “You’re already my favorite,” he admits without thinking. After a moment, he seems to catch on to his own words, and suddenly backpedales. “I mean— not in a weird way! Just… you bring me coffee.”

The smile on your face is downright perverted. “And sugar,” you remind him.

“And sugar,” he echoes, smiling shyly. He rips open four packets of sugar and dumps them in one heap.

You tap your nails against his desk idly and muse, “Y’know, I was studying for your class last night when I realized, I think I’ve finally found something I’m stumped on.”

Spencer perks up. “Oh! Okay, what is it?”

“Geographical profiling. Don’t understand it a lick.”

He brightens. “Ah, that’s actually really fascinating!” He says, setting his coffee aside. “What is it specifically you’re struggling with? Are you struggling with the mathematical algorithms or more the theoretical framework?”

You wave a hand. “All of it,” you lie, miming something flying over your head. “Whoosh.”

Spencer quiets for just a fraction longer than normal. All of it? That… seemed extreme for someone who had been acing tests so far. But he plays along. “Okay, well… let’s start at the beginning—”

“—After class, right? In your office?” You interrupt him eagerly.

“Oh! Uh, yeah,” he nods. “Sure. After class.”

“Wonderful. Wouldn’t wanna distract my mind before your lecture today, y’know?” You tap your index finger against your temple and smile at him warmly. Shifting your bag on your shoulder, you begin to walk to secure your front row seat.

But the moment you step out of the way of the desk, Spencer’s gaze drops before he can stop it. His eyes can’t help but roam over your lower half. Specifically your legs. Practically the entire expanse of your legs, in fact. You were wearing just about the shortest skirt he thinks he’s ever laid eyes on. A skirt that if it was even an inch shorter, there’d be a problem.

His brain short-circuits for a solid two seconds, long enough that the coffee cup tilts dangerously in hand. Then he chases himself away, his throat tight, awkwardly adjusting his tie. He busies himself with pretending to organize files that don’t need organizing.

As you shuffle down the steps, you call over to him, “Don’t you just hate when your mind’s distracted?” You don't dare peek at him over your shoulder, fearing he’d see the coy smile plastered on your face.

Spencer swallows hard. “Yeah,” he croaks out, “Hate it.”

That lecture is practically public humiliation for Professor Reid.

He stands at the front of the class as usual, his voice echoing across the hall as he speaks, gesturing with his hands for emphasis. But his fingers keep twitching. In minute and a half intervals— because yeah, you were counting— his eyes accidentally flick down to you, front row center, legs crossed primly.

He’s usually quite a smooth lecturer. Articulate. Confident. Lost in the thrill of sharing his knowledge. But today, he keeps stumbling over words, noticeably missing transitions between points, and a few of the students are beginning to exchange glances. Since when did Professor Reid lose track of his lectures?

Meanwhile, you’re watching it all unfold smugly from your seat. Your eyes haven’t left your dear professor since this class began. Which wasn’t out of the ordinary. After all, everyone in the class had their gaze on him. But Spencer’s only painfully aware of one.

You notice the way he begins to subtly avoid looking in your general direction. Each time he glances up to check for engagement, his eyes skip a whole section of students like there was a bubble around you.

He discreetly wipes his perspiring palms on his pants.

Unhappy with the lack of attention, you shift in your chair. Under the guise of getting more comfortable, you sink in your spot, legs uncrossing, your mini-est skirt in the world at risk of riding up with any strong movement. You casually lean back, stretching one leg out just a little further, the fabric of your skirt rising up just an inch.

Your shoe taps against the floor like a quiet Yoo-hoo, over here. And when you’re certain he’s looking your way again, albeit in his peripheral, and with the slowest, softest, subtlest movement you can manage, you idly flex your legs open and shut, open and shut. His throat bobs, and your lips curl.

You keep the motion slow, almost lazy, like you weren't even aware of it. Just tiny, imperceivable movements. Rhythmic, absentminded. The way one taps their fingers or twirls a strand of hair. But it might as well have been a flashing neon sign saying Look at me, with your thighs tensing under the thin material of your skirt over and over before relaxing again.

Each time your legs spread, if Spencer looked close enough, he’d catch the color of your thong.

He grips the edge of his podium, knuckles whitening. The lecture drags on, every second an eternity. He finishes his last point five minutes early, voice trailing off awkwardly. “…And that’s— that’s all for today.”

A beat of silence. The students blink at each other. Each person shuffles out quickly, confused by the abrupt ending, but not exactly complaining. Spencer just wanted it to end.

You take your sweet time packing up. Slinging your bag over one shoulder, then pausing to yawn, arms high above your head in a long stretch that makes your shirt rise up at the waist.

Spencer watches, against his will, as your shirt lifts just enough to reveal a sliver of skin, then as you reach higher, pulling your muscles in a different angle, and this time your back arches slightly.

He’s speechless atop the stage.

Frustratingly, you don’t spare him a glance as you file out alongside the other students that trickle through the door. “Bye, Professor,” he hears your voice above the rest.

“Bye,” Spencer mumbles back, robotic.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, he exhales like he’d been holding his breath the entire lecture. Miserably, he drops to his chair and presses both palms into his eyes.

What was wrong with him?

A light knock comes to his office door, and Spencer’s head jerks up. That's you.

He clears his throat. “Come in!” he calls.

In comes you, with the brightest smile, one he can hardly tear his eyes from. “Hi, Professor!” You chirp.

“Hi,” he says back, softer than intended. He gestures to the chair across from his desk. “Sit down, whenever you’re ready.” His hands are folded neatly in front of him. A professional, composed posture. But his heart isn’t listening.

Spencer notices the absence of the skirt immediately, the expanse of your legs hidden from view again. But why was he looking? Was he hoping you hadn’t changed?

You plop down in your seat across from him with a bounce. After light conversation and a moment to get settled, he grabs a folder labeled Geographical Profiling and cracks open a textbook. “So,” Spencer begins, flipping open the folder. “Geographical profiling is basically a way to predict where a serial offender might strike next based on their previous crime scenes.” He pulls out a map, already marked with locations. “It uses statistical analysis and spatial patterns—”

“—Can I come over to your side?”

Spencer stops, staring at you a little oddly.

You shrug a shoulder. “I just think I’d get it better looking at it from your angle.”

“Oh! Yeah, for sure,” he says, scooting his chair over to make space.

You stand and circle around the desk, dragging the chair behind you. As you sit down with your shoulders just barely brushing his, the smell of your perfume engulfs him. Pleasant, not too overwhelming. Girly in a way that made him nervous. He clears his throat, “Where— where were we?”

Refocusing on the map, his steady, academic tone returns easily. “So we’re looking at these crime scenes here and here—” His finger taps two dots on the paper.

As he talks, you lean closer to the paper. Which naturally results in you leaning closer to Spencer. Your arms brush at some point with featherlight contact.

He doesn’t react. Instead, he keeps pointing at the map, voice even despite his body temperature suddenly rising. “…And based on this pattern,” he continues, “the offender likely lives somewhere along this radius.”

Abruptly, you turn to open a drawer on his desk. You scan the contents inside, then move to the next.

“Uh…” he starts, watching you with bewilderment.

“Looking for a pencil.”

“Ah!” He fumbles in his own pocket and pulls out a clicky ballpoint. “Here,” he says, offering it to you. “You can use mine.”

“Ohh, your’s huh? I’m flattered. Promise not to chew on it.” You wink.

Spencer’s lips twitch. He watches as you take the pen, your fingers brushing. On purpose? Or was that just wishful thinking?

“Y-yeah, for sure. Just, um… just ask me next time, okay? I’d prefer it if you didn’t dig through my drawers.”

“Ah, I see,” you chuckle behind your lips.

“…See what?”

“I dunno. You hiding something dirty in there, Professor?”

Spencer’s face is mortified. “W-what? No!” He sputters, voice cracking slightly. “It’s just… paperwork! Notes. Th— that I’d prefer to keep organized.”

You bite back your grin. “You don’t have to be shy about it!”

“I-I’m not shy! There’s nothing to be shy about!” Spencer insists, a little too loudly.

He clears his throat awkwardly and tries to turn back to work like nothing happened. The paper and textbook stare back at him, completely uninteresting now. All he could focus on was how close you still were. How your perfume kept wafting over every time you moved. “So… statistically speaking, the offender likely lives within a three-mile radius of these clustered crime scenes.”

You nod along, but you're not really listening. You’re still watching him. The way his brow furrows when he concentrates, how his fingers tap the paper absentmindedly.

Spencer feels a poke on his shoulder.

“Hey.”

He turns his head sharply, eyes wide. “…Yeah?”

There’s a heartbeat of silence where you just stare into each other's eyes, your faces far too close. And for a moment, Spencer thinks this was going in a very different direction.

Then you smile. Soft, playful. “You talk with your hands a lot,” you observe casually. “I like it.”

“Oh,” is all he says at first. “Thanks?”

“Yeah, you’ve got good hands, you know?”

“Uh… yeah, thanks,” he mumbles again, voice weirdly small. “You too? I think?”

“Yeah? Mine?”

“Yeah, your—” Spencer gestures vaguely to your hands. They were nice. Soft-looking, well-manicured. Holdable. “I mean… they look… clean?”

“Hm. Clean.” You examine your own hands, spreading out your fingers and flipping them back and forth. You seemingly nod in agreement. “Don’t like to be messy, Professor?”

Spencer shakes his head quickly. “No, I hate messes,” he admits. “Germaphobe, honestly. The sheer amount of pathogens passed in a handshake alone is staggering, actually.”

“Really? What about… in a kiss? Now that’s gotta be dirtier.”

“Actually,” he says immediately, leaning forward slightly, “saliva contains millions of bacteria. Some studies estimate that a single kiss transfers 80 million microorganisms between people.” His voice gains the same weight you recognize from his lectures. “And it’s not just bacterial exchange either! There’s enzymatic activity too…”

Spencer’s scientific rambling slowly trails off mid-sentence as he takes notice, finally, of where your gaze is locked. His lips. His brain also finally acknowledges the warmth of your thigh deliberately pressed against his through the fabric of his pants, and he feels something stirring in his lower half he’d really rather ignore.

As Spencer’s mouth goes dry, a slow, wicked grin spreads on your face. “Sorry, I’m getting you all distracted again, aren’t I?”

He squirms slightly in his seat. “Y-yeah, a little.”

You nod to the paper. “You wanna… go back to telling me about geographical profiling?”

What was this, the third time now he’s had to begin again?

“Yeah. So… like I was saying, the offender’s most likely residence is here—”

For a while, you seem, to him, to be listening well. You occasionally nod, ask a question here and there to keep him talking. But your attention once again is curved by the handsome man sitting not even an inch away. And as he talked, the gears in your mind were turning.

You knew what came next. The big part. The one you’d actually practiced a humiliating amount of times. You squeeze your thighs together, your skin prickling with the thrill running through you.

Spencer doesn’t notice your distraction, too focused on explaining the logistics of distance decay. “And based on these crime scene locations,” he says, “we can calculate the mean center, which is essentially how all these points would balance if we put them on a scale.”

“Hm. Yeah, I just feel like I would see it better from your angle.”

Spencer stops as you interrupt him for the nth time. There’s no space left to scoot closer, but he still shifts a little— an instinctive, subconscious lean toward you. His shoulder is pressed flush against yours now. “Yeah… okay,” he murmurs, tilting the map slightly so you could see better, the proximity making his pulse erratic again.

You shiver a little at the closeness, subtly biting your lip. It practically takes all of your self-control to shake your head. “No, no, now you can’t see it.”

Spencer huffs a tiny, almost-laugh. “I assure you, I can see it. Not to worry. Besides, you should really be the one looking—”

“May I?”

“…May you what?”

“Move to a better angle for both of us, obviously.”

“Oh, right! Right,” Spencer scoots his chair back a generous amount to give you room, a little sheepish about having moved closer to you in the first place.

But you don't even acknowledge this. You rise from your chair smoothly, casually adjusting your clothes. Then, much to Spencer’s surprise, you lay a hand on his shoulder and move to stand between his legs, lording over him. He was suddenly at a disadvantage, looking up at you with eyes wide as saucers and watching your every move like a frightened animal.

You lock eyes with Spencer as you slide your arm around his neck. You feel the tenseness in his body, each muscle taut with anticipation. With a jut of your knee, you spread his legs and calmly perch yourself atop his thigh, effectively sitting in his lap. He nearly jumps back in shock, but pinned under your weight, he doesn’t have far to go. His body is stiff as a robot’s, so you take it upon yourself to grab his arm and effortlessly maneuver it until it’s wrapped comfortably around your waist, pressing his palm flat against your hip.

Spencer looks as though he’s been electrocuted. He’s completely paralyzed. You were in his lap. Your weight settled against him, your warmth seeping through his clothes. For a moment, he wonders if he’s just died.

“…What? You said I could.”

Spencer’s lips parted, but no sound came out. When his brain finally rebooted, all it could manage was a weak “I—I didn’t—”

You could somehow feel his heartbeat, wild and frantic, from where you sat on his knee. The rapid thump-thump of his pulse circulating through every vein like a trapped bird. Spencer could feel it too, betraying every ounce of panic and… something else he didn’t want to name. His fingers finally twitched slightly where they rested against your hip, like testing you were really there under his palm.

“Well, go on,” you feigned innocence, patting his shoulder twice. “Keep talking.”

Spencer’s mouth opened. Nothing. All he could focus on was the girl in his lap, your scent, your warmth, the soft fabric of your shirt under his palm. “…I,” he started, then stopped.

Poor guy. You suppose you should give him some help after being so cruel. “What’s that one mean?” you ask, pointing to a diagram in the open textbook.

Spencer’s gaze followed your finger to the diagram. He swallows hard. “That one,” he starts slowly, voice slightly higher than usual, “shows how crime scenes cluster around the mean center based on statistical dispersion.”

“Oh, I see. So what else do you have to teach me?”

Not this. He wasn’t qualified for whatever this was.

But his mouth moved anyway, defaulting to academia, his safety. “Uh… there’s also the concept of hotspot analysis, which uses kernel density estimation to identify high-crime areas—”

You weren't listening. Obviously. You watch his lips move as he rambles, gently trailing a manicured nail down his scruffy cheek, which briefly makes Spencer stutter.

“…And— and the—” He takes a shuddering breath. “…the algorithm accounts for temporal decay too, which means crimes are more likely to occur closer in time to previous events than further away. Th— there’s an equation for it, but I can’t… really remember right now.”

“Oh, dear, am I distracting you again Professor?”

“…A little!” he squeaks, a tight, bashful smile on his face.

“I was starting to think you never forgot anything.”

“I don’t, I— I just… I’ve never been distracted like this before.” It was true he had an eidetic memory. Something he was keen to remind everybody of. But right now, he was sure he couldn’t recall his own phone number if someone asked him.

“Never had a student on your knee?”

The way you phrased it, like this was normal, almost made him laugh at the absurdity. “N-no, no, never.”

“Well. Don’t let me distract you. Just trying to learn.”

You lean into his side almost affectionately as he talks, your nose brushing against his cheek. Spencer swallows hard. He falters, just barely, but it was enough to make his next sentence waver. “…and the weight is inversely proportional to distance from the epicenter, meaning closer crimes have higher influence on predicting future locations…”

You blow once on his ear.

Spencer jumps, his arm tightening around you involuntarily and his head tilted away from the sudden puff of air. He whispered-shouts your name, scandalized.

You snort. “Oops.”

“You’re— you’re messing with me,” he accuses, voice low but tinged with something begrudgingly playful.

“Who, me?” You bat your lashes.

A tiny, disbelieving laugh leaves his lips, nearly a scoff. “Yes,” he says, “You!”

You giggle, and Spencer feels some part of his brain turn mushy at the sound. “Okay, okay! Sorry, Professor. I’ll behave.”

He exhaled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Thank you,” he murmured genuinely. “…So if we apply this methodology to an actual case,” he said, pointing at a crime scene map on the textbook page.

Before he can say much, he feels the lightest press of lips to his stubbly cheek, and his words quickly fade into an unintelligible, flustered mumble.

“W-we can predict with… um… reasonable accuracy where... mm…”

“Can’t hear you when you mumble, sir. How am I supposed to learn?” You nose his cheek.

He tried again, louder this time, “I said we can predict future crime locations with statistical modeling!”

God, this was torture.

“You’re getting kinda sweaty.”

“It’s— it’s hot in here,” he lied weakly, tugging at his cardigan.

“You can take that off,” you gesture to the sweater. “You don’t have to be professional with me.”

He laughs breathlessly. “Yeah, I… think I stopped being professional with you the moment I let you sit on my knee.”

You pull at his cardigan. “Take it off,” you whine.

“No! No,” Spencer grasps your wrists, his grip firm. He says your name in a scolding tone. “We’re still… on campus. I can’t just—”

“What, taking off a sweater isn’t allowed on campus?”

He exhaled through his nose. “I just… don’t feel comfortable, that’s all.”

“What, are you thinking of something gross?”

“No!” He blurts. “I just—I mean—I’m not—” He flounders for words, horrified by the accusation.

You couldn’t help it, you burst out laughing. You double over slightly, still perched on his knee, shoulders shaking, and Spencer’s chest does a weird little squeeze. He didn’t know whether to be offended or charmed, but his frown softened into something almost shy.

Your laughter ends with one sweet sigh, and with your hand on his cheek, you lean in to press a chaste kiss to his temple. Grinning against his skin, you murmur, “Wanna know something?”

“…Yeah?” He whispers back, voice small and uncertain.

“I know this is turning you on.”

Spencer’s red down to his chest now. He sputters, “Wh— I— that’s not—”

“Mhm. Wanna hear what else I know?” You tilt his head up to peck his cheek twice. “I know you were staring at me in that skirt.”

Spencer couldn’t even form a coherent response to that.

“What were you thinking about? My legs? My ass? ‘Cause I’d say that’s pretty dirty, Professor.”

“No!” he whispers harshly, eyes wide. He squirms in his seat like he wants to escape. “I wasn’t— I didn’t—” His hand tightens slightly where it rests on your waist.

“So you were!” You giggle, pulling back from him and cupping his face in your hands. “C’mon, look at you. What happened to those… professional boundaries you were so worried about?”

Spencer’s expression twisted with shame and flustered panic. “I don’t know,” he admitted in a tiny voice, “You just… ruined them.”

“Oh, I did, huh? So it’s my fault? It’s my fault you were staring at me?”

Alarmed, he shook his head violently. “No! No, that’s not— I didn’t mean it like that, I-I meant it like—”

“Guess it’s just my fault you’re having all these perverted thoughts about your favorite student.”

“They’re not—” His chest rises and falls as he pants with desperate frustration. “I don’t have perverted thoughts!” he protests, voice pitching higher.

You laugh cruelly, “You do! Who knew? Professor Reid’s a big pervert who stares at the girls in his class.”

You shift in his lap, moving until your front is squished up against his, thighs clamped on either side of his legs, your hips putting unfortunate pressure on his pelvis.

Spencer presses himself as far back as he could in his chair, eyes darting everywhere except your face. “I-I’m not! No! No, it’s not like that!” His hands hovered in the air like he was trying to surrender. Every nerve in his body was screaming this is wrong, this is wrong, but his traitorous cock pulsed anyway.

“Gross. I can feel your dick getting hard.”

Mortification crashed over him like a tidal wave. “It’s not— I can’t help that!”

“What, are you turned on by this or something?”

Spencer just squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed, grip tight on the armrests of his chair. His silence was answer enough.

“Pervert,” You hiss.

His face burns a deep, humiliated crimson. “I’m not… I’m not a pervert, okay?” He whispered, voice trembling with shame and genuine distress.

You dip down slowly, lowering your forehead to his, your breath on his lips. “Then why do you wanna fuck me?”

Finally, reality laid bare. And with the arousal very clearly straining against his pants, Spencer sees the uselessness in denying it, though his lips still part reflexively. For a heartbeat or two, you stayed like that, faces touching, breaths mingling. Then at last, he moves, and slowly he presses his lips to yours in the softest, most unsure kiss of his life.

At first, you don’t seem to reciprocate. Your lips stay upsettingly still, he’s not even sure your eyes are closed. Spencer whines slightly in his mouth in embarrassment. The moment his lips shy away from yours more than an inch, however, your grip suddenly winds into his hair. With an abrupt and furious force, you tug him back, teeth nearly colliding as you devour his mouth. Instantly, he melts back into your taste, completely unprepared for the intensity but his body responding instinctively. His hands fly back to your waist and his lips clumsily attempt to keep up with your hungry movements as he drowns in you.

One hand slides up your back while the other grips your waist tighter. He makes a small, needy noise against your mouth. You kiss him like you’ve been starving for it. like this was inevitable, like Spencer had been yours all along. You bite his lower lip gently before diving back in, tongue sliding against his with a hunger that leaves him breathless. He clutches you closer, fingers twisting into the fabric of your shirt.

Time seems to blur as the world narrows. The chair creaks under your combined weight as you shift atop him, pressing yourself even closer. Your thighs tightening around his hips, your body molding against him, beginning to grind over his erection.

Spencer groans into the kiss, his palms sliding down to grip your thighs. Your hips move against his with deliberate pressure, rolling down in slow, smooth circles just to feel him twitch. He breathes raggedly through his nose, trying to force himself up to meet your body every time it rises off of him just to grind back down.

“You’re stupidly hard,” you growl the moment you part for air.

Spencer looks up at you through his lashes with a dazed expression. His lips are kiss-swollen, his face flushed, and he’s panting like he just ran a marathon. “S-sorry,” he breathes out automatically.

“I haven’t even fucking done anything to you,” you smile wickedly. “I kissed you and you’re throbbing.”

Spencer nods frantically, his cheeks burning with humiliation and arousal. “You’re… really pretty,” he blurts out suddenly.

The compliment elicits some kind of reaction from you, something he can’t quite place. You smirk again, eyes briefly rolling back like he’d touched you. You hum in satisfaction. “I’ve waited so fucking long to hear you say that.”

Spencer’s chest swells with something warm. His heart pounds harder. He wants to say more now, clumsy and sweet things that aren’t usually his style.

“You want me to touch you?” you coos condescendingly in a way that makes him dizzy, cupping his face. “Yeah? You want my pussy? Want me to suck your filthy cock?” you say crudely.

He doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know what the right answer is. Instead, his eyes dart down to your lips again, then lower, just for a split second, before snapping back up in panic.

“Answer me, Professor.”

“…Yes, y-yeah,” he finally squeaks out, the words so quiet it’s barely audible. Then he adds in a slightly louder whisper: “Please.”

“Yeah? Just like this?” One of your hands slides down to press against the front of his pants, right where he’s straining. He strains to not buck into your palm like a virgin.

His breath comes out in short, shaky puffs. He nods rapidly. “Yeah. Yeah, uh-huh. Like that.”

You rip your hand away suddenly like you’d been burned. In an instant, his collar is wrapped in your fist as you slide off his lap and yank him to his feet. He stumbles after you, wide eyed and bewildered. Spencer barely has time to process what’s happening before he’s being whirled around, practically manhandled, and he finds you both have swapped places. You seat yourself lazily in his chair and tugs him down with you, down until his knees hit the floor of his office, until his head is hovering between your thighs.

“Wha—?”

“Earn it.”

Spencer’s brain is scrambling. He stares at your spread legs and closes his jaw. He swallows hard. His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, unsure what to do with them. He’s never done this before. But the thought of touching you, tasting you, it sends a thrill through him that overrides his nervousness.

You casually undo the button of your pants, stripping them from your legs and kicking them off carelessly with effortless confidence. Spencer watches, mesmerized. Without a word, you sling one leg until your ankle rests over his shoulder, the other sitting on his thigh.

Now here you are, half-naked in his chair while he kneels like a supplicant, and the view is unreal.

He’s suddenly hyper-aware of every detail. The warmth radiating from between your thighs, the faint scent that makes his stomach flip. His hands finally move, trembling as they reach for the hem of your fine, lacy panties— specifically chosen, to be sure. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband and slowly peels them down.

The lace slides down your legs easily, unveiling your cunt. Spencer’s not sure he’s seen a woman like this up close before, not in person. Not like this. His face burns as he stares for half a second too long. With tentative, almost reverent hands, Spencer leans forward and presses a single, feather-light kiss to the inside of your thigh. It’s not where you want him, but he needs a moment to steel himself.

His lips are soft. Nervous. The kiss is chaste, too innocent for what you want, but the warmth of his lips against your skin still sends a little shiver through you. You tilt your hips slightly, nudging his back with your heel. “Don’t be shy. Lick it.”

His face is inches from you, so close he can feel the heat.

He swallows hard, then slowly, painfully slowly, he leans in and drags his tongue over you in one experimental stroke. The taste is new. Sweet, musky. Spencer does it again, a little bolder this time, his tongue moving with cautious curiosity as he explores the soft folds of you, his hands gripping your thighs to steady himself.

You inhale sharply through your nose, threading your fingers into his hair to guide him. “Fuck, yes,” you grin.

The praise shoots straight to his loins.

He redoubles his efforts, following the gentle tug of your fingers in his hair. He presses a few open-mouthed kisses before finally sealing his lips around your folds and sucking gently. His tongue flicks experimentally over your clit before he laps at it properly.

Your back arches slightly, letting airy moans slip. Spencer might be a virgin at this, but he’s a smart boy. He adapts fast. His tongue works in small circles now, swirling the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pressing him closer, not that he even needs encouragement.

Spencer loses himself in the rhythm. Licking, sucking, following whatever makes you gasp. He drags his teeth very lightly over your clit before soothing it with a long swipe of his tongue. Fuck, he likes this. So much. He moans mindlessly into your cunt, the vibration of which travels through your body, making your hips jerk up into his mouth.

Spencer’s arousal is obvious, the bulge in his pants twitches with practically every movement. He’s so turned on by this, by the way you react to him, that it almost hurts.

You spread your legs further, pushing his head and shamelessly grinding up into his mouth. You laugh breathlessly, then let your head fall back in a moan.

He loves this. He lets you use him, his hands sliding up to grip your hips, helping guide your movements as he devours you with messy enthusiasm.

The office is quiet except for the wet sounds of his mouth on you and your hitched breathing. Spencer’s lips are glistening, his cheeks flushed. He can feel himself getting dizzy from the scent of you, from how good you taste. Each moan he pulls from you goes straight to his cock, aching in its confinement.

Spencer has no idea how hot he looks right now. Wild hair, flushed face, lips slick with you. But you know. You’ve been fantasizing about this for months now, him between your legs, his clever mouth working on you like this. And reality is so much better than any daydream you ever had. Months of imagining this, and Spencer is even better than any late night, desperation-fueled fantasy. His lips are so soft, his tongue so eager, like he genuinely wants to please you. It’s intoxicating.

A particularly good flick makes you gasp “Fuck!” You gasp.

Spencer has lost track of time, only aware of the warmth between your thighs, the way you squirm and moan above him.

Your fingers twist tighter in his hair, and you start rocking against his mouth faster. The realization that you’re close makes Spencer’s stomach flip with excitement. He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he doubles down with a greedy sort of focus, his tongue moving with more purpose.

Your thighs flex, hips jutting erratically as you near the edge. Spencer’s own body is strung tight, his cock leaking, his pants sticky, but he ignores it. All that matters is you and the way your breathing turns ragged, the cries escaping your lips. He wants to taste it when you cum.

Your back arches off the chair, your thighs clamping around Spencer’s head as you cum with a sharp cry. He keeps going gently through your orgasm.

The aftershocks ripple through you in small twitches and soft gasps, and Spencer finally eases off, pressing one last tender kiss to your inner thigh before slowly sitting back on his heels. His lips are wet. His face is a mess.

When the last waves of pleasure subside, you slump bonelessly in the chair. Spencer finally eases off, pressing one last tender kiss to your inner thigh before slowly sitting back on his heels.

You exhale shakily, blinking down at Spencer, still between your legs, his lips wet and swollen. The rest of him disheveled. You laugh breathlessly at his ruined and endlessly attractive state.

Spencer wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, still a little dazed, but your laugh makes him smile faintly. He’s never felt so satisfied, and he didn’t even get off.

“Did I…” he pants, “did I do okay?”

Through the bliss, you shrug, teasing him. “Took you long enough, didn’t it?”

Spencer’s face falls slightly. “It was my first time,” he mumbles defensively, a little hurt.

“Still,” You groan as you fix your posture, sitting up in the chair, “coulda figured out geographical profiling while you were trying to figure out what to do with your tongue.”

His lips purse, embarrassed. He stares up at you from the floor with unintentional puppy dog eyes. “I-I was trying…” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

From your elevated position, your eyes catch his cock is still straining in his pants. “Get on the floor, professor,” You push him back with a heel against his shoulder.

“Okay!” Spencer goes down without resistance, lying flat on his back now. He watches you from the floor, wide-eyed and waiting.

You slide out of the chair and drop to the floor, crawling atop him. You pop open the top button of his shirt. “Lie there and let me use your cock, or I’ll tell everyone Professor Reid licked his student’s cunt.”

Blackmail? His brain jumps back and forth between panic and pathetic arousal. “…Okay,” He nods quickly, hands hovering uselessly in surrender. “Okay, do whatever you want. Just… just don’t tell anyone, okay?”

She smiles in satisfaction. “So you know this is wrong.”

He swallows. Yes, it was wrong. It was all wrong. But it also felt so, so right, and he wanted this too badly to stop now. “Yeah,” he whispers, “I know.”

“Then you admit it, huh?” Your fingers suddenly grip his collar, undoing the knot of his tie. “You admit you’re a pervert?”

“…I’m not a pervert,” He says resolutely.

“Right.” His tie freed, You bunch it into a ball in your fist. “Then you’re not gonna, like… cum or something, right? ‘Cause that’d be pretty bad for your case.”

Yes. “…Nope.”

“Oh, good!” You grin, “Now we don’t have to worry about a condom!”

He opens his mouth to protest, and you swoops in to take the opportunity to stuff his tie between his jaw, effectively gagging him.

His muffled sound of surprise barely escapes. Panic spikes in his chest, but it’s too late. You're already moving, and Spencer can only lie there helplessly as you unzip his pants with a hungry gleam in your eye.

His cock springs free, hard and aching, and completely at your mercy. Spencer’s eyes are huge behind the gag. “Careful,” You whisper dangerously as you hover over his dripping cock, “don’t wanna get your student pregnant.”

Spencer whimpers nervously.

You don't tease. No, you waste no time. In one smooth motion, you sink yourself down onto him. Spencer’s body goes taut, a choked noise escaping around his tie. It’s too much. You're tight and warm and he wasn’t ready for this at all.

You bite back a groan as you sheath the entirety of his length, every inch swallowed. “Fuck, this all for me?” You laugh mockingly, “Look at you, oh, you’re so fucking hard. It’s pathetic.”

Spencer lets out a muffled, shameful whine. His hands finally move, clutching at your hips like he doesn’t know where else to put them. You allow it, if only because the touch of his hands still sends a thrill through your body. “Poor thing… if only your body were half obedient as your mouth. Must be so frustrated.”

Spencer is frustrated. Frustrated that he can’t kiss you, frustrated that you’re talking like this, frustrated you’re not moving. He squeezes your hips gently, begging without words as he squirms under you. Move. Please.

You admire the way his cock bulges slightly in your tummy. “What? Huh? I can’t hear you under there."

Spencer makes a muffled noise, a furious cry, and rolls his hips upward, trying to show you what he wants.

You gasp slightly at the movement, laughing under your breath. “Aww, are we getting impatient?”

Spencer nods rapidly. His hands slide up your sides, then back down to grip your ass this time. He’s already breathless.

“You want me to fuck you so bad it makes you look like a virgin.”

Spencer just nods again, his saliva soaking the tie.

“Last I checked, dildo’s don’t whine.” Finally, mercifully, you slide yourself back up to his tip, cock almost slipping out. “I’m gonna ruin you,” you purr, “and you’re gonna thank me for it. Won’t you?”

Spencer moans as he nods frantically, like a bobblehead.

The slow drag of you taking him back in makes his toes curl, the sensation electric. It’s so good he almost forgets to breathe. The stretch is perfect, the heat maddening. But the slow, careful movements as you adjust don’t last long. You grip the collar of his shirt for stability as you begin to move yourself faster, then faster, immediately setting an unforgiving pace.

Spencer’s entire body convulses with pleasure. Each sharp bounce of your hips punches the air from his lungs. His hands scramble to hold onto your waist, fingers digging in as you ride him hard. Muffled moans spill out continuously from behind the fabric in his jaw as his vision blurs at the edges. His stomach tightens, his thighs tremble.

The pace is relentless and purposeful. It sends a message. That you’re taking what you want from him, and Spencer is just along for the ride.

Through your own bliss, you laugh at his state. “Oh, you are gone.”

The laugh vibrates through him and sends another wave of pleasure down his spine. His hips twitch up weakly to meet yours with every bounce.

You lean forward, pressing your chest against his, the pace never faltering. You bring your lips to his ear, your breath against his skin. “Gonna make you cum so hard you’ll show me what a whore you are.”

The words send a shiver down his spine, and he clenches his eyes shut. So vulgar, so degrading, and yet Spencer’s cock throbs at the sound of them.

The pace doesn’t slow for a second. If anything, it gets harder, more punishing. Spencer’s muscles tense, his orgasm already building fast, and he knows he’s not gonna last. He moans and whines girlishly as he starts to writhe beneath you.

“Oh, poor baby,” you mock, “I thought you… mmm, said you weren’t gonna cum in me. Fuck. Don’t tell me I’ve got a little liar.”

His entire body is tensing, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts out his nose, but he shakes his head violently.

“Oh, so close. So close, aren’t you? I know. I know, and you don’t wanna cum. Don’t wanna get me pregnant, do you? Fuck, I bet you’d lose your job.”

He tries to hold back, biting down onto his tie. It’s agony trying to hold back. His balls are tight, his cock pulsing with every bounce of your hips. The threat of consequences makes it worse. He can’t cum, he really can’t, but you're making it impossible. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes from desperation.

“Too bad,” You hiss, leaning down again to whisper in his ear like a devil on his shoulder. “C’mon, just cum for me. C’mon, who cares? Who cares I’m your student? Make me drip with you.”

He tries to shake his head, but Spencer’s body betrays him. With a silent, shuddering convulsion, his orgasm rips through him. Even through the gag, his choked moans escape as he cums inside you, pulse after pulse filling you as pleasure tears through his entire being.

You let out an airy, girly moan and laugh at him, giddy and triumphant.

Spencer goes limp underneath you. He breathes heavily through his nose, still whining and squirming. After a while, his eyes flutter open as he weakly lifts his head. He stares at where you’re connected with horror, the haze fading and the clarity hitting him.

You notice. “You wanna see?”

Spencer nods rapidly.

You lift yourself from his softening cock, the globs of his release sliding down his length. You're dripping with him. His cum, so much of it, leaking down his own cock and dripping from your thighs.

The sight makes him nauseous. His chest rises and falls rapidly in panic. His eyes are blown open wide and searching yours for an answer.

Finally satisfied, you end the game. “I’m on the pill.”

Spencer's entire body sags with instant relief.

You chuckle, then grasp his cock from between your thighs, realigning it with your dripping entrance.

Again? His cock is sensitive, overspent, he’s still coming down from the high of his last orgasm. But you don't seem to care, just guiding his half-hard cock back inside without hesitation.

The moment you push yourself back down, it’s too much. Too sensitive. The oversensitivity makes his writhe involuntarily, a whimper escaping around his gag. He doesn’t know if he can go again, but you clearly expect him to try.

You don't give him time to adjust. You start moving immediately, rolling your hips in slow circles. His body responds despite itself, his cock stirring back to life, slowly hardening again inside you.

Spencer’s hands clutch at the carpet beneath him helplessly. It shouldn’t feel good. It hurts. But the sensation is undeniable, and his hips give tiny little involuntary thrusts upward.

You lean down, finally pulling the gag out of his mouth. “There we go,” You murmur, then kiss him, deeply this time.

Your lips are warm, your tongue sliding against his as you start to ride him again. To Spencer, it feels intimate. He hums into your mouth, kissing you softly. But it doesn’t take long before your pace stops being gentle.

You’re using him. Using his cock like a dildo, and something about it is dizzying. His hands find your waist again, gripping tight as you pick up speed, chasing your own pleasure now. He just lies there, letting you take what you want from his body.

The kiss breaks as you focus on riding him harder, faster. Spencer’s head lolls back against the floor. He’s just a thing to you right now— a toy, a tool. He’s much comparable to a ragdoll. He watches you from the floor as you use him, gritting your teeth and moaning.

You’re riding him erratically, moving yourself and his dick whichever way hits that spot inside you best. He watches your face, the way your brows furrow, how you bite your lip, and decides it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Even as a ragdoll, he can appreciate that.

Your moans get louder, coming out in shorter, clipped bursts. You're close. Spencer feels it, the way your thighs tense around him, how you grind down with purpose now. He stays perfectly still, letting your chase that high on top of him.

A sharp cry escapes you as your body locks up, and he feels the sudden tight clench around him. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

When it’s over, you huff once, then slump forward, forehead pressed to his chest, and just breathe for a moment.

Spencer stays still, one hand hesitantly rubbing your back.

After a beat, You grab his face with a ferocity and force your lips back to his. With a dazed expression, Spencer eagerly accepts.

The kiss is messy and sloppy. Your post-orgasm haze mixes with any lingering adrenaline. And Spencer kisses back like he’s starving for it, his hands sliding up to cradle your face.

But you slip out of his grasp all too soon, and Spencer whines. Sliding yourself off his cock with a groan, you suddenly reach up to grip his hair, tilting his head back. “Open your mouth,” you command.

Albeit a bit confused, he obeys, lips parting. His heart is still racing, his body humming from everything that just happened.

You crawl up his body like a predator, and Spencer realizes with dizzying clarity, you want to straddle his face. And some part of him gets a thrill that he did it well enough the first time you would demand it again.

You don't have to guide him. He’s ready, eager even, holding out his hands to steady you. His palms slide up your thighs, and he tilts his head just right, lips parted expectantly. Please. That’s what the look in his eyes says.

You lower yourself onto his mouth with zero hesitation. Spencer inhales sharply through his nose, your scent is everywhere, before his lips press even against you.

This time, he doesn’t bother with the coquettish hesitation. He dives in. Immediately, he tastes himself on your tongue, the flavor of which strange, salty and musky. But he doesn’t mind. Spencer laps at you contentedly, his tongue exploring with more confidence than before, licking and sucking and kissing.

You inhale sharply through your teeth, your fist gripping his hair. You shudder atop him, your thighs squeezing around his head. “Oh my god,” You breathe out, genuinely surprised. His tongue is moving just right, his pressure is perfect. Your hips start rolling against his mouth, chasing the pleasure.

Spencer, for his part, is fully immersed, licking and kissing like he’s worshipping you. His cheeks and nose are damp with your arousal.

Your back arches into him as you practically ride his face, greedily taking everything his mouth has to offer. He holds your thighs steady, letting you grind against his lips, his tongue working tirelessly to give you exactly what you want.

You're close again, sooner than last time. Breathing raggedly, your grip on his hair tightens as you chase that second high.

Spencer can feel it, the way your body tenses, the tiny trembles in your thighs. A high, broken moan tears from your throat and you shake, your thighs clamping around Spencer’s head. He keeps his tongue right where he is, letting it happen, letting you ride out the waves on his mouth.

You finally lift yourself from his mouth, taking the heat of your cunt with you. Spencer helps you crawl back to his lap as he catches his breath. He pulls your limp body gently into his arms. He can’t help but cradle you against his chest. It felt like the right thing to do. You slump against him without a complaint.

You’re both a mess. Sweaty, sticky, and exhausted, the smell of sex thick in the air.

You both lie there, boneless. The floor doesn’t make for the most comfortable spot to lie, but neither could especially move if they tried. The cool air conditioning, at least, is pleasant against their overheated skin.

Spencer exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling. “So, uh… what… what now?”

Your breath is still coming out in puffs. “…What’s that supposed to mean?”

Spencer purses his lips, suddenly nervous. He swallows. “…Are we… um… gonna talk about what just happened?”

You lie there wordlessly for a moment. “…I dunno. I didn’t really plan this far.”

Spencer nods slowly. Silence stretches between them, heavy and awkward. Then he suddenly frowns in thought. “You… you planned this?”

“Yeah. I’ve been wanting to fuck your brains out since I found out you weren’t another old, boring professor.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. His cheeks flush again. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I mean… shit, everybody does. I just did it first. I tried to tell you.”

“Yeah, I, uh… thought you meant— well…” He thinks back to your conversation in his office, about the female students in his class, auditing only because they intended to spend the class ogling him instead of listening. “I assumed the fact that you were enrolled meant you… didn’t share the sentiment.”

“What, sitting in your lap wasn’t enough of a hint?”

“W-well, I think it hit me by that point, actually!”

You drop your head in exasperation with the knowledge that all of your flirting, this entire time, flew under his radar. Jesus, it was a miracle you’d gotten to this point at all.

You exhale theatrically, reaching up to pat his cheek. “You’re very dense. It’s very charming.”

He smiles, small and shy. “Thank you?”

You just hum. The both of you are silent again, slumped against each other. The clock ticks in his room, the AC rattles.

Spencer idly taps his fingers against your back, still staring at the ceiling. “Did you, uh… wanna… get coffee sometime? Or something?”

A lazy grin spreads across your face, Spencer feels it against his skin. “God, I could fuck you again.”

[wh0reticiaaddams]

Thinking about modern day, frat boy Steve Harrington with fwb!reader who’s a niche, micro internet celebrity..

Everyone in his fraternity knows the two of you are fucking. So do your close friends. If the constellation of hickeys and bite marks scattered across your décolletage and climbing the column of his neck wasn’t incriminating enough, your private Instagram stories and Twitter subtweets certainly were. Neither of you ever named the other outright, but you hardly had to. Everyone knew exactly who you were talking about. The two of you weren’t nearly as subtle as you’d like to assume.

You’d think two people so vehemently committed to staying strictly fuck buddies would keep things confined to vulgar nudes volleyed back and forth over imessage, and one night stands that ended the moment the last orgasm faded. Instead, it is painfully obvious that you both have a jealous streak.

It is also painfully obvious that you both get off by said jealous streak.

Like the one time you catch him leaning in with his mouth too close to another woman’s ear. You can spot her cheeks reddening from a mile away, his hand resting on her hip as they continue to blatantly flirt on the party floor. Any sane person would expect a woman hopelessly in love to either cut him off immediately, or storm over there with a vengeance and stake claim on their man.

But, you? Nah, that’s too easy. You want to make Steve Harrington sweat.

Which brings you to your Twitter account, one that boasts a striking 500k followers. You decided on a picture that shows you sporting a very tiny, cropped top that has the words “i ♡ myself” front and center. At first glance, it just reads as a busty cleavage pic— but once you zero in on the tiny piercings peeking through the material, it becomes much more.

@y/nsvenom: Here’s my contribution to your therapist’s “she’s a narcissist” speculation.

81 comments. 5.2k retweets. 1.9k bookmarks.

He’s fucking furious, scrolling through the endless comments by both men and women— and you’re retweeting this bullshit like it means something to you. Like they touch you like him. Like their two fingers have explored the depths of your throat like his have. Like your knees were planted firmly under their palms against the mattress as a means of spreading your legs as far as they could rest, pinning them down and fucking into you like the desperate beggar you were. Asking for more, your juices leaking down the part of your opening and splattering against his thighs as he pounds into that perfect cunt. All because he indulged in conversation with another woman. You are the bane of this man’s existence.

You’re also the reason he’s got a hard grip on his cock right now and is biting down on his damp bottom lip while he strokes from base to tip. His free hand is devoutly holding one of your used panties over his nose, (one you snuck into the front pocket of his jeans two nights prior after grinding against your palm in his frathouse bathroom. he was pissed at you that night, too, for allowing a rival member to do body shots off you. needless to say, after a stare down that involved both of you locking eyes as a sorority girl danced with her backside raunchily against his front, and you doing similar to said frat bro in a tight dress that rode up your thighs when swaying at the right tempo— he had to know your eyes were on him because you wanted it to be him. But your eyes had to say it, your mouth never could. It’d ruin this little game of cat and mouse you two little avoidants adore oh so much.)

He’s thinking about the one guy who commented “what about my own personal ‘shes got the best rack in America’ speculation”

Another streamer. Almost at a million views, quite a following with his own array of thirst comments whenever a picture is posted. Surely, someone you’d hook up with if given the chance, right? And he should fucking hate you for making him feel like this?

Instead, he’s allowing his tongue to peek through parted lips, lapping at the fabric and breathing in the material of the panties you got off in not long beforehand. He’s fucking sick, clamping it to his nose while precum drips off the tip of his cock. How your response was a brief, “You should know she does.” .. it was simple. It was suggestive enough to imply someone else has seen it. You’re such a bitch. He doesn’t want anyone else.

Your private account’s a different kind of evil. He notices that you have one new follower, and you’re following one new person.

And of course, it’s that same rival frat brother who took a body shot off you. If that wasn’t enough of a chess move, your next post was a picture of you in nothing but a thong and one of his belts wrapped around your naked chest, your manicured fingertips tugging at the loose end— and a caption that read:

@y/nyoutease: “belt off the tits, what number comes after 2?”

He can’t see who, but there’s a comment from a private account under. All you respond with is “Well, you know the rules.. 💦” and that’s enough to get him in your texts immediately.

He asks if you’re done trying to prove a point. You send him a news article on cyber stalking & tell him he wants to fuck you so bad it makes him look stupid.

He does. And you’re over at his in an hour.

That night, Steve’s private twitter’s only post is:

@evenStevens: “Don’t let a block button stop you from eating out your soulmate.”

You don’t reply, but your next tweet is a simple middle finger emoji.

[impalaaa-67]

having sex with arthur morgan and you’re being wayyy too loud so he muffles you with his bandana but even that won’t help much. and maybe john walks in… sees the sight and immediately gets hard, so arthur has the great idea to shut you up with marston’s dick instead

[spenceloria]

hello there 😈😈 how are you 😈😈

if its not too much to offer, ever thought of maybe. maybe putting lingerie on Spencer. and maybe. maybe dumbification. something something cockring. WAIT WHO SAID THAT😰😰😰😰

hed discover something about himself and wake up questioning his whole life tbh. but you'd be there to comfort him 😇 very nice

hello anon😇😇😇 i’m doing well how are you!! (literally ten months later…) finally going through some old asks bc wdym this is from october??? i'm so evil. cruel, really. i'm so sorry trust i'll make it up to you guys... thank you for this ask anon i love seeing freaks like me on the prowl.

thinking about slowly introducing more feminine treatment towards spencer!!! maybe your relationship is somewhat fresh? or maybe you're just too shy to admit what you really want outright!! but spence is so ridiculously into it... fem oriented praises! telling him how pretty he is all the time, stroking his pink dusted cheeks and running your fingers through his long curls!!! calling him "princess" in a tone so teasing it feels verrryyy intentional and less like playful banter.

i like to think that spencer's comfort in his feminity is crucial to his character—like such delicate treatment would be incredibly welcomed!! and obviously if you asked to practice a makeup look on him??? he would absolutely be down! pretty sparkling glitter decorating his hazel eyes ++ smudged lip gloss because you simply could not keep your hands to yourself... leading to leaking mascara and oh—look! you're giving him the messiest head of his life while thick black globs are dripping down his cheeks (he's such a cryer FUCKKK) little kitten licks darting across his rosy sensitive tip before you take as much of his length as you can into your mouth... soft gags breaking through the obscene wet plaps that echo off the walls... he's finished. he can feel his ghost escaping with every whine that you force past his lips…

andandand spencer in lingerie is perfect in itself... but i'm thinking abt missionary where you're alternating from sweet praises and condescending words of degradation!!! while you're also all dressed up!!! spencer has gone absolutely stupid, just staring at the way your tits bounce adorned in pretty lace:(( i feel like he'd only be comfortable wearing something simple like garters or idk?? because trust those sheer materials can be incredibly overstimulating but!!! i digress!!! he looks beautiful nonetheless… pace getting all messy and uncorrdinated as he chases his peak... and taunting him a little to egg him on!!! "come on pretty boy, can't you make me feel good? hmm? can you fuck me right, puppy?" and he's actually gone dumb. where is he? what time is it? why can't he think about anything other than youyouyou and how good your perfect pussy makes him feel... you manage to slow his brain to a concerning pace, usually his mind is working overtime—the white static that he's met with is completely foreign, an unkown result thats only favourable when you're mixed into the equation. "are you still with me pup? too much of a stupid boy to keep up?"

++ with the addition of a cockring? he might as well start digging his own grave. he's already extremely sensitive as it is, and now, with restricted blood flow and you whispering something along the lines of "got to keep you nice and hard for me so i can use you properly" as you ride him so hard he's seeing stars. mind blank. grabbing at bits of the frilly fabric that pool around your hips in a desprate attempt to ground himself because he is sure he's died and his soul is trying to escape his body (he would never let anything take him away from you...)

spencer waking up with sore skin, burning eyes, and a map of purple splotches spanning from his neck all the way down to the tufts of hair that trail down his belly button... he's sure he'll never be the same.

but anywayanyway this concept has honestly corrupted me justttt a tiny little bit recently. like ok we been knowing i like guys who look like girls...so maybe this isn't really that much of a surprise!🫣 what can i say? if i like pink and lace, then my man should too... its just balance guys! lowk what is this even called bc i may or may not be developing a kink... what! ok bye love you hahaha

[steddiesprettiestgirl]

⋆˙⟡ in too deep

ᯓ★ boyfriend!steve harrington x f!reader

⋆.𐙚 ̊ cw — mdni, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, spanking, degradation, dumbification, pet names, praise kink, steve’s verrrryyy cocky, belly bulge, big dick steve obviously

⋆.𐙚 ̊ summary — after a very terrible 48 hours and some mean comments, steve decides he needs to put you in your place.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ authors note — hi guys! this is kinda like head-cannon style but i literally wrote this in 30 minutes so it def kinda sucks but i lowk kinda like it??? anyways, working on the sex chocolates smut and sparks still!!! please send in any smutty or fluffy requests you have :p

⋆.𐙚 ̊ wc — 1.95k

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ please do not copy, rewrite, or repost my works on any other platforms or pages.

season 5 steve would definitely be such a brat tamer. he’s always slightly annoyed, ready to snap at the smallest of inconveniences because of the never ending crawls and his ongoing feud with dustin.

and he loves you soo much. you’ve never had to doubt that for the entirety of your long relationship. he treats you better than you could’ve ever imagined. he loves you loudly and unapologetically. he’s the literal epitome of your very own prince charming from those cheesy movies he used to always take you to see.

but with everything happening lately, he’s just always so on edge and so pent up. and you’d caught him on a particularly bad day.

the night before was an absolutely terrible crawl. dustin had been running late, steve had been forced into the van with jonathan, they’d gotten lost, then caught shit about it from dustin and hopper for hours after.

it was safe to say his fuse was extremely short the next morning at the station.

and so was yours.

robin had been on one all morning, clearly not having a great day either. she’d been hurling insults practically every five seconds out of pure frustration. usually a shift like this would be filled with lighthearted banter and giggles, not sideways glances and snappy comments.

and sitting in the muggy sound booth was like literal hell. the atmosphere was akin to a live wire waiting to be set off any seconds.

and robin had really pissed you off now. and unfortunately for steve, he was catching the brunt of it.

“steve, wrong button!”

“dude, you missed your cue!”

“can you stop chewing so loud?!”

“are you even listening to her at all?!”

“god, do i have to do everything myself?!”

you should’ve known to just shut up when he’d gone eerily quiet. he didn’t snap back with some crude insult— he never did— but he usually had some sort of comment. whether it be a quick “sorry,” or “my bad.” he always had something to say nowadays.

he just leaned back in his chair, deathly silent and cold.

and the moment you got into your shared apartment and into your bedroom, he was sitting down and bending you over his lap. your soft, flowy skirt was bunched up around your hips and your bare skin was on perfect display for him.

“you think you can just yell at me like that? because what? you’ve had a bad day?” and his heavy, big hand would come down onto the supple skin with a loud smack, making you jerk against his thighs. “hm? think you can get all mean and expect things to go back to normal?”

there’d be zero sympathy in his voice because everyone has truly been pushing his buttons for the last 48 hours.

his calloused palm was sooth over the reddening skin slowly, giving you that false sense of relief that made you think it was over.

smack.

you’d cry out brokenly, your legs kicking up at the sharp sting. “stevie—“

he’d cut you off immediately because he knows where you’re going with this. he always knows. “not today, baby. can’t sweet talk your way out of this one.”

smack.

the tears prickling in your waterline would begin to finally trickle down your cheeks, leaving trails of dark mascara to smudge. your bottom is starting to burn now but you know it’s far from over.

“you done bein’ a little brat to me? or should i keep going?” he asked mockingly, squeezing at the fat of your ass. you couldn’t help but whine in pain. “you gonna apologize to me? tell me how sorry you are? how this won’t happen again?”

and when you try to start pleading your case and beg for it to be over, promising it won’t happen ever again and you’ll be so nice, he’d kinda chuckle to himself and be like, “hmm, it’s funny ‘cause i think that’s exactly what you promised me last time.”

and his heavy hand would come down on the untouched side of your ass with another loud smack, making you choke out a sob. he’d stop if he truly thought he was hurting you, but he knows you better than anyone. and he knows how much you fucking love it.

“count ‘em up, honey,” he’d command, his hands kneading the flesh as he geared up for another spanking. “you know the rules. miss one and i start over.”

and he’d make you count all the way to 14 including the previous 3, an even number on each cheek. by the time he was done, your skin would be red, irritated, and literally on fire so when you went in the station tomorrow and had to sit for the long hours, you’d be uncomfortable and restless. it’d be a long reminder of your behavior and it’s consequences.

you’d be all teary and blabbering out apologies, begging stevie to forgive you. you swear it’ll never happen again and you’ll make it up to him.

after smoothing over your burning skin, he’d have you face down on the bed with your ass perched up into the air, drilling all the of attitude out of you. he’d be sooo transfixed on your creamy little cunt just fucking sucking him right back in and leaving a milt ring around the base of him.

“this what you wanted, baby? just wanted to be punished like a little slut?” he’d coo, his hands holding your waist in a bruising grip, pulling you back to meet each thrust. “fuck. pretty pussy’s just fuckin’ cryin’ for it, huh?”

he’d be so mean and teasing, leaning over you so he was buried impossibly deep. his hand would be pressing the side of face down into the sheets as you cried, fingers bunching at the blankets uselessly to try and ground you.

his hips would be moving so much slower, rolling against yours and making a new home in your guts. you could practically feel him in your throat. and you’d be mumbling out absolute nonsense. begging for more? maybe begging for mercy? he could never decipher it.

“the fuck are you even saying right now?” it came out as a breathy laugh, that lazy, confident smile splaying across his face. the hand on the side of your face moves to your hair, tugging the the roots gently before sliding around to hold your neck. he’d pull you upright so your head was back against his shoulder and his arm was looping around to splay a big hand over your stomach, feeling the head of him bulging against your tummy. one particularly hard thrust would have you screaming and arching away from him. “c’mon. be a good girl and use your words. tell me what you want.”

a choked scream spilled past your swollen lips, biting down hard to stop yourself frim letting out another when you felt a deep punch of his fat tip against your cervix. “wanna cum! hmph! please, stevie. right— right there! yes, yes, yes!”

he’d reach around to rub at your puffy, neglected clit until your jerking against him and crying out in pleasure. even when he was pissed off at you, he’d always ensure that you came first.

“that’s it, pretty baby,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear, repeatedly abusing that sweet spot inside of your gummy walls. “taking my fat cock like a fuckin’ champ. you were made for this, weren’t you?”

your nails would be digging so brutally into the forearm around your throat that was almost keeping you in a headlock, but he’d be so lost in the tight warmth of your cunt that he wouldn’t even care. he’d fucking eat it up every time. in the same way that you loooved his firm bicep pressing against your neck. if you were a little more conscious, you’d surely be taking a big bite of them.

with your shaking, spent body, he’d finally lay you back down and slide a pillow under your hips before pressing his full weight on top of you from behind. he’d push himself so far up your guts that you’d be genuinely seeing stars. and his arm would be locking around your neck again, his lips neck to your ear as he moaned lewdly.

“shit. i fuckin’ love when you get all bratty with me,” he’d admit in a low purr. “love getting to have you all dumb and pretty on my cock. hearing you beg me to let you come— oh, fuck. and deep down, i know how much you love getting this little pussy punished. can feel how tight she squeezes me, how fuckin’ wet she gets the minute i get inside you.”

“oh— oh, stevie! please, feels so good,” you cried, jolting forward with the force each hard thrust. “i love it! mmph! love when you punish me!”

and he’d be sooo fucking cocky about it, biting and nipping at your ear as he chuckled. “yeah? tell me how much you love it, baby. tell me how good i make you feel.”

you’d be crying, shaking beneath him, barely able to form another comprehendable sentence when he begins rolling his hips into you, so deep and slow that you feel like you’re suffocating. and steve’s scent, the expensive cologne and his natural musk, is all around you. it’s so entirely him that you’re literally drunk off of it.

when he knows you’re close again, mostly because you can’t say a single intelligible word, he’s rubbing at your clit with his free hand and snapping his hips into yours a little quicker. you can’t even scream when the coil in your stomach snaps, you just have to lay there and take the immense pleasure running through your blood.

and he’d finally start to get all soft on you when he thrusts a few more times slowly before feeling his balls draw up, fully emptying himself inside your dripping cunt. “there you go, honey. yeahhh, just fucking’ take it,” he moaned sweetly into your ear, peppering the side of your sweaty face in loving kisses. “such a good girl for me. fuck, i love you. love you so much, pretty.”

and steve would certainly keep you stuffed full for a few minutes while you caught your breath, kissing all over every inch of your skin. he’d sit up and away from you just to gently paw at your ass, placing the most tender kisses along the bruised skin all while muttering about how much he loves you and how good you were for him.

he’d gently spread the skin apart so he could watch his fat cock pull out from your messy pussy, loving the way his thick cum slowly gushed out of your hole. just to tease you a little, he’d sometimes run the tip of him down your slit to collect his seed and shove it back inside of you, making you let out a choked gasp and grip the sheets beneath you.

his lips would find the space between your shoulder blades, kissing all over you and then pulling out for good.

and steve looooooves aftercare. so of course he’d be rolling you over, pecking your pretty lips and running a soft, warm towel along the stickiness between your legs. he’d be kissing all over you the entire time, praising you, mumbling “i love you, honey,” over and over and over.

and then when you’re all spent and docile, he’d hold you in his big strong arms, smoothing the hair from your face and smiling at you all lovesick and sweet, resulting in the both of you apologizing for being so grumpy all day and cuddling even closer in the comfort of your warm bed.

[dollmulder]

HELLOO it’s been quite some time since i’ve posted anything on here, i posted a oneshot like two years ago and then pretty much dipped lol. but i have been writing still! i just unfortunately procrastinate too much and don’t finish half of what i start and then i lose motivation. but! that’s not the point of this, i’m working on hopefully writing more little drabbles and actually posting them, but i don’t currently have anything finished to my satisfaction, so i thought i’d do a little nsfw alphabet thing for mr john marston. why is it so hard to find oneshots about him i swear ive read just about everything there’s worth reading on ao3 twice now. so hopefully ill cook up a few of my own stories, but for now i have this. hope you enjoy! and let me know what you think! (and if you have any recommendations for john fics PLSPLSPLS send them my way)

John Marston, A NSFW alphabet:

a: aftercare

for awhile, it didn’t really cross his mind that you might want to be taken care of afterwards. he still doesn’t do much, not because he’s an asshole, but generally because you have sex in awkward places, like out in the woods where you have to be quick and rushed, but on the rare occasions when you’re able to have privacy and take your time, like if you can get a room somewhere, he’ll offer to help get you cleaned up.

as for if HE wants any type of aftercare, the first time you asked him he looked kind of bewildered. “huh? me?” but yes deep down he really really loves it when you offer, though he never asks out of both some kind of manly pride and also embarrassment.

b: body (their favorite body part on you and themselves)

on himself, he doesn’t like much because of all the scars he has, but if he absolutely had to choose, maybe his hands. sure they’re calloused and often dirty, and again, a bit scarred up, but in a way they make him feel strong. he likes to hold you with them and he loves how your smaller hand feels holding his.

on you, of course, he likes everything, but if he had to choose a favorite (or multiple) he likes your collarbones. he loves to kiss and and lick the gentle expanse of your skin there. he also loves your thighs and hips, and he loves, loves, loves, to squeeze and hold them, especially when you squirm underneath his touch, and he likes to leave marks on your skin around your hips and inner thighs. he loves your stomach too, and especially loves to kiss down your chest and stomach as he makes his way down to your center. he likes the fact that you’re smaller than him too, and that he’s able to pick you up with relative ease, but overall he loves all of your body and everything about you equally, and if you were to ask him his favorite part of you, he would say everything.

c: cum

A MUNCH. he loves to eat you out, part of the reason being he loves the way you feel slick against his chin and nose, especially seeing your reaction when he pulls away to look up at you, and he can’t help but love the taste and smell of your arousal. especially when it’s visibly soaked through your undergarments. john marston is not a religious man, but he’ll never pass up an opportunity to get on his knees for you. he generally tries to make you cum at least twice, once with his mouth usually and then again when he fucks you, but more on that later.

as for his own, he doesn’t have any particular feelings towards it, however, he loves to finish on you vs inside you because he’s terrified of getting you pregnant. one time he wasn’t fast enough because he was too worked up and he came just as he was trying to pull out, instead of on your stomach like he usually tries to, and the sight of your cunt dripping with his fluids was something he particularly enjoyed, but the whole pregnancy thing is still too much of a scare for him to make that a regular occurrence.

d: dirty secret

before he was able to touch you for the first time, he’d accidentally seen you naked by the river one day. he spent weeks avoiding you in camp afterwards, simultaneously trying to scrub the memory from his brain, but also hold onto it because he thought this would be the best he would get and that you would never go for a guy like him. it was a total accident but he still felt like a perv for the longest time.

e: experience

he doesn’t talk about it much/at all with you, but he’s been with his fair share of women and so generally knows what he’s doing. of course every woman is different, and none of the women he’s been with previously could ever compare to you. even with his experience, and the fact that he knows his way around your body, he still always feels like a giddy teenager having sex for the first time, fearful that he’ll screw things up or that you won’t enjoy yourself. but you have a way of allaying his fears.

f: favorite position

once again, he loves loves loves to use his mouth on you. he probably has some kind of oral fixation with how much he loves eating you out, but he also loves using his hands to get you off, making you cum on his fingers. he loves to tease you at camp, sneaking a hand under your skirt whenever he can get the chance.

as for an actual position, he would probably go with cowgirl. (fitting) although he loves to make you feel good, he also likes it when you take charge of your pleasure. he doesn’t like reverse cowgirl much at all though, as he loves to watch your face and your expressions as you grind yourself down on him.

g: goofy (vs being more serious)

he tries to be a mixture of both, but it all depends on his mood and the moment. if it’s been awhile and he really wants to touch you, he’ll be more serious, same with if you’re able to finally get a moment of privacy where he can actually take his time with you.

h: hair

john? shaving? you think he has time for that? (or honestly really even cares.) not at all. he doesn’t expect you to shave either.

i: intimacy

he wasn’t at first, but once he got comfortable with you, you found him to be very intimate, spending plenty of time kissing you all over. he likes to take his time with you. his hands are always touching some part of you, whether it be a gentle guiding hand upon the small of your back, his hands cupping your waist, or grabbing your ass as he walks by you, etc. and just as his hands are always touching you, his mouth is always complimenting you, telling you that you make him feel good, or that you’re that you’re being a good girl for him. he loves to praise you and make you feel good about yourself.

j: jerk off

prior to meeting you, he wouldn’t ever really touch himself, unless he got really worked up, but at camp it’s hard to get a moment to yourself and he feels that sneaking off to have sex is a lot less humiliating than sneaking off to shove your own hand in your pants. he’s not too proud to admit this, but generally, before you, if he really needed to get himself off, he’d try and find a lady he could pay to help him out.

k: kink

he loves praising you. he absolutely adores telling you how well you’re doing or how beautiful you look, as he loves seeing you confident and enjoying yourself, especially when it’s because of his words and his actions. he loves the sounds you make, and he loves to dote on you, and he knows you love it too, not out of some self-centered need for validation, but who doesn’t like being told they’re doing a good job?

he loves to tease you and make you beg for things. he loves to see the look of frustration on your face when he pulls his mouth or his hands away from you, seeing how needy you are for him. the way your voice gets whiny, and the way you look distraught without his touch, it does wonders to him.

he also absolutely loves when you grab and pull at his hair. it lets him know that he’s doing something good and that you’re beginning to lose control. he also loves your apologetic nature always saying sorry, or telling him you didn’t mean to hurt him. he finds it endearing.

l: location

he’s fine with wherever and had no qualms about getting you off in public (but secluded) places, but if he always had the option, he loves to have sex in more private areas where he can really take his time with you.

he does really like though when one of you is desperate to get off (typically after being gone away from camp/each other for awhile) and so you sneak off into the woods and he gets to fuck you up against a tree or something. maybe it’s because sex like this is usually pretty wanton and depraved, or also because the first time he got to touch you was in a scenario like this.

m: motivation (what turns them on)

when you tease him and act dumb about it. he loves it when you pout your lips, and bat your eyelashes acting coy. especially when you do this in public, knowing that he can’t do too much about it at the moment.

and again, he loves your neediness. when you whine at the loss of contact, or when you’re on your period and you can’t seem to get enough of him. (plus if you’re on your period he knows he can’t get you pregnant)

he also loves it when you take charge. telling him what you want him to do, how fast, how rough, etc. he loves when you’re vocal about what you want and what feels good or what doesn’t.

n: no

degradation. he would never dare call you a bitch, a slut, a whore, etc. he doesn’t shame other women for being into such things, (however, he does shame men a little bit for getting off on calling women degrading terms) it’s just not in his nature. he finds no pleasure in putting you down in the slightest.

bondage. he’s not particularly into tying you up and restricting your hands from roaming his body or naturally reacting to his stimulation. he loves seeing you grip the bedsheets and arch your back. plus tying you up would remind him too much of hogtieing someone.

o: oral

he definitely prefers to give, although he does love and wouldn’t ever object to receiving. when you give him head, he likes to watch the way your eyelashes flutter, and he loves moments when you pull away and he can see the strings of saliva connecting his dick to your mouth.

p: pace

he likes to be slow with you at first, building up your orgasm(s) in a teasing way, but of course not too slow. generally, he likes to make you come twice (or more sometimes!), depending on your sensitivity. when he’s fucking you he tends to go faster, as generally by that time he’s already made you cum with his mouth and/or fingers, so you’re extra needy and begging, and what kind of man would he be if he didn’t give you everything you ask for?

q: quickie

he’s not terribly fond of quickies, as mentioned he likes to take his time with you. but he’s not entirely impartial to them. you have your fair share of them because it’s hard to find time to actually treat you like the woman you deserve to be treated as.

r: risk

he loves the risk of being caught, it gives him a huge adrenaline boost. sure there’s nothing more he enjoys than having a private space for some time so he can really make you come undone, but there’s something he finds extremely hot about sneaking to get you off, or trying to be quiet while at camp.

s: stamina

he has a decent stamina, although he generally doesn’t last too long, lesser so when you take the lead on things (what can he say? he loves a woman in power) this is one of the reasons he loves to focus on your pleasure because generally by the time he’s fucking you, he’ll be quick to release, especially if you use coaxing words. every word and sound that comes from your mouth has an extreme effect on him and you know it.

t: toys

he has a pair of handcuffs he stole off a lawman once.

u: unfair

he loves to tease you, but he also loves when you tease him. he loves when you’re shy and submissive, but he also loves when you act a bit bratty, not in the sense that he has to “tame” you, but he likes knowing that you talk back to him rather than being wholly submissive to him. he likes a balance of both.

again, he also does like to deny you of his touch sometimes too, especially in the middle of things. the way you whine when he pulls his fingers or mouth away, especially when he knows you’re close to finishing. “relax darlin’, i’m right here still.”

v: volume

he’s loud. you tease him for it often, but he really can’t help himself most of the time. he finds it embarrassing but he knows how much he loves when you make sounds like that, and he can tell that you love the sounds he makes just as much. this is why doing things at camp is pretty seldom.

w: wildcard (random hcs)

while he doesn’t like to feel like he “owns” you, he does have this sense of possessiveness over you. he loves it when you wear flattering and/or revealing outfits when you’re out together, knowing that you’re beautiful and confident, but that he’s the only one who gets to touch you and hear your beautiful sounds. he also likes to refer to you as his, calling you things like “my girl,” etc.

he also does get jealous a lot of times. he doesn’t like it when you’re alone with the other men at camp (not that he doesn’t trust you) and nothing makes him more angry than seeing another man’s eyes lingering on your body for too long.

he really really likes putting his fingers in your mouth. often times before he fingers you he’ll have you suck on/lick his fingers to get them wet.

he LOVES to leave marks on you. sometimes he doesn’t know his own strength in the moment and he’ll leave bruises on your hips/waist/ass from the strength of his grip. he always feels bad afterwards because he’d never want to intentionally hurt you, but you reassure him that it’s okay.

x: x ray

he’s big, but not too big, somewhere around 6 inches. not very girthy, but enough to get the job done. his tip is a pinkish, almost peachy, nude color.

y: yearning

he’s always yearning for you, not that he’s constantly a horned up freak, but whenever you make it known that you want him, he’s never one to turn down the opportunity.

z: zzzzz

if you’re in a place where sleeping after having sex is possible, he always tries to wait for you to fall asleep first, and generally, he’s not that successful. when you’ve worn him out, the thrumming of your heartbeat, and the way your fingers gently scratch at his scalp lulls him to sleep. sometimes, although he tries not to, he passes out nearly immediately afterwards. he has a hard time sleeping, and does so much easier and better with you in his presence, something else he wouldn’t admit to. he also loves to sprawl out in his sleep.

the end :) <3