Includes: Harry Potter, Stardew Valley, Five Nights at Freddy's, Criminal Minds, American Horror Story, Miscellaneous Josh Hutcherson Characters, The Hunger Games & more to come…
megriddle333 on ao3!!
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Harry Potter ↴
Tom Riddle, (Young) Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom & Ron Weasley | 20 works
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Stardew Valley ↴
Sebastian, Sam, Alex, Elliott, Shane & Harvey | 10 works
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Five Nights at Freddy's (2023) ↴
Mike Schmidt | 7 works
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Criminal Minds ↴
Spencer Reid | 4 works
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The Hunger Games ↴
Peeta Mellark, Sejanus Plinth | 2 works
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American Horror Story ↴
Tate Langdon, Michael Langdon | 2 works
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Miscellaneous JHutch Characters ↴
Josh Futturman, Derek Danforth, Billy Burn | 1 work
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Kinktober 2025 ↴
all fandoms (except stardew valley) | 5 works (unfinished)
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Kinktober 2024 ↴
all fandoms (except the hunger games) | 22 works
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Short-form requests open (keep in mind there is a backlog)
hello pls does anyone have any ideas for a smutty neville oneshot??? i want to write for him but all my ideas rn require a bunch of set up and i kinda just want to write smth short and smutty (although preferably not established relationship if possible)
Neville Longbottom x Fem!Reader Insert (no gender-specific details, though it is mentioned that the reader has hair)
+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* After months of constant tension between Neville and you, it all comes to a loud, frustrating head in his favorite place—the Hogwarts greenhouse.
+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Dry-humping, public sexual content (sort of), kissing, dirty talk, talking Nev through it (slightly), slightly dom!reader (sort of), slightly sub!Nev, fem!reader, hickies (m!receiving) (very brief mention), language, not fully proof-read (lmk if I missed anything!)
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
Phonograph - Vlad Holiday
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Neville Longbottom was an enigma. Somewhere— between his dark, wild curls and sprawling legs—you knew he had it in him to make simple conversation with you. But, for whatever reason, he was reserved, if not completely silent. Especially when serious topics popped up.
It wasn’t like he didn’t do that with everyone, because he most certainly did. Nev was an extremely shy guy, but you would have hoped that after years of friendship, he’d do a little better.
Sure, he chatted with you about the things you both loved—herbology, butterbeer, etc., but when you started to talk about other things, he was down for the count. He didn’t want to talk about your love life, your friends’ love lives, and he absolutely did not want to talk about whether or not he had his eye on anyone. You’d asked him that question about a dozen times this year alone, and every time he’d managed to stumble his way through a half-hearted explanation. He was focused on school.
You never expected an answer when you did ask; you just harbored a little hope each time. So, when you asked him this time over dinner at the Three Broomsticks, you were surprised when he actually paused to think.
You continued to eat and kept your eyes away from him so as not to scare him off. Any quick moves, he might not answer your question. Having a conversation with him was occasionally reminiscent of backing a frail dog into a corner.
Finally, he spoke. “It wouldn’t really matter if I did, you know?”
“What do you mean? Of course it would matter,” you responded, chewing at your meal.
“It wouldn’t—it’s not like she’d ever like me back, so what’s the point of telling?” He shrugged.
“Neville! That’s ridiculous. No one gets anywhere by assuming things. You don’t know she doesn’t reciprocate, so why not give it a shot?”
“Because the likelihood she’d ever say yes is extremely low, plus it’d be mortifying if I asked. So, why try?” He returned casually to his food like he hadn’t just said one of the most depressing things you’d heard all year.
So, from that point on, you decided to build Neville’s confidence up as much as needed to get him to talk to this girl. He refused to tell you who it was, just that she was in the same year as the two of you. He just wouldn’t say, and straight up ignored you when you tried to guess. He wouldn’t even give you a hint.
That sort of put a damper on things, because you weren’t sure how to help him interact with her if you didn’t know what she liked. In the end, though, you decided that was probably for the best, because you’d just be changing him to match her taste, instead of teaching him how to be more confident in himself.
Nev was perfect, as is; any girl would be lucky to have him. He just had a hard time putting himself out there, but you saw him just as he was. You just had to figure out how to make him see that as well.
So, over the week following the conversation you’d had at dinner, you’d developed a few…pop quizzes for him. It wasn’t the smartest idea, but it was all you had. Plus, mama birds teach their babies to fly by pushing them out of the nest, right? You just needed to push Nev out of the nest.
By day three of the carefully planned questions and scenarios you threw at him at random, you were about on Nev’s last nerve.
So, when you hopped in front of him on the way to lunch, he promptly said, “No,” and kept walking. You scoffed at his behavior. This was for his own good! You turned and jogged after him.
“Er, no, what, Nev?” You played dumb. He all but rolled his eyes before glancing down at you.
“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he asked, frowning as he continued on with his quick pace. You struggled to keep up.
“What do you mean?”
“The questions, the discussions we’ve been having! If I were a girl, how would I want to be approached? Should What is your favorite color?’ be the first question you ask a girl you’re interested in?” He glared at you. Your eyes fell to the ground, a small blush appearing on your cheeks at being caught.
“No matter how useless you think I am with girls—I don’t need help!”
“Well, I don’t think you’re useless, I was just trying to—”
“No more!” he interrupted. “That girl I like is… she’s not going to say yes, so just stop trying.”
His voice trailed off, following his face into a kind of depressive corner. He sighed heavily, stopping in the center of the hallway and rubbing his hand along the back of his neck.
Various students circled the two of you like a stone in a river. Every few moments, a shoulder bumped yours or his, and slightly edged you closer.
“I’m not trying to…I don’t want to hurt your feelings—” you started, barely able to meet his eyes.
“I know you’re not, it’s just…” he sighed frustratedly, glancing off in the distance, somewhere over your head as he tried to find the words. “I’ve come to terms with her not liking me back. So, bringing it up over and over again, it—”
“Hurts,” you finished. He nodded.
“I’m… I'm sorry, Nev. That was never my intention. I just want you to be happy.” You still struggled with eye contact, just as bad as he always did.
“I am happy. I’m very grateful for the relationship I do have with her, and I’m not willing to sacrifice that for something more.”
That caught your attention. You finally found the courage to look straight at him, and, this time, Neville was looking directly into your eyes. He wasn’t skipping out on eye contact, or shying away, or trying to leave. He was just staring—at you, and no one else.
Your lips parted, but no words came out. Only a shuddering exhale that he picked up on. His eyes flickered downward to your mouth for a split second, then back up. You felt as though you couldn’t breathe.
“Nev, what—?” Your mouth finally formed around the words enough to speak them. Though in an instant, Neville was backing up and heading the opposite way.
Stunned, you could not move for a few moments. Your legs would not heed your brain’s urge to run after him, to demand who he was talking about. He had plenty of female friends—Ginny, Hermione, Luna... So, why did his faltering make you think he was talking about you?
Was it selfish to think that? That he could possibly have feelings for you that surpassed the platonic ones?
Was it selfish to want him to? Neville was your best friend. He was the closest you’d ever let anyone be. You cared about him; you wanted him to be happy, even if it was at the hands of another woman. Nev was everything.
You hadn’t ever considered the possibility of him reciprocating. Because he wouldn’t—couldn’t.
That was the final word you came to. He didn’t reciprocate feelings because he couldn’t. That was it. You weren’t going to dwell on it any longer and give yourself false hope. That would just make it hurt all the more in the end.
So, you’d intended to ignore it for the rest of the day. You’d intended to act completely normal, and not bring up the conversation or girls or try to match him up with anyone.
But you didn’t get the chance to make good on your intentions. You didn’t see Neville the rest of the day.
He was absent from the remainder of your morning classes, nowhere to be found at lunch, and gone from afternoon classes. He wasn’t at dinner, either.
And if all of that wasn’t entirely unlike him, he didn’t show up for your Hogsmeade visit.
Every Friday since the two of you were fourteen, you’d walk down to Hogsmeade and splurge with the bit of allowance you’d been sent from your family, or his grandmother. It was never very much, but after you’d pooled it together, you were always able to obtain a good amount of sweets. Enough, at least, for the two of you to share.
Neville hadn’t missed a Friday visit to Hogsmeade. Ever.
His absence now moved you past generalized concern to absolute panic. Had your matchmaking shenanigans finally pushed him past his limit? Had you hurt him one time too many?
You couldn’t let yourself dwell on the possibility of you having ruined your friendship, so you didn’t. You took a shower, slipped into bed, and tried not to think about Neville or the lack of sweets in the jar on your desk. It was maddening.
Common sense and basic maturity told you to get up and apologize to him, but you couldn’t help but feel like that’d just make matters worse. You just wanted him to be here, and for everything to be normal. But it wasn’t, and it sucked, and you couldn’t convince yourself to do anything about it.
So you went to sleep and dreamt of Neville the entire night.
When you woke, it was a dreary Saturday. One that usually would be comforting thanks to its easy sky and cool breeze, but it wasn’t. It was instead threatening, like some sort of impending doom lingering overhead.
Thought that may have just been the whole Neville situation turning a perfectly decent day into shit, like some kind of spoiled tea.
Nev wasn’t at breakfast. He wasn’t at lunch. He wasn’t in the library or the owlery. No one had seen him head down to Hogsmeade. He was nowhere. It was fucking agonizing.
You didn’t know what to do other than dwell on it until the pale gray light of the day had started to fade. The thought of checking the greenhouse—Neville’s favorite place on earth—didn’t even cross your mind until night was looming at the edge of the sky. You could have smacked yourself for being so stupid.
All of this moping and wondering where he might be, and you hadn’t even had the wherewithal to check the one place he most certainly was. And you called yourself his friend. Idiot.
There was the concern that Nev just didn’t want to talk to you right now. Why else would he be avoiding you? But all desire to grant him his peace faded away when the day’s light now only lingered at the tip of the mountains. You couldn’t handle a third day away from him. It felt like being without food or water. His friendship was as important to you as sustenance.
Determinedly—and ignoring all common sense telling you to just leave him the hell alone—you pulled a jacket over your shoulders and slipped out of your dorm.
If he didn’t want to talk or to see you, that was fine. You just wanted to hear it from him. For all you knew, he could be waiting for you to find him, and wondering why you hadn’t already. He could be thinking you were ignoring him. The thought made you nervous.
You never wanted him to think you were capable of doing that. He was your best friend, and you’d never leave him when he needed you. You just hoped he wasn’t doing that exact thing to you. Then again, he was probably just looking for some peace. You were probably just overanalyzing it.
Merlin, you thought too much.
You pushed through a set of doors that led out into one of the many breezeways around the castle. The greenhouses sat on the northern side of the castle, hidden in the shadow of the looming stone walls. The flora and fauna within never wilted, though. It didn’t matter how much sun they got; they were always thriving.
You knew it was partially due to the great care the staff and students took in tending to the plants, as well as the immaculate gift that was magic. But you couldn’t help but imagine that it was Neville, in all of his herbological prodigy, solely keeping them alive.
The thought made you smile fondly.
A light evening breeze curled around the collar of your jacket. Whispers of chills scattered down your arms at the sudden change in temperature. Surely, Hogwarts wasn’t expected to get this cool so soon. It was barely even the edge of autumn, and yet, the wind had a bite to it more associated with October.
You crossed your arms over your chest and started down the stone path that held the greenhouses at its end. If Neville wasn’t here, you’d genuinely start considering reporting him as missing to the Headmaster.
That thought didn’t go far, though, as you rounded the last cornered wall of the castle. At the bottom of the slight hill sat the biggest greenhouse, inside of which a small, warm candle was flickering lazily. The glass was frosted, but you could see the blurred edges of someone moving inside. It didn’t take much for you to tell it was Nev. You could recognize him anywhere, in any form. Subconsciously, a small smile spread across your lips.
You knew it was him. His smudged silhouette worked idly. It appeared as though he were repotting a plant.
The wind whistled gently, whispering along your jacket again. You moved toward the greenhouse, craving its warmth, before the chill bumps came back.
The glass door was warm to the touch. It regulated your body temperature almost instantly, even just from the caress of your fingertips.
The door whined slightly as you pulled it open. The damp heat from the interior slid beneath your clothes, sending a rough shudder across your entire body.
At the sound, Nev turned and faced you. A familiar smile spread across his face.
Well, at least he wasn’t disappointed to see you. “Hey, Nev.”
“Hello,” he responded, glancing back at the tools in his hands. “What are you doing out so late?”
“Looking for you, of course.” You stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind you. Nev returned to his work, but you did not miss the way his eyes flickered back over to you every few moments. You wanted to ask what he was working on, what he was doing out so late, what his plans for the rest of the weekend were. Anything that wasn’t what you were dying to ask.
It didn’t exactly play out the way you wanted it to, though. Stupidly, your mouth opened, and words spilled out faster than you could stop them. “Where have you been?”
His hands stopped. His back was to you, and you could no longer see if his eyes were glancing your way or not.
You swallowed thickly, unsure if you’d angered him or not.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, unable to look you in the eye. “I’ve just been—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” you interrupted, arms still crossed tightly. You inched closer to him. “I just missed you, that was all.”
“I…,” he exhaled shakily. He set his tools down gently against one of the wooden counters lining the greenhouse. One at a time, he eased the work gloves off his hands and set them down as well. The tension and silence made you nervous. You couldn’t tell if he was mad or not.
You should have just made empty conversation. You should have waited longer to bring up the last few days. You were stupid.
“I’m sorry I brought it back up,” you sighed, glancing down at your shoes. “I just wanted to help. I didn’t intend to hurt you. And I never want to push you away. You’re my best friend, Nev. I don’t like it when you’re not around. The last two days have been…”
“I know,” he said, still not turning around. “I–I didn’t mean to disappear like that. I just…I needed a little bit of time to deal with it. I know you were just trying to help, but it kept it in my head nonstop.”
“The girl thing?”
He nodded. “I couldn’t think about it anymore. I was spinning in circles. I just needed a minute, plus I was embarrassed I’d shouted at you like that.”
“Nev,” you laughed easily. “That was not shouting. You were setting a boundary, and that’s perfectly alright.”
“It’s the closest I’d ever come to shouting at you, and it was virtually no better,” he retorted.
“Well, I’m alright. I’m not going to break—”
“I never said you were,” he interrupted, finally turning to face you. The dim light did not disguise the glance down his dark eyes took. “I… It’s just–you—”
Suddenly, with his eyes on yours, it was as if he could not speak. Facing the wall had given him some form of confidence that facing you had drained. He could hardly look at you. His lips parted and then closed about a dozen times before he sighed frustratedly.
“I’m sorry, I just—” he cut himself off. A hand came up to massage his forehead. He was so annoyed with himself. You could see it in the hard set of his jaw. It was the same expression he gave when he’d misremembered a fact and answered a question incorrectly in class, only this one was paired with a reddened flush on his cheeks.
“It’s okay,” you responded. “What is it?” You stepped even closer and eased a hand onto his forearm.
He jerked away as if you’d burned him. Your fingers stuttered in mid-air. “Nev, I—”
“I’m sorry!” he cut you off, turning back toward the table. His fingers rose and slid into his dark curls. The knuckles curved around each strand, pulling frustratedly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s this…this fucking crush!”
You almost let a gasp slip out. Nev rarely cursed. Whoever this girl was had him all the way messed up. And, even though you’d come to apologize for continually bringing her up, you still desperately wanted to know who she was.
In the middle of lying around in complete boredom without him for the last two days, you’d reevaluated every interaction you could recall between him and the girls in your friend group.
There was maybe one time with Luna that had stood out, but other than that, you didn’t really come to any kind of conclusion. At least, not one that made any sense.
He and Hermione got along well, but you could tell she got a bit exhausted with his shyness from time to time. Their levels of intelligence matched closely, but it didn’t fit.
Ginny seemed a bit too much for him. She was strong, and confident, and athletic, and…everything he wasn’t. Of course, you’d considered that maybe the whole ‘opposites attract’ thing had some truth to it. But, in the end, you’d decided that he and Ginny rarely interacted, and in the times they did, not much was said.
And then, there was the thing with Luna. She had a deep, whimsical love for all creatures. That included some of the amazing plants that Nev was very comfortable working with. And so, they’d pick each other’s brains and compare experiences with some plant that tasted exactly like pink sugar, but would render you paralyzed for twelve hours.
And that was it. That was all that came to mind. Nothing else was likely. Nobody else was likely.
“Alright, Nev,” you started, hands out gently as if you were trying to comfort a wild animal. “I understand why that’s frustrating. That’s why I wanted to help. That’s why I pushed so hard. It’s just… If you’d just tell me who she is, I can help you through this.”
Suddenly, his hands fell away from his hair, and he turned back around. His eyes were shockingly wide, his dark irises glinting in the candlelight like a deep obsidian. When his lips parted, you assumed he was going to tell you off again; to demand that you never mention any girls to him ever again. But, he didn’t. Instead, a roaring laugh fell from his mouth. Despite its small interior, the sound somehow echoed in the greenhouse. It invoked a different set of chills. Different from the ones you’d felt outside.
That one laugh was somehow louder than any words he’d spoken in the last three years. Nev had always been quiet and shy. He spoke lowly. He kept his eyes down, and his body rendered small. And yet, his eyes were locked on yours, and his laugh was deafening.
“You are one of the smartest girls in class,” he scoffed. “I thought you’d have figured it out by now.”
He was almost mocking. It made your chest clench uncomfortably. Neville had never talked to you like this, like you were something silly and small. It was maddening.
“I’ve asked you to tell me ten thousand times,” you pushed. Anger rose into your cheeks. “Don’t comment on my intelligence because I haven’t found the time to guess who your stupid crush is.” It was mean. You were being mean. You winced.
There was a moment of silence. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it the way that I did. I just–I can’t possibly see how you haven’t felt it yet.”
Your lips parted, then hesitated. His eyes flickered back to the ground. That moment of confidence that had bloomed in him enough for his outburst seemed to have melted like ice in the heat of the greenhouse. “Felt what?”
He did not look at you, but he didn’t hesitate. He spoke openly, freely, and with a surprisingly steady voice. He was no longer frustrated. It was more like he was defeated. “All of it. The looks, the anxiety, the accidental touches, the tension…”
“Maybe I don’t pay as much attention to you as you think,” you joked lightly. He chuckled once, but he did not smile.
“Yeah, I guess not,” he all but whispered.
Another long beat of silence.
The small smile pulled from your joke melted from your lips. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t laughing. There was no anger, no sadness; it was that same look of defeat.
“Nev,” you breathed. “Can you please just tell me what’s going on? I want to help.”
“I just don’t see how you didn’t feel all of it.”
You sighed. “I’m sorry. I just haven’t. You know me, I can get scatterbrained. Sometimes, I don’t notice these kinds of things. If you’d just tell me who she is, I can help you—”
“It just doesn’t make sense, considering all of it was for you,” he interrupted. His eyes finally came back up to yours. Once again, they glittered endlessly, reflecting the candle’s flame. This time, though, they seemed unwavering. They did not glance around nervously or flicker back down to his feet. They just stared at you.
“What?” was all you could force out. It was hardly even a word. It lingered somewhere between an exhale and a choke, and in the middle of all of it was the smallest squeak of your voice.
“I never thought there was any chance that you didn’t feel all of it. How could something be so empty on one side, but absolutely suffocating on the other?” His shoulders rose and fell rapidly. His breaths angled his entire body backward, as if your presence was forcing him against the wall. “I’ve always wanted you, and you don’t—” he laughed once more— “you don’t pay that much attention to me.”
You were at a loss for words. Nothing would come forward. You only stared. If it was even possible, his blush became even darker.
Once his words were out, his eyes fell back to the floor.
“No,” you all but gasped out. He looked back up at you, half-expecting you to have hurt yourself with the urgency with which you’d just spoken. “Please don’t, ah, don’t look away.”
His eyebrows furrowed gently, trying to decipher your meaning.
“I hate it when you look away,” you whispered. “I want to see your eyes.”
His lips parted once more, and some of the tension knitted into his face released. He was utterly taken aback. “Do you—?”
“Don’t speak,” you interrupted. “I think talking about it will only confuse us.”
“So, what should we do?” he asked. He seemed at a loss, which was interesting considering he’d just claimed that your intelligence should have aided you more sufficiently than it did.
“Don’t speak,” you repeated. Before you could trivialize it or chicken out, you closed the gap between the two of you. In the dark, wet heat of the greenhouse, you pressed your lips inexpertly to Neville’s.
His hands, which had been clamped awkwardly behind his back, appeared at either side of your cheeks in less than a second. He acted before any context could be granted. Even if he didn’t think it was a good idea to rush into anything or to do something that could destroy your friendship, his body acted on its own.
Nothing about him could ever deny you. All logic bled from his bones when your lips touched his. He gasped against your mouth as if he’d resurfaced from deep waters.
From what you knew of him, Neville had never kissed anyone except for once during a game of Spin the Bottle. And yet, his mouth moved in a way that was entirely intoxicating. Perhaps it was just because it was he who kissed you, but you couldn’t help but feel like he had something figured out about kissing that no one else did.
His body leaned into you as if trying to combine you into him. His tall, thick frame pushed you back against the wooden counter. Your ass pressed against its edge, separating your lips with a gasp that slipped between the two of you.
“Sorry,” he panted, his lips caressing against yours. He gave you enough space to breathe, to speak, if you needed to, but he could not bring himself to not touch you. His nose brushed yours, his mouth caressed yours, his heavy breaths fanned across your cheeks.
“It’s okay,” you giggled breathlessly. “I want it, the… the counter against my back.”
“You—” He glanced down briefly, trying to understand. Your tongue poked out from your panting mouth and gently traced a section of his bottom lip.
A shaky whimper fell away from him. Subconsciously, almost like a knee-jerk reaction, his hips pressed against your front. Through his trousers, you could feel his core pushed against you. He was completely hardened and bigger than you’d ever experienced before. This could be told even without seeing it.
You gasped softly as he rolled his hips into your thigh. His face fell pathetically down to your shoulder, his lips and nose fitting smoothly into the crook of your neck.
“Can’t,” he sighed against your flesh.
“What? What is it?” you asked. Your hand slipped around his back, the tips of your fingers slipping beneath the curve of his belt and hanging on tight.
“I want to make you feel good,” he panted. His lips brushed against your neck, his tongue darting out gently. He sighed shakily at your taste. “But, I can’t…I won’t last. Your scent’s going to do me in.” A small, embarrassed laugh slipped from him.
“It’s alright, Nev,” you giggled a bit. “I want it. I want you to make yourself feel good.”
“What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything.” He finally pulled back and looked you in the eye once more.
“What do you want? I want you to come undone on me. Please.”
Your hands smoothed up his chest, then around the bare skin of his neck. His eyes curved upward. He shuddered. “D-Don’t talk like that.”
“Like what?” you whispered, smirking easily. “Dirty?”
He nodded pathetically, his hips once again grinding against you.
Your hands stopped their wandering at his jawline. One slipped to the back of his head and clutched their fingers within his curls, just as he’d done earlier. Your fingernails scratched gently over his scalp. He moaned aloud.
Your other hand stopped against his neck, your thumb lying simply across the length of his throat. Every breath, every sound reverberated against your skin. It plucked some kind of string within you, feeling him in this way. So completely vulnerable, with him giving it so willingly. You could have done anything to him at this moment.
Smirking, you leaned forward and slid the tip of your tongue up the length of his neck. His eyes rolled backward once more, and his legs all but gave out beneath him. He caught himself against the counter, pinning you effectively against it.
His knees remained weakened as he let you devour him. He didn’t stop you or protest or change anything. He just felt you against him, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. His hips slid along the edge of your thigh, never once halting. It was as if he couldn’t control it.
“I don’t think we need to decide what to do,” you whispered against his ear, tongue curving up the outside of it. “I think you want to come in your jeans right here, just like this.”
His breath shook, your hair fluttering against the force. Your hands held him steady, one continuing to control the location of his head, the other helping guide his hips against you.
“Do you want that?” you cooed. He nodded immediately, wrapping a single arm around your waist. He clung so tightly to you that the friction of his clothing against his cock was beginning to burn. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
It was the most delicious sensation he’d ever felt. It was addictive heat against him, and your lips, your words, they were sinful. He doubted he’d even make it far enough to get his pants off. He just hoped you were still willing to stick around after he came in a couple of minutes. He was pathetic.
“P-Please,” he gasped. You tugged the loose collar of his flannel shirt to the side. Your lips locked around his freckled flesh, sucking a dark bruise around the brunt of his collarbone.
At this, his other arm wrapped around your waist as well. Now, he held onto nothing but you, humping against you like a dog in rut.
You dropped your hand from his head and mirrored the other’s position against his belt. Your fingers curled around the leather, gaining a solid grip of control on his body’s ministrations. The way your lips wrapped around his chest did not halt as you helped him roll his hips along your thigh.
With a stunted breath, you tensed your leg and raised it higher. The sensation only increased for Nev, whose movements only quickened. His head fell backward, lolling loosely on his shoulders.
“That’s it. Ride it out this time,” you said. “Next time, I’ll suck you off.”
The prospect of there even being a next time was what pushed him over the edge. He came in his pants, harder than he’d done in his entire life. His desperately pumping fist, or humping pillows while his dormmates were asleep, had never given him even half of the feeling you’d just granted him. And you’d hardly even touched him.
When he had completely finished, his body fell forward, slumping exhaustedly against you. His head fell back to your shoulder, the ends of his curls damp with sweat against your skin. Lingering moans pushed through his panting breaths every so often as aftershocks hit.
“‘M sorry,” he mumbled, pressing a shy kiss to your jaw. “I should have told you sooner.”
You leaned backward, catching his eyes. He stared up at you, awaiting your words, whatever they may be. You could have told him to shed every article of clothing from his body, and kiss every inch of you from head to toe, and he would have. He didn’t care who saw.
As he was well aware, you turned off every inkling of sense in his body.
“That’s what I’ve been saying from the beginning,” you chuckled smugly, ignoring the small eyeroll he gave you.
“Feel good to say you told me so?” he laughed against your shoulder. You couldn’t lie, it absolutely did.
“What can I say?” you shrugged. “I tend to know what’s best.”
“And what do you think is best right now?” he asked. One of his hands rose slowly, knuckles brushing idly along the hem of your pants. You concealed the catch of your breath, not wanting to grant him the satisfaction.
“I think it’s best if you take me back to your dorm and ask your dormmates to busy themselves elsewhere,” you smirked.
“And if they don’t?” he asked. You brushed a single curl back from his forehead, tracing a small bead of sweat down the curve of his face.
“They’re all big boys, I’m sure a few screams of your name won’t be unfamiliar to them.”
“Uh, it definitely would be,” he chuckled softly. “I might not even be any good. This’d be my first time.”
“I know what’s best, remember? Don’t make me say I told you so again, baby.” You pressed your lips to his once more before turning toward the door to leave. There was no need to check and see if he was coming; you already knew he was right at your heels, already chasing that high once again.
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Summary: A slightly disorganised account of being friends-with-benefits (or slightly more) with Spencer Reid.
Tags: Unprotected sex (birth control mentioned though), Creampie, P in V, Semi-public office sex, Fingering, Friends with Benefits, Secret relationship, Very minor hinted breeding kink (?), Awkward/Inexperienced!Spencer, Pining, Spencer Reid in glasses, Menstruation mention.
Word count: 3.7k
all fandom masterlist | cm masterlist | read it on ao3
Authors note: This will probably be my last fic for quite a while because all my final uni due dates are rapidly approaching and sadly I need to focus on them, I will be back tho... I feel like this has a weird structure but I'm prob just in my head about it lol... Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡
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Spencer had never known what to answer when asked if he had a type, frustrated how regularly the question seemed to come up despite it being nobody's business but his own. His life had given him room for very few crushes over the years, in fact, for a long time in his teen years he had thought that sex and romance was uninteresting to him entirely, caught up in his studies and with no one age appropriate around to latch onto with his developing hormones. Sure, he saw pretty girls that caught his eye on occasion, but he was never around them enough to know if that feeling was anything more than aesthetic. He’d thought he was different from everyone else in this aspect as he was in most other ways, and had more or less come to terms with it, when it all changed. He hated change, even if this change made him more ‘normal’, and had been completely thrown off when he realised he could in fact experience crushes and arousal towards real women, rather than just fictional characters. It turned out, he had just been looking for something specific.
Now he knew what his ‘type’ was, but still had no answer to the question when asked, too embarrassed to admit it. He liked a woman who took charge, not to the point of a specific dynamic, but a confident woman who made the first moves. Perhaps it was a symptom of his insecurity, perhaps his general personality, but he found it very arousing when a woman took charge of him, showing unabashed interest and guiding him around. He wanted, deeply, to be wanted. You were just that, and deep down he’d known it from the moment he met you. Immediately, he was interested when he met you in the BAU meeting room, you being introduced as the newest member of the team. You were well-dressed and styled, but not to the point of standing out or being flashy, tasteful quality fabrics and an air of confidence most new recruits didn’t have. And, of course, you were insanely beautiful.
For months, he did nothing about the crush he was harbouring on you. He didn’t have the confidence, and either way, you were coworkers, it would just get messy if you did get involved in some way. Yet, when you made the first move, all of Spencer’s worries flew out of the window.
“I like your shirt,” you smile wryly, sitting yourself on his desk in front of him, forcing his eyes upward away from the case files he’s reviewing. He flushes. The two of you are completely alone in the bullpen, not for the first time, both working overtime. It’s another thing he likes about you, similar dedication to the work. He clears his throat.
“Thanks,” he gives an awkward tightlipped smile, spinning his pen between his fingers. You smile back, tilting your head and tracing your eyes down the fabric. A subtle light purple floral print.
“Most guys wouldn’t wear something like that,” you hum. The comment makes him nervous.
“I- uh… I know it’s not very manly–” he stammers, flushed and embarrassed, assuming you were being backhanded. He knew he didn’t dress macho like someone like Morgan, but at various times he’d gone shopping and tried on more ‘manly’ outfits, he’d just felt so completely ridiculous and not himself, so had given up on it. He liked the clothes he wore, did it really matter what other people thought? They already found him weird either way. But when it was you saying it, suddenly it mattered more than ever.
“No! Reid!” A chuckle escapes your lips despite yourself. “I’m serious, I like it, it’s a compliment, it’s fun,” you reach out, running a fingertip over the sleeve, making his muscles tense a little. He swallows, averting his eyes for a moment before looking back at you.
“Sorry I… I’m used to people meaning the opposite of what they say… you know?” he laughs nervously, stopping himself from speaking further, watching your hand fall back to your side. You shrug.
“I always mean what I say, I don’t bother with games, it’s a great shirt,” A moment of silence passes as your eyes meet. Spencer can’t seem to stop himself opening his mouth again.
“And anyway… I certainly wouldn’t describe myself as fun, I’m like… the opposite of fun… I uh…” he voice dies away as his eyes follow your hand up to play with the small pendant on your necklace, drawing his attention to your cleavage. He’s sure you didn’t have so many buttons popped earlier today. He mentally berates himself for even having noticed that, but can’t seem to draw his eyes away from your chest, especially as you lean forward a little. You notice his wide eyes on you and it reminds you why you came over here in the first place.
“Do you like my shirt, Dr Reid?” you whisper, your voice low and sultry and immediately travelling down to his crotch. The question throws him off and he flounders, his mouth gaping for a moment, the pen stopping between his fingers. Lashes flutter as his eyes meet yours, praying he isn’t imagining the lust he sees there. Still, he’s too nervous he’s misinterpreting you. He cannot comment on your body, the last thing he wants to do is ever make you uncomfortable, so he stays somewhere safer, albeit, unconvincingly.
“It’s a great… colour,” he smiles shakily. This seems to be the wrong answer, as your face falls a little in disappointment. For a moment, you think he’s rebuffed you, perhaps you’d been imagining his staring all this time and he really wasn’t interested. You shift your legs, preparing to hop off of his desk and leave him alone, when you spot his eyes darting to your thighs, Adam’s apple bobbing noticeably, eyes dark. Taking a great risk, you shift your legs again, spreading them just slightly, trying to cling onto your flimsy prospect of plausible deniability. His breath hitches, his eyes wide and laser-focused. The shadow of a bulge in his slacks as you glance down his body is all you need to finally stop beating around the bush.
“You’re getting hard,” you state simply, keeping your word about not playing games. Spencer’s mouth falls open, completely in shock that you’ve said that to him. Though he hadn’t yet noticed it himself, he can’t really deny it, glancing down, it’s clear that it’s pretty unmistakable. Your directness turns him on, so when you reach down, your hand curling around his tie and pulling him forward, he goes more than willingly toward you, rising from his desk chair. “I could help you with it,” you whisper as his lips stop just before yours, a shaky breath washing over them. “If you want…” you add with a seductive purr. He nods an eager agreement, eyes closed and breaths shallow, moaning the instant your lips touch. It’s nervous, as many first kisses are, Spencer is a little shaky, needing you to guide him to stand between your legs. You play with the strands of hair by his ear, using them to keep him held close, though he isn't exactly trying to pull away. An uncertain hand cups your jaw and he draws your bottom lip into his mouth, sucking lightly. It’s the only move in his repertoire, but it works beautifully, drawing a soft sinful sound from your lips. He responds in kind, whining as both of your hands tangle into his hair. To him, it’s heaven. When you lie back, he barely allows his lips to disconnect from yours, following you down in desperation, propping himself over top of your body. As your legs wrap around his hips and pull him in, he’s done for.
The night turns into your first hook-up of many to come. You let him take you on his desk, finding his fumbling enthusiasm both endearing and sexy. He’s gentle and cautious, it’s obvious he’s nervous beyond belief, but you placate him with sweet words, and take the lead whenever you need to. He’s long, thin and slightly curved, his head falling into the crook of your neck with a loud moan as he bottoms out inside of you. The actual sex is over a little fast, this isn’t his first time, but it’s not far from it, combined with the fact the two of you are technically in public and that he’s having sex with you of all people, means he really has no hope lasting long. Honestly, he thinks it’s a miracle he lasted as long as he did. Breathless and apologetic, he tries to think what to do next. He’s no douchebag, he isn’t going to use you and disregard your pleasure, but he’s entirely unsure how to achieve your pleasure. In theory, yes, he knows everything about pleasing a woman from all the books he’s read in case of this situation. But it is so very different to be presented with the real thing. You don’t look like one of the clinical diagrams he’s used to seeing, and he’s not sure he’s entirely lucid after being allowed to come inside of you. Seeing his release dripping out of you doesn’t help. You giggle a little as you see his wide-eyed look, the gasp that leaves his lips.
“I think I’ve just discovered something about myself,” he confesses, pupils dilated as he thoughtlessly reaches up and uses his finger to push the release back into you. The moan you grant him tells him you liked the action as much as he did. He gets to work trying to recreate what he’s read in his books now that his hand is on you anyway. After a good while of figuring out your anatomy, he’s surprisingly deft with his fingers. You knew you’d always stared at his hands for a reason. You pull him down for a kiss as you come, very glad for your birth control.
He can’t quite believe he’s had sex with you, sitting completely dazed on the metro on the way home afterward. He’d never done something so wild, with so little forethought or discussion, in his life. He certainly can’t bring himself to regret anything. Despite making very sure with you that no evidence was left behind, he was anxious, convinced that everyone would somehow know what had happened on his desk when they came into work the next day. He replays the encounter over and over in his head once he’s at home in his bed, never so grateful for his eidetic memory. Part of him wants to call you, but he just can’t get himself to.
It was nearly a month before you hooked up again, much to both of your chagrin. You had been waiting around for him to invite you to his apartment or something but slowly came to realise it wasn’t going to happen. He was still too nervous around you, more so than before, despite what you had done together. Constantly stuttering and wringing his hands when talking to you about a case, staring longingly across the bullpen and following you around like a lost puppy when on a case together. With his behaviour as it was, it was a testament to his professionalism that he was able to focus on the cases at all, but whenever there was a quiet moment, it was back to you. It amused you that no one on the team had figured out what had happened, just assuming Spencer’s little crush had got worse, always shocked how you managed to stay ‘oblivious’. He brought you coffee, carried your go-bag onto the plane for you, always hanging around you afterward for a while, staring at you shyly and waiting. But he never once dared to make the first move.
Eventually, you get sick of his pining and you just invite yourself to his apartment, catching up to him as he leaves work and threading your arm through his, taking the metro with him. He seems over the moon, chattering with nervous excitement to you as you walk from the metro station to his apartment. Once inside, you push him backwards into his bedroom, causing him to fall back on the bed. You hop up to straddle him and he’s never been so aroused in his life. He sounds so whiny and eager as you ride him, more than happy to be with you again and bring you pleasure in any way he can. By the end of that night, he knew he was addicted to you with no going back. When you fall asleep in his bed, he spends a long time just looking at you and stroking your cheek. You are beautiful and he is falling for you, but he doesn’t know what to say or do about it.
From then on, you invite yourself over at least once a week, if not more, walking arm in arm with him to and from the metro station, spending the nights blowing his mind and ever entwining yourself into his life for several months. You’d even hooked up in the employee bathrooms at work at one point, but had immediately decided not to do it again when Penelope nearly caught you. It had been fun nonetheless. Sneaking into his hotel room when out on a case was another common way to initiate, so common that Spencer had just started texting you his room number as soon as the team got to a given hotel, knowing you would come visit him once everyone else was in their rooms and not likely to catch you sneaking to him.
In a matter of moments from entering his room, you’re guiding him backwards toward the bed as you kiss feverishly, struggling to kick off your shoes before hopping up into his lap like normal. He hums happily, his large hands settling on your hips, fingers flexing anxiously, still not quite used to your physicality despite the months of hook-ups. He leans back against the headboard, looking up at you with a slightly awed expression. The heat was already rising between you, leading you to shrug off the robe you’d wrapped around yourself for your way here, letting it fall to the floor. Spencer twitches beneath you as the clear outline of your breasts, and your nipples which are pebbled from the cold, come into view. Yet, he doesn’t try to pounce on you like most guys might, just giving a shaky smile and running a tender hand up your side. You smile back, cupping his cheek and running your thumb over the cheekbone.
“Have I ever told you I like your glasses?” you muse. He puffs out a laugh.
“Once, when I first started wearing them, but I didn’t believe you,” he chuckles and you do too.
“Well, I do like them, they make you look cute,” You place a kiss on his cheek, trailing toward his jaw. He laughs once more, though more unstable now, tilting his head to give you access.
“I don’t think I get called cute all that much,” he jokes, eyes meeting yours as you pull away to look at him.
“You should be, you’re a total cutie,” you tease, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his lips which he eagerly reciprocates, his fingers twitching, debating moving somewhere else. “The,” kiss. “Cutest,” another kiss. “Ever,” you smile against his lips. He smiles back, a hand sliding up your back and pulling you closer to press against his body. You were so complimentary lately, it made his head spin. Your hands move up, gently removing his glasses as they press into you uncomfortably when the two of you kiss. “It’s a shame, they really do something for me,” you smirk as you fold them closed. He reaches out to stop you, taking the glasses from you and slipping them onto your face. You blink, trying to adjust to the blurriness of his prescription. He takes the sight of you in for a moment before dramatically wrinkling his nose.
“Yeah, not your look,” you gasp and smack his arm lightly, making him laugh.
“You total ass!”
“I’m kidding, you look as adorable as ever, it’s unfair, how can you make everything work?” he squeezes your side. You roll your eyes, taking off the glasses and placing them in the open glasses case on his nightstand. He watches you, rubbing your sides slowly. “Do the glasses really do something for you?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah, I don’t really know why, they just do,” you shrug, sitting back up properly in his lap, shifting your hands to rub his chest through his pyjama shirt. “Anything that I wear do it for you?”
“Everything,” he grins. You laugh.
“I’m being serious!” you prod his chest.
“So am I! Seriously, whenever I’m around you it’s like… I’m one whiff of your shampoo away from getting hard,” he confesses, a quiet and slightly nervous laugh puffing out of his chest. Of course, he knows you must have noticed this by now, but actually confessing to it aloud feels a little pathetic. He’s just so… enamored with you. You tilt your head, staring down at him.
“You’re such a horny little freak,” you giggle, cupping his chin and leaning down to give him a kiss. “I would have never guessed it when we first met,” he laughs against your lips, shifting your hips against his so you’re sitting comfortably.
“You must bring it out of me, I wasn’t like this before,” he retorts a little nervously. He’s still a bit unsure around you, worried that he’s going to say the wrong thing and scare you away forever, but every day it gets a little easier. You get a little closer to him and don’t get scared away when you see the ugly. It feels so good it hurts.
Like the other week when you’d come home with him, only for his mother’s sanitarium to call while you’d been making out on his couch. It had only been to inform him about some medication changes, but the fact they’d called him had freaked him out. He tried so hard not to cry, it was ridiculous, nothing was even wrong, he wanted to be strong for you, but the tears had come anyway. Instead of finding him odd, or sitting and awkwardly waiting for it to pass, you’d soothed him for a bit, stroking his hair, and then endeavoured to distract him. You’d put on a documentary for him and made him some tea, sitting in his lap while he calmed down and watched the documentary. He’d felt like a big baby, but it felt good to be cared for. You’d left his apartment that night without getting what you’d come there for, but you never seemed upset, being your normal teasing self the next day at work, twisting his tie around your hand when you’d caught him alone by the coffee machines, taunting him by pretending you were going to kiss him and pulling back. He’d been able to steal a kiss later that day by hanging back to pack up after a meeting. When he’d apologised for the previous night, you’d just said you were glad he was okay. He blinks rapidly as you snap your fingers in front of his face.
“Spence? Where’d you go? You like… glazed over,” you pout. He smiles sheepishly, reaching up to push a hair out of your face.
“I was just thinking about you,” he admits. You huff.
“I’m right here! You don’t have to think about me!”
“I know, I know, sorry, just got lost in my thoughts,” he pulls you closer so your chests are pressed together, pecking your forehead and taking a subtle whiff of your hair. The scent seems to immediately lower his blood pressure, you just made him feel safe these days, he wished he could stop being so nervous and just enjoy things. “You mean the world to me,” he whispers in an effort to do just that. The words make you pause, you don’t really expect them, but they warm your heart to no end.
“You mean the world to me too,” you rest your forehead to his for a quiet moment. His eyes close and he drinks up your words and your closeness. One day, and it would be soon, he was going to ask you to be his girlfriend. It was a terrifying prospect and the idea that you might say no was so painful it was physical, but he had to do it. More and more often he almost finds himself blurting out that he loves you, and if he’s going to tell you that, it’s going to be on purpose. Probably with flowers and chocolate-covered strawberries, or maybe running through an airport if the movies he’d been watching for inspiration were anything to go by. However he decided to do it, it would have to be special, prove that he cared for you without a shadow of a doubt, and hopefully aid in making you fall for him. Part of him just wished you’d say it first, like you did with most things, but there wasn’t really any telling if you felt that way. You’d been different with him lately, and he hoped it wasn’t too optimistic to consider you might feel the same as he did. Your head shifted to his shoulder and your body melted onto his, clearly assuming that tonight would be a cuddling night. You’d done this a few times now, after particularly scarring cases or when you were on your period, it wasn’t really usual friends-with-benefits stuff, but in your line of work, a little cuddle was often very much needed, so was justifiable. He turns his head to kiss your forehead again.
“Don’t give up on me just yet,” he whispers, hoping to sound lighthearted.
“Yeah?” you ask quietly, looking up at him as he looks down to meet your eyes. “I’m not giving up,” you whisper, kissing his jaw a few times. The words have deeper meaning to Spencer and he takes a shaky breath.
“I just may need you to make the first move,” he smiles, shifting to face you. You smile simply.
“What’s new?”
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hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
OK y’all I have written something!!! (it’s not coming out soon because it’s supposed to be set on the hottest day of the year so i’m going to post it when summer warms up a bit more (sorry southern hemisphere baddies)) but i have a problem… yes that means another poll
It was originally just supposed to be something hot and fun about coming across Riddle on the hottest day of the year, but i kind of got lost while writing it and a bunch of feelings showed up?? but i kinda wish i’d just stuck to simple and sexy :(
i have an idea that i would write an ‘alternate ending’ where you would read for a bit and then get two links, one to the kind of angstier version and one to the pwp version, like make it a choose your own adventure, but i worry that it’s kind of weird to do that? or that no one would bother to read either ending?
what to do?
publish what i’ve written, don’t waste time writing basically the same thing
write a new separate fic with the same premise but different ending
make it a choose your own ending thing
Voting ended onMay 30
to be totally honest i think if i wrote it as a separate fic i would just steal the first few paragraphs because i really liked my exposition… so the difference would just be how i publish it i guess
thank you for your help & lots of love,
Meg (´∀｀)♡
p.s. dw the fic is already completely written so even if i lose my inspo for the other version, at least something will post later this summer and it does have smut, just a lot more character conflict too
this is not me promising anything (because i never seem to successfully write things i’ve promised to) BUT i’m just curious about this and will maybe use it to inform who i want to try and focus on (maybe)
what character’s fics do you follow me for?
tom riddle
severus snape
neville longbottom
sebastian (stardew valley)
other stardew valley characters
mike schmidt
spencer reid
peeta mellark
one of the langdon boys (ahs)
other not mentioned (eg. draco, sejanus, josh futturman)
Voting ended onMay 28
not doing fancy tags since this is just for my followers, like i said this isn’t me promising to write a fic for the winner, im just curious about my demographics lol
Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 6 - Wet Dream. Mike tries a new sleep medication and finds it has some odd but pleasant side effects. Soon, Reader will find out too, for better or for worse.
Tags: Wet dreams, Fantasising, P in V, Couch sex, Masturbation (mentioned), Praise kink (implied), Neediness, Sub!Mike, Medical inaccuracies, Use of medication, Embarrassment, Reader is Abby's babysitter (cliché, i know), Way too much backstory for no reason (it's my curse), Set before the movie.
Word count: 3.7k
all fandom masterlist | fnaf masterlist | read it on ao3
Authors note: I'm not kidding this was supposed to be a blurb because I had a busy day but it turned into this monster because I'm cursed with the inability to jump straight into smut without needless backstory!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡
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Mike was trying out a new brand of sleeping pills. His doctor had some health concerns regarding the dosage he was taking of his previous pills. Mike had tried to dissuade her from worrying, insisting everything was fine and he was keeping healthy, but she had insisted he try out a new medication, with much fewer significant negative side effects. Mike had tried to protest but had shut his mouth fast when she brought up his role as the sole guardian of a minor. For Abby’s sake, she said, he shouldn’t be putting himself at risk of heart issues, even if the risk was relatively slight. Mike found himself having to agree that the idea of leaving Abby alone in this world was a terrible one.
He’d picked up the pills from the pharmacy the next day. The packaging was much the same as the last ones, only with a different name. The pills themselves were smaller, and circular rather than cylindrical. He was sceptical, given the dose was smaller per pill, but he had to give it a try anyway. He decided not to do his usual nightly routine, opting to leave the nature sounds for later, just wanting to see how well he slept with these pills. He lay on his side, pointedly ignoring his ‘Nebraska’ poster, waiting for the pills to kick in. He woke up with a start in the morning, incredibly grateful for this decision. He’d had a wet dream, a vivid one. He hadn’t had one in years, hadn’t let himself, and he couldn’t help but laugh at himself, feeling like a teenager again. He’s flushed and breathing heavily, feeling a sticky mess in his boxers. Rubbing a hand over his face, he headed for the bathroom. He discarded his sticky boxers in the hamper and climbed into the shower to wash himself off. Under the hot spray of water, he allowed his mind to wander back to what he remembered of his dream. You, bent over the edge of his bed, telling him how well he filled you up. He felt his skin flush again, his limp cock stirring slightly to attention at the memory. He shook his head, droplets of water spraying against the shower wall, he could not think of this right now. He forced his mind to stay on clean topics, feeling, with relief, that he softened up again. He’d known he was attracted to you, ever since you’d started babysitting Abby, you were just so gorgeous, with your sweet smiles and caring demeanour. Only, he’d never allowed himself to really think about you like that, other than the occasional fleeting thought. Once out of the shower, he’d checked over the pill bottle closely, finding what he was looking for. “Nocturnal emissions", “increased libido” and “vivid dreams,” were listed as a side effects. Go figure.
That entire day at work his mind kept returning to the fantasy, ashamed at how much he’d liked it. It seemed that thoughts like this about you had been a long time coming, as once the floodgates opened, they didn’t close. Almost every surface he saw at work today, he imagined taking you on. The thoughts were so inescapable that he was forced to quietly and shamefully relieve himself in the employee bathroom. He felt guilty for thinking of you like this, you were so sweet and generous, always giving your time to watch Abby, even for the very low pay he offered, you didn’t deserve to be eroticised like this by his traitorous brain. But, there was no helping it. He’d tried his best to act natural when he’d returned from work, finding you and Abby playing together on the living room floor. If you’d noticed him acting odd, you’d been too kind to mention. The next few days were a tortuous cycle, dreaming of you all night, thinking of whatever his brain had conjured all day. Then having to act normal when he gets home from work to find you in his living room, in various comfortable outfits, smiling in that beautiful way that you do. Things got a little easier, at least concerning you, when Abby returned to school, meaning you didn’t have to watch her all day. He still saw you every Saturday, since he had to work, but at least it was only once a week now. He continued seeing you every night in his dreams. He debated trying to return to his old sleeping pills, which didn’t have these pesky side effects but found himself oddly enjoying the newfound freedom of spending his nights thinking of such pleasant and frivolous things. As agonising as it was to see you and act normal, he felt overall lighter without reliving what happened with his brother every night. He had also started masturbating more, which seemed to relieve a decent deal of tension for him. Among all the other frustrations in his life, he hadn’t realised he’d also been frustrated sexually, although, this much should have been obvious from his complete lack of action for years now. He remained on his new pills, enjoying the benefits they brought, taking the good with the bad.
You’d asked Mike on Saturday if you could come over the following Tuesday while your apartment was fumigated. He’d grunted a tired, noncommittal agreement. You’d asked again at the door, and he’d done the same. You got the pesky feeling he wasn’t listening to you but you’d done what you could. You figured it shouldn’t be an issue, as Mike got Tuesdays off in exchange for working Saturdays, so you wouldn’t be sat in his house alone all day. You knew Mike tended to go back to sleep after taking Abby to school on his days off, so you prepared yourself to have to let yourself in with the key under the plant pot. You’d mentioned this to Mike too and he’d just mumbled an ‘okay’.
So here you were, crouching to retrieve the key from under the plant pot and letting yourself in. The bungalow was still and dark, you flick the light on in the hall, kicking off your shoes and making your way to the couch. You figure that Mike is simply asleep, so you settle in, going to dig in your bag for the book you brought with you. A noise from Mike’s bedroom startles you a little, you look up toward his door curiously. It had almost sounded like your name. Why? Was he calling you in there? It seemed like an unlikely thing for him to do, but your anxious mind conjures images of him injured in there, calling weakly out for help. He had sounded a little choked. You place your book on the coffee table and make your way over. You hear another small noise as you approach, like a moan, which concerns you more. You open the door, only to find him asleep on the bed in the dark. You stand confused in the doorway, gently gripping the doorknob. You were sure you heard your name, but he looks fast asleep, even as his body shifts in an odd way like it’s arching upward. Just as you’re about to leave, you hear it again, your name choked out from between his lips. You turn to look at him, noticing his body moving, almost like his hips are thrusting upward and–. Oh my God, you think in shock, he’s hard. Thoughts buzz around in your mind, connecting the dots way too slowly. When you grasp what’s going on, you quickly leave the room, shutting the door gently behind you so as not to wake him and leaning your back against it. Your mind whirs, another broken whimper of your name being heard from behind the door. You rush back to the couch, sitting down and taking a deep breath. You try to come up with an explanation for what could be happening that isn’t the obvious because the obvious answer is too… complicated. You run a hand over your hair. Could it have been a nightmare? Why would he have been hard… and thrusting like that? He had mentioned his new sleeping pills having some odd side effects which he’d point blank refused to elaborate on, other than that they were fine. Could this have been it? You try your best to return to your reading, but your mind won’t stop wandering. You vow to never mention this to anyone, especially not to Mike, not wishing to humiliate either of you. Your cheeks burn as you reread the same paragraph over and over, unable to retain anything but the memory of his whimpers of your name.
About an hour later, you’re feeling much less overheated but still struggling to focus. You hear a door open down the hall and soft footsteps. Mike. You notice, as he rubs his eyes, that he’s coming toward you shirtless… with a large wet patch on his grey boxers. You quickly look up at his face, just in time for him to lower his hand and spot you there, his eyes widening. You’re shocked by how fast he moves, darting into the bathroom and slamming the door shut in an instant. Quiet descends over the house again for a moment.
“Why are you here?” he screeches through the door, the mortification more than evident in the shake of his voice. You try to play it cool as if nothing is wrong, hoping you can convince him you didn’t see anything to spare you both the embarrassment.
“I told you I was coming, my apartment is being fumigated, remember?” you call back. You hear a thud, Mike thumping against the door in annoyance. “Am I not allowed to be here?” trying to channel your usual easygoing playfulness. He sighs loudly, rubbing at his forehead.
“Of course, you’re allowed here, you always are, okay?” he expresses quietly, uncomfortably sincere for the situation. There’s another loud silence. “Did you… see?” his voice breaks slightly. You continue to pretend all is well.
“What? Mike, I’ve seen you shirtless before,” you laugh, a little too loudly, hoping he believes you. Another silence. “Nothing to be ashamed of… you look… uh… good,” you falter, not knowing why you just said that. It’s true though, he keeps himself in shape, channelling his energy to building his strength, and it shows, pleasantly so. Mike can’t quite believe what he’s hearing you say, coughing slightly, his cock already stirring from just a simple comment on his fitness.
“Yeah?” he swallows, unable to keep the slightly needy edge out of his voice, praying you don’t notice. He doesn’t wait for your answer, snapping to his senses. “I’m going for a shower,” he squeaks through the door. He scrambles for the shower, turning on the water as a signal to you that he’s no longer talking. He discards his sticky boxers like normal, stepping into the warming shower before burying his head in his hands and letting out a frustrated howl. He doesn’t know if you can hear him, but he doesn’t care, nothing could be more embarrassing than what had just happened. You sit in the living room, staring at the bathroom door and listening to the drumming of the water from the shower. You’re not sure how to proceed, especially after hearing his tone of voice after you’d complimented him. You keep going back to the way he’d whimpered your name in his sleep, hard and thrusting and then emerged with a stain on his boxers, that suggested only one end to the dream. Was he into you? Was this just some weird fluke due to his sleeping pills? You become so engrossed in your thoughts that you have no time to mentally prepare for him to appear from the bathroom. He looks more sheepish than you’ve ever seen him in your life, a towel wrapped around his lower half, his torso dripping water attractively. You stare at each other for a while, like he’s waiting for you to start chastising him. Instead, you decide to try to test whether his dream was a fluke.
“Hey,” you smile in a subtle flirtatious way. You play with your hair, twirling an end of it slightly. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing.
“Hey,” he repeats shyly. You give an obvious glance down at his bare chest and arms, before returning your eyes to his, smiling and biting your lip. He blinks furiously. “I’m going to go change,” he stutters, rushing off for his bedroom. You purse your lips as you watch after him, not sure if you’ve flustered him in a good or bad way. He returns a little while later, coming to sit on the couch with you, but as far from you as he can possibly get. You notice with a smile that he’s blushing.
“You were sleeping when I got here,” you start, as casual as can be, and he looks impossibly tense. You lean your arm on the back of the couch and then rest your chin on it, smiling over at him. He avoids your eye. “Dream anything nice?” His head whips around to look at you, trying to figure you out. He doesn’t know you’d walked in while he was sleeping.
“Did you–?” he starts but quickly stops himself. He can’t ask if you saw the stain, if you really were just asking an innocuous question, he would completely humiliate himself. You just blink back innocently. He scrutinises you for a little longer. The possibility crosses his mind that you’re a mind reader, and you’re trying to punish him for his thoughts. You reach over, trailing your fingertips over his arm, watching as goosebumps bloom.
“Have we ever been alone together before? Without Abby in the house?” you whisper with a teasing smile. He goes bright red, breathing shakily. You’re flirting with him, you have to be. Why? He looks at you nervously.
“Not sure,” he mumbles. You move closer and his heart pounds faster.
“I only asked about your dream because, well… I heard my name,” you trace a circle on his bicep, just below the sleeve of his t-shirt. He feels momentarily lightheaded when you say this. The unspoken understanding passes between you that you must know more than this, but you’re sparing him the details. He sighs shakily. His shy reactions make you feel oddly confident, you come closer, resting your hand on the arm of the couch, effectively boxing him in, your faces close together. He looks terrified, but he’s incredibly aroused. “Was I on top of you?” you purr, unsure where all this confidence has come from. His eyes shut and he breathes shakily, for a moment he thinks he’s about to faint.
“God…” he wonders again if you’re a mind reader. He opens his eyes and your face is right there, beautiful and seductive and he decides in that moment that you could know anything about him, even the most humiliating things, if it kept you this close. It’s not clear who leans in first, but suddenly the two of you are kissing, desperately. Your lips move with fervour and he moans into the kiss. He hasn’t been kissed in so long and it’s you, the object of all his fantasies. You clamber into his lap to straddle him and he accepts you eagerly, his arms wrapping around your middle tight, gripping at your skin through the fabric of your sweatshirt. Your tongue licks into his mouth and he moans again, each sound he makes going through to your core like lightning. He’s rock-hard under you and the thought makes you smug.
“You didn’t answer the question, was I on top of you?” you demand into the kiss, your hands coming to cup his neck.
“Yes, God yes, you were– ah– riding me,” he pants against your lips, all shame gone now that he has you here. He doesn’t care what he has to say, he just needs you. You hum an acknowledgement, pressing yourself down in his lap, slowly dragging yourself back and forth. He whines desperately, his hips bucking to meet you. You giggle at his desperation and he just whines again, embarrassed but knowing he deserves it. You continue to kiss him feverishly, the kiss becoming sloppier with need. You grind down on him, providing teasing friction, enjoying the way he grips at you tighter, trying to silently beg for more. You disconnect from the kiss and he laments, trying to follow you. You gently push him back by the chest and he looks up at you wide-eyed, lips pink and glossy from kissing. You grin, winking, reaching down and pulling your sweatshirt up and over your head. He groans at the sight of you, hands sliding up your back to pull you back in. He looks up at you, his eyes full of wonder and need, placing gentle kisses along your cleavage. You hum softly, enjoying the soft presses. His fingers splay against your back, tracing just under the clasp on your bra, it’s a question and you nod an answer. He fumbles with the clasp for a moment and he smiles up at you shyly. You chuckle. He manages to free you of the garment, slowly slipping the straps down your shoulders and pulling it away from you. He swallows, lowering his lips to mouth at the swell of your breasts. You feel his hardness twitching under you and you give a soft roll of your hips in return. He groans against your skin. You lean your head back, eyes fluttering blissfully as he showers you with insistent affections. His hands on your back hold you close, making sure you can’t slip away from him like every other version of you has by the morning. You toy with the hairs at the nape of his neck. His tongue traces a path between your breasts.
“Want your cock already,” you purr. You say it just to watch him go crazy, his whole body shivering, eyes falling closer, a small moan escaping his mouth.
“Y-yeah,” he murmurs. You push him back again, enjoying the sweet vulnerable way he looks up at you. You tug his t-shirt over his head, spending a moment caressing at his chest. He’s flushed, muscles tensing as your touch passes over him. Then, you shuffle back a little, just enough to tug at the strings of his sweatpants. His cock twitches eagerly as he watches you do this. You can’t help but giggle slightly and he looks up at you, smiling sheepishly. “I’m a bit excited,”
“I can tell honey,” you tease. He takes a deep breath and, holding you tight so you don’t fall, lifts his hips so you can wriggle his sweatpants down, along with his boxers. He’s leaking pre-cum, standing at full attention, flushed and needy. You peck his lips as assurance, sensing he’s feeling insecure about something, though you spot nothing to feel that way about. You rise onto your feet, his hands sliding to your waist, holding you like letting you any further would be unbearable. You kick off your leggings and underwear. He gasps at the sight of you, hands sliding down to your thighs as you settle back into his lap. You sit right on his cock, feeling it twitch eagerly under you, another bead of pre-cum rolling free. Mike pants needily, watching as your bare core slides against his length for a moment, making a sticky mess in his lap. He whines, gripping at your waist. You show mercy on him (and yourself), lifting up just enough to align his tip with your entrance. He whimpers in desperation.
“Please, please,” he begs. You lean down to kiss his cheeks soothingly, sinking down onto him. He gasps loudly, his grip tightening on you. His eyes glaze over as you sit motionless in his lap, accommodating yourself to him. He whines softly, hands sliding up and down your body with need. “Please,” he sobs. “I need you to move, please,” you smile, tutting playfully but lifting yourself up slowly. His eyes squeeze shut. “Nngh– so amazing,” you bring your hips down, feeling him dragging against your walls, making you moan. You brace yourself on his shoulders, sliding up and down a few more times. Mike already looks completely gone, staring dreamily at your breasts as they softly bounce, hands exploring your hips and waist, letting out unashamed moans. You remember his dream and lift yourself.
“Fuck me,” you command. He’s confused for a moment, sobbing softly at the cessation of movement, before realising what you want him to do. He’s happy to oblige. He takes hold of your hips and starts to thrust shakily up into you. You let out a surprised gasp as he hits a perfect spot, moaning and dropping your head onto his shoulder. He kisses at your neck as best he can, thrusting up into you with pure desperation. He pounds against you sloppily, whimpering desperately, your moans in his ear only egging him on. He gets off knowing you feel good, thrusting more intentionally against the spot you seem to love so much. He’s rewarded with a symphony of beautiful sounds that has him approaching his release at a rapid pace. “Fucking me so good, Mike,” you moan and he’s done for, the praise going right to his core. With two more harsh thrusts, he’s cumming, his whole body trembling with a whimper of your name. You start to move yourself again, even as he twitches and whines under you, desperate not to get left behind. He sobs shakily with pleasure as you chase your release. Luckily, it washes over you soon after, fireworks exploding behind your eyes. You grip his shoulders hard, your body shaking like his, your head tipped back as you wail his name in return. He watches you, enraptured by the sight of you like this, determined in this moment that he won’t let this be the last time he sees it, no matter what happens. You calm down, mercifully pulling off of him to give him some reprieve from all the sensations. He holds you there on his lap, rubbing your back softly as the two of you come back to earth. He’s blissful, not just from the sex, but from the fact he’s allowed to hold you, that your arms are wrapping around him in return. He kisses your cheek, and you let him and he’s in heaven.
“I guess dreams do come true,” he sighs with a lopsided grin. You look up at him incredulously.
“That’s the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard,”
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hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 7 - Queening / Face-sitting. Spencer meets Reader when she starts working at his local library and he's quickly in over his head. After he goes snooping for information on her online, he finds out a dirty little secret, she writes fanfiction.
Tags: Face-sitting, Oral sex (f receiving), Fantasies, Masturbation, Pining, Friends to lovers, Love confessions, Sub!Spencer, Autistic!Spencer (implied ig?), Both Spencer and Reader are NERDS, Set somewhere between seasons 1-3.
Word count: 4.6k
all fandom masterlist | cm masterlist | read it on ao3
Authors note: Surprise!! I changed a couple things on my kinktober due to lack of inspiration so here's an unexpected extra Spencer fic!! This is soooo long and the plot is so self-indulgent and ughhh but he eats you out so...!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡
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Spencer had never felt like this before, he hadn’t really had the chance to. Crushes had never really been his thing, having been significantly younger than his peers all throughout his education and being staunchly focused on his career ever since. He had physical attractions here and there, like an occasional reminder that he really was just a fallible human man as much as anyone else, but never any true feelings, nothing he ever wanted to try to pursue in a serious way. It wasn’t simple for him like it was for someone like Morgan, in many senses of the word. Not only was he just not socially skilled enough to pursue relationships, whether casual or otherwise, with any success, he also had a large set of difficulties that he would carry into any relationship. He was quite touch averse, not that he didn’t desperately crave it all the same, which could easily cause issues in any physical relationship. He also had a lot of emotional baggage, from his mother, from his job, from his bullying. He felt a mess emotionally and didn’t see the point in trying to bring in another person to see the mess in all its glory. So he kept to himself. He wasn’t completely without experience, but every experience he’d had was marred with difficulty and complication, none of it ever lasted. He was reasonably content to keep to himself.
Until he met you. He’d been visiting the library nearest his apartment since he moved to D.C. for work. One day he walked in and you were sitting behind the desk, all bright-eyed and excited. The attraction to you had been immediate, he’d found you to be beautiful, he liked the way you dressed, and he liked your sweet voice as you spoke to the customer in front of you. He thought it would end there, that he would silently find you attractive from afar but remained more focused on other things. Cursed to stammer nervously at you whenever you scanned his books, but never say more than necessary. For a long time, that’s all it was, until he was taking out a book that, unbeknownst to him, was a big favourite of yours.
“Oh my goodness, my favourite” you chuckle as you pick up the book from his pile. “This book is amazing, you’ll love it, I’m sure,” you smile brightly as you scan it onto his card. His fingers twitch where he rests them on the edge of the wooden counter. He hadn’t been prepared to talk to you, but it’s nicer than most things that catch him unprepared.
“Y-yeah? Uh… great,” he swallows, drumming his fingers on the counter as you scan the rest of his books, mostly textbooks.
“Well, if you have any taste that is,” you tease. He laughs back stiffly, his mouth feeling dry.
“I uh… like to think I do…” he smiles awkwardly.
“You’ll have to tell me what you thought of it,” you hand him the books and his brain blanks for a moment. You’re inviting him to speak to you some other time, to have an actual conversation. He moves jerkily, taking the books from you and packing them into his satchel. You smile kindly and wave to him as he leaves. “See you soon,”
The way his mind is spinning from that simple conversation, he knows that this is something different. He collapses onto a bench outside the library, taking a deep breath. Why is his heart racing? Is this what butterflies feel like? He rubs a hand through his hair, messing it up. When the anxiety fades away, he’s left with a warm feeling in his chest. You want to speak to him again. He flips open his satchel and pulls out the book you’d said was your favourite. It’s classic literature, something he’s been meaning to read for a long time now, but has somehow never gotten around to. He devours the book in mere minutes, thanks to his impressive reading speed. It’s an amazingly compelling tale, with feminist undertones that were ahead of their time and he feels he understands you just a little better by knowing you like this book. He packs it back into his satchel and stands, heading back into the library. The queue to your desk is a few people long, but he joins it anyway, fiddling with the strap of his bag. You don’t make much small talk with the people in front of him in the line, making it feel all the more special that you’d spoken to him. He reaches the front and you smile, but tilt your head in confusion.
“Forget something?”
“The book was great,” he blurts, and you look even more confused.
“What?”
“The book, the one you said was your favourite, it was phenomenal, and surprisingly progressive for its time! Having those sorts of sentiments about a woman's role in a marriage in the 18th century, while seeming slightly archaic by today's standards, must have caused quite a stir at the time, especially coming from a female author. British law in 1764 actually suggested that women–” he doesn’t realise he’s rambling until you cut him off.
“Hold on, you read it already?” you look disbelieving. He smiles sheepishly. “I only lent it to you, what?” you glance at the clock on your desktop screen. “15 minutes ago,”
“I can read very fast,” he mumbles, looking at the scuff on the toe of his shoe for a moment. You giggle.
“Yeah, clearly,” you study his face. He goes quiet, eyes flickering over the small decorations you had scattered across your desk as a means of personalising your space. “You were saying?” you prompted softly. He looked up at you in wonder, no one had ever requested he resumes an info dump, usually, he was told to shut up and looked weird, but you seemed to wait with genuine interest. Perhaps that was the moment that he was well and truly done for. He steps aside so that the person behind him in the line can get their books scanned. He talks at you for almost a whole hour, getting lost in tangent after tangent as you work. You occasionally pipe in to ask a question or make a comment, but you seem happy to listen. Suddenly, your already beautiful appearance becomes more like that of an angel or a goddess to him. He’s never wanted something so bad in his life. He leaves the library after you excuse yourself for your lunch break. Once he gets home, he sits down on his couch, smiling dopily. Then, it slowly dawns on him that he’d just stood there and rattled on about various topics that he had no clue if you even had any interest in. He buries his face in his hands and groans. Has he already ruined things with the first person he’s ever felt anything genuine for? It was bound to happen eventually, but this soon? He goes to bed miserable that night.
Fortunately, his misery had been for nothing. The next time he visits the library, you’re there, all smiles at him like usual. When he comes to return his previous book haul (yes, maybe he hasn’t used the returns box since you started working here, what of it?), you greet him, asking if he has any more facts for you. At first, he thinks you’re mocking him, but the genuine smile you give tells him otherwise. He scrambles through his mind for something interesting to tell you, feeling less than a genius at this moment. He settles to ask what your favourite animal is, then spends the next several minutes telling you all the nichest information about that animal he could think of. This time, you start to talk too, though instead of spewing facts, you’re telling him personal anecdotes, or about new books the library has got in. The next several times he comes in, you end up talking for long periods of time. You never interrupt him when he rambles and in return he allows you to ramble too, not bothered by the slightest if he has to listen to you for hours. He’d do it happily. Things escalate over time, and he realises the two of you have truly become friends. The thought excites him, as he is closer to the object of his affection, but also because he doesn’t have all that many friends outside of his work. With you, he has somebody to talk books with, and that means the world to him. You text daily, though they’re not particularly long conversations, just whenever something comes up that you think might interest the other. You’d originally given him your email address and he’d explained that he didn’t use email. He felt completely silly, but you’d just shrugged it off and given him your number. Despite that, he still keeps the piece of paper onto which you scrawled your email address, tacked up by his seldom used computer. Just in case.
The team at the BAU tease him relentlessly when they find out about the ‘sweet girl from the library’ that he texts everyday. Any hint of him interacting with a woman, they latch onto like rabid wolves, but when the texts from you keep popping up on his phone now and then for weeks, they absolutely won’t leave it alone. They all know he likes you, even if he’s been very careful to not reveal this fact and they tease him about it. He’s just glad you’re never there to hear it, as he might just die from the embarrassment. One week, while staying back from a case due to a mild cold, he sits in Garcia’s office and watches her work while he does his own. She had insisted he come keep her company, and he hadn’t quite dared to tell her no. He’s scribbling down some notes about the latest crime scene photos they’ve been sent through when Garcia receives a call. It’s Morgan, asking her to run a check on an email address that may potentially belong to an unsub, to see what kind of accounts can be linked to it, and if there’s anything untoward and potentially warrant-worthy. He watches over her shoulder as she types the email address into a program, which spits back out several accounts all over the internet. He rolls his chair over, watching curiously.
“How do you do that? Is it for FBI stuff only?” he asks nervously, twirling a pen around in his fingers. Garcia laughs and glances over her shoulder.
“No, you can find programs to do this in various places online,” she answers, highlighting accounts of potential interest. He nods, still watching over her shoulder, working his lip between his teeth. He tries to convince himself that he’s not going to do it, even as he asks Garcia to write him down one of these websites. She gives him a knowing look but obliges. He keeps telling himself he won’t do it, and that it’s creepy as he gets the train home, but as soon as he’s in his apartment, he heads for his computer and boots it up. He searches up the site that Garcia recommended and tells himself one last time that he isn’t going to do it, before copying your email address into the search field and hitting enter. He waits as the website loads the results, glancing at the door to his apartment as if you’re going to burst in and tell him off. Oh, how he wishes you’d be in his apartment one day, or he at yours. He’s never really wanted to share a space before, but lately, everything he does he imagines what it would be like to have you there. Your arms around him as he cooks, your head on his lap as he watches TV, your body against his in the bed. The website finishes its search and he takes a deep breath, investigating the results. There are various common social media websites, accounts with academic journals (which he appreciates you for), and a couple of other sites he doesn’t recognise. He clicks on the first and furrows his brows. Fanfiction? He supposes that you are a voracious reader like he is, and you mentioned liking to write, but never admitting to what you wrote. This was it then, was it? Your secret writing? It wasn’t that secret, the account was registered in your name, all the works listed being for books and media that you talked about often. You had quite a decent following, at least in his eyes, you were no celebrity, but you had a decent collection of comments and likes.
He starts to read, beginning with your most popular piece. He digests it in moments, his cheeks burning bright. It was pure pornography. Well not purely, there was quite a well-woven storyline behind it, but the focus was undoubtedly the filthy sex scenes. He loosens his tie, feeling hot. He double and triple checks that this is definitely your account, but it clearly is. He’s feeling a little disbelieving, you had just always seemed so innocent to him, but he supposed the two of you had never discussed sex in any way. Spencer would have combusted if it had ever come up. He inhales the rest of your work, getting unreasonably hard in his slacks as he reads. He’s impressed by the skill of your writing, but more than anything, by how delicious your imagination is. It’s like you’ve plucked every fantasy he’s ever allowed himself to have out of his brain and written it up with beautiful flowery language. He doesn’t know half of the characters that you’ve written for, but it doesn’t matter to him, as he imagines the two of you in their places and it works perfectly. Almost like it was written with the two of you in mind. He discards that thought, but not before noticing that you’ve been writing a lot more in the past few months you’ve known each other. He notices how many of your stories centre around a more submissive male, a favourite trope of yours seeming to be having the female partner sit on their face. He imagines you sitting on his face and groans aloud, having to palm his bulge through his slacks. He imagines you’d be like the protagonists in your stories, dominating but kind. He reaches into his slacks to stroke himself, not something he does often, but something that has certainly been more frequent lately. His eyes skim a passage of one of your stories as he tugs at himself, picturing your face between the words. He cums harder than he thinks he ever has because this feels that much closer to the real thing. Once he’s done, he sits catching his breath, staring at the mess on his hand and stomach. He thinks he should feel ashamed, but he’s still aroused, terribly so. He wishes he could show you what you do to him. Before he can stop himself, his aroused brain much less intelligent than he usually is, he makes an account on the site with his name and leaves a comment on your most recent work.
“This was the hottest thing I’ve ever read,”
He sends it and sits back, wiping the rest of the residue off his stomach. As the haze of arousal lifts, he realises what he’s done. Panicking, he tries to delete the comment, but there’s no option to. He swallows, taking a deep breath. It’ll be okay, he tells himself, if she ever notices, I’ll pretend I was just being sarcastic, teasing her for writing this kind of thing, not genuinely rocked by it. However, his phone is already ringing. It’s you. You never call. You couldn’t have seen the comment already, could you? He seriously debates not answering, even as he’s desperate to hear your voice. Against his better judgment, he picks up the phone.
“Am I speaking to SpencerReid1981?” you chuckle over the phone, your voice teasing as you recite his username. His plans to pretend he was mocking you go out the window the second you talk. He can tell you have one over him by the confident tone in your voice. You’ve had one over him since the day you first met.
“Y-yeah,” he relents, seeing no way out of this now. What would the chances be of another Spencer Reid born in 1981 having commented on your fanfiction? If he wasn’t so nervous and lingeringly aroused, he could’ve told you. He decides to just be earnest. “You’re a really good writer,”
“How did you even find me on there?” you scoff, laughing gently. He blushes, glad you can’t see it.
“You don’t want to know,” he mumbles. There’s a moment of silence.
“So… you found it hot, huh? What part?” he chokes slightly on his spit, going bright red, you can probably tell, even through the phone.
“Don’t make me say it,” he squeaks. You hum softly on the other end.
“Oh come on… you started all this,” you coax. He’s silent for another beat, you hear his laboured breaths on the phone.
“The- when- when she uh… sat on his face,” he stutters out. You smirk.
“Really?” you stretch out the last syllable in a playful manner. “You a big giver then?” you say it to tease him, expecting him to sputter and deny it, to beg to change the subject, but he doesn’t.
“I– I would be for you,” you both go silent, you in shock and him in fear of your reaction. You’re dumbfounded that he would ever be so direct with you. It’s been clear to you for a while that he has a thing for you, you’ve caught his lingering looks on your lips or your thighs, the way you’re able to fluster him, but you’d assumed he’d dance around it forever. He’d just essentially admitted, leaving it hanging in the air.
“Come over,” you answer simply, hanging up the phone before he can ask questions or change his mind. Spencer feels completely dumbstruck by your words. Come over? His legs are carrying him to his door before he can think about it. He grabs his bag and his coat and hurries to his car. He’s never driven so fast in his life, he’s only been at your place once, to drop you off after your work, but the way there is memorised like the back of his hand anyway. He worries in the back of his mind that he may get a speeding ticket, but any fine is worth it for you. He’s sprinting up the stairs of your apartment building, his long frame moving nimbler than ever before. He reaches your apartment and knocks at the door.
You answer the door, dressed in some loungewear and he suddenly realises how real this all is. He stands there staring, unable to do anything else, even as you greet him and tell him to come in. You have to take his arm and pull him inside, your hand on his arm lighting him on fire. But he’s shy again, he needs you to take control of this because he has no clue what he’s doing here. He’s never done something like this before, and he's never been so reckless. Did he even lock the door when he left home? You look so beautiful that everything could be stolen from him and he wouldn’t bat a lash. He fidgets, looking anywhere but your eyes. You’re talking to him but he can’t figure out what you’re saying, his brain feeling like mush. He tries his best to pick out some words from the pleasing hum of your voice. You’re saying something about your bedroom. He connects the dots when you start to pull his arm.
“Wha- wait, what are we doing?” he asks, his voice shaking. You freeze, tilting your head.
“What do you mean what are we doing?”
“I mean– uh– I wasn’t really– are we…?” he stammers, his fingers fidgeting.
“Don’t you want this?” you frown, worrying you’d misread this somehow, even though he’d come rushing over here. He stares at you, eyebrow twitching. You move closer, gently smoothing your hand up his arm. He closes his eyes, losing himself in it.
“Yeah,” he breathes, even though he’s not entirely sure what he’s agreeing to. Whatever it is, if it’s preceded by you touching him like this, it must be good. He follows you like a puppy as you guide him to your bedroom. You place your hands on his chest and he whines, somewhere deep in his throat. The feeling is just so overwhelming in all the best ways. His eyes are wide staring down into yours as your fingers twist, gripping his sweater vest. You lean up, touching your lips to his and he’s whining again. He kisses back, his hands finding your hips, hovering. Your hands are raking through his hair.
“Lie on the bed for me,” you mumble between kisses. He shivers.
“Are you going to sit on my face?” he asks bluntly, needing to know if he’s getting what he’s been thinking about non-stop since earlier this evening, probably even before that. You chuckle at his candour, he’s always been like this and it’s endearing that he’s no different in this situation.
“That’s the idea,” you grin, tilting your head to the side to press closer as you kiss him. He shuffles toward the bed and you push him back to lie down, disconnecting your lips to pull his sweater vest off. He looks up at you pleadingly until you lean down to kiss him again. You straddle his stomach, his hands lie awkwardly at his sides. His breathing is erratic and his fingers fiddle nervously with the material of your sheets. “You okay?” you ask between slow wet kisses.
“Just nervous… I don’t– I can’t disappoint you and I– I don’t really have a lot of experience here,” he admits, his lips pressing needily against yours between words.
“It’ll be fine, I’ll take care of you,” you promise, he nods against you. Even he’s surprised by how much he trusts you. You pull back, watching as he stares up at you, his eyes practically black. He’s panting heavily. You pull your shirt over your head, feeling his hips buck under you as your breasts come into view. He’d always known every inch of you would be perfect for him, and he was right. He was a genius after all. You move just enough to shed your pyjama pants, taking your underwear with them. You stuff your panties into Spencer’s slack pocket with a wink. He takes a shaky breath.
“Thank you,” he exhales, eyes drinking you in. You giggle, shuffling up to straddle his chest. He swallows loudly, his mouth watering from the little glimpse he can get, craning his neck. “I’m so… glad we’re doing this,” he whispers. You chuckle again at his behaviour. You stroke his hair gently and his eyes flutter. He usually hated unexpected touch, but everything you did was blissful.
“Ready?” you ask softly. He nods, eyes fluttering back open, determined to get a glimpse of you that he can commit to memory.
You lift up and shuffle yourself over top of his face. He gasps like he’s just seen God. You, spread open above him, glistening with want. He grips tightly at the sheets, trying to keep himself grounded as the heady smell of you fills his nose. He leans up and places a gentle, experimental kiss on your folds, whining as he does so. You hum softly, leaning forward to brace yourself against the headboard. Puffs of breath wash over your core for a moment, before Spencer leans up, flattening his tongue and laving it against you, up and down, slow and steady. You can tell he’s still finding his way, so you let yourself enjoy the gentle pleasure. You sigh encouragingly as he gets acquainted with the area, exploring it with the tip of his tongue. Never in a million years would he have guessed that you tasted so good. Though he was new at this, he knew anatomy well and knew the spots he’d be looking for. His tongue finds what he assumes to be your clit and he gives it a soft kiss, feeling your hips gently buck. Success. He swirls his tongue carefully around it, not wanting to overwhelm you. Your sighs increase in volume. Spencer takes a chance, lifting his hands and wrapping them around your thighs, pulling you down so you’re more seated on his face. You gasp slightly and he smiles, eagerly returning to his work. His tongue laps at you hungrily, getting into a rhythm. He breathes through his nose, not wanting to stop what he’s doing for even a moment. The taste of you gets stronger and stronger against his tongue as you approach your peak steadily. He groans at the taste. Your hand snakes down into his hair, gripping his long locks to keep yourself anchored. You moan above him, your head lolled forward against the headboard. As he starts to focus his tongue more pointedly on your clit, flicking gently like he read to do in a book once, your hips rut slightly.
“Suck it,” you pant. He doesn’t register your words for a moment but when he does, he happily complies. His lips close around the little nub and he sucks carefully. Your hand tightens in his hair and you wail in pleasure. You grind yourself down onto his face as he suckles at you gently. You both know what’s coming and while Spencer is thrilled he could get you there, he almost doesn’t want it to end. It’s as if you read his mind. “Don’t stop,” you whine, your eyes squeezed shut, nails digging slightly into his scalp. He pulls you closer to his face, focusing all his efforts. He switches fumblingly between licks and sucks, but it seems to be working nonetheless as you become louder and louder. “Oh! Spencer!” you cry out, your whole body shuddering. He almost comes in his pants at the sound of it. “Ooooh!” you wail, reaching your peak. Your body tenses and then releases, going limp with bliss. His lips stop moving and he stares up at you, waiting for your next move. “Oh, that was amazing Spencer,” you sigh, sluggishly moving down his body until your faces are level. He licks his lips, gazing at you adoringly. You reach up to wipe his wet chin with a small smile.
“I was okay, then?” he chuckles nervously, his hand coming to your waist, a little unsure.
“What do you think, genius?” you tease, kissing his temple. He sighs and flutters his eyes closed. Everything had happened so fast, he wasn’t sure what this meant for the two of you and your friendship, so blinded by lust when he got over here. But you were kissing down his jaw and neck, not indicating that you were kicking him out, and he felt a little better for it. He notices that your lips are straying quite low, over his chest and stomach through his shirt. His eyes flutter open and his breath hitches as he sees you gazing seductively up at him.
“Wha–?” he stammers as you start to unbuckle his belt.
“Returning the favour,” you smile, pressing kisses where his shirt had ridden up. He moans softly, his brain starting to turn to mush once more.
“God, I love you,” he gasps. You both go still for a moment as his words sink in. He can’t believe he just said that, especially right now, with your head hovering over his crotch, even if he desperately means it. He opens his mouth to try and fix this but you beat him to it. You press a kiss just below his belly button.
“I love you too,”
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hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
Pairing: Sebastian (Stardew Valley) x Fem! Reader / You
Summary: Request: omg i love your writing sm this is so exciting for me lol. sebastian begging to eat you out!!
Tags: Oral (f receiving), Begging, Switch!Sebastian (kinda), Semi-public sex, Established relationship (but it could be friends-with-benefits if you want)
Word count: 1.2k
all fandom masterlist | sdv masterlist | read it on ao3
Authors note: I apologise for the ending... you'll see... lol!! Making cover images for the sdv boys is so hard :'(!! Not proofread. Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡
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He could smell you. That short skirt you were wearing left little to the imagination and as you stood up from where you sat beside him on the floor, he caught a whiff of a scent he was all too familiar with. Damn you for sitting so close and smelling so mouthwatering. To anyone else the smell might have been innocuous, so faint and gone so fast that it would have meant nothing, however, all of Sebastian's nerves came alight as he smelled it. His gaze followed you as you left the room.
“I’m just going to get some water,” you’d told him, Sam and Abigail brightly, flouncing off toward your kitchen, giving him a tantalising view of your ass beneath your skirt from this angle. The way it moved when you walked made his cock immediately twitch to life. Who wore such a short skirt to game with their friends? You could be such a tease when you wanted to be. Luckily, he held his laptop in his lap, keeping his dilemma concealed from his friends for the time being. From his spot he can still see you in the kitchen if he strains his neck, bending over to grab a glass from one of your cupboards. Fuck this, someone as perfect as you shouldn’t be left alone. He shoves his laptop aside and stands up hastily, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets and pulling it down to cover his growing predicament before anyone can notice.
“I might go get something to eat before the next round,” he tells Sam and Abigail by way of an excuse, inwardly smiling at his unintentional innuendo. He sure would be eating something. “You guys start a 1-v-1, I’ll be back for the next one,” they shrug and agree, happy to compete against one another and not having reason to be suspicious of Sebastian’s motives. He leaves, carefully shutting the door as much as he can to block the view. Sam and Abigail were facing away from the door anyway, but shutting it would raise suspicion, so he leaves as little ajar as possible, then slinks toward you. You stand, sipping your glass of water by the sink and staring out of the window at your farm as he comes up behind you.
“Seb!” you giggle chastisingly as his arms wrap around you and a soft kiss lands on your shoulder. The sound of your voice can’t help but make him smile.
“Babe,” he chuckles back, imitating your tone, his nose brushing along the curve of your neck. “Your skirt is cute, suits you,” he whispers, one hand skittering down to the hem of it, tugging lightly. “Bit short, not that I’m complaining really, makes me want to devour you–,”
“Stop,” you hiss quietly, turning around in his arms. They remain loosely around your waist as your eyes meet, he looks amused at the flush on your cheeks. “Sam and Abby–”
“They can’t hear us,” he promises, leaning in to kiss the spot below your ear that always makes you melt a little. “Too busy with their trash talk,” Enthusiastic hurried voices carry through from your living room, as well as hoots and laughs, signalling your friends' engrossment in their game. Although you seem anxious, you relax back against the counter, letting him cover your neck and collarbones in loving kisses, slow, but gracious enough not to leave any marks for now. His arms are tight around your waist, holding you firmly against him. “You’re so beautiful, you make me crazy,” he mutters between kisses, placing a warm kiss right at the neckline of your shirt. “I need you, come on, please,”
“Seb–”
“Shhh, babe, just relax for me,” he chuckles, slowly kissing his way down, lowering himself onto his knees before you, warm large hands sliding to the bare skin of your thighs. Your breath hitches and you glance toward the doorway to the living room, heart rate spiking. “God,” he groans after pressing his face to you and taking a deep breath. “Fuck… baby, I want to taste you so bad, been picturing this pretty pussy all evening,” His hands move to lift the hem of your skirt and yours fly down to stop them. Confused, his dazed eyes tilt up to meet your flustered face.
“We can’t–” you pant, although the throb between your legs suggests otherwise. “They might hear,” Despite the dazed look on his face, Sebastian manages a smirk.
“We can be quiet,” he promises. “So quiet, they won’t hear it over their shouting,” he leans back in, lips latching onto the skin of your thigh just beneath your hem. Once again, you try to wriggle out of his hold. “Please baby,” he whispers, holding you in place. “I need it, I’m desperate for it, you’ve been taunting me all night, please,” his voice grows a little whiny.
“But they-”
“I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, I promise, just let me taste you, let me please you,” his hands sneak up your thighs once more, gathering your skirt up to your hips. “You’re wet baby, just let me taste it, just… just a few licks at least, please, you taste so good,” you can’t fight the reaction your body has to his words. They have you squirming and growing wetter and wetter by the second. He always had this effect on you when he begged, he could make you so weak. “Just one taste, just one,” he pleads softly, rubbing his nose over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “You have no idea how badly I need it, you’re like a drug to me, fuck… please baby,” he takes a shaky breath, looking up at you with dark, imploring eyes.
“I know you, one taste won’t satisfy you,” you laugh breathily. In return, he smiles up at you a little sheepishly, not denying it.
“Please,” he repeats. You swallow and glance toward the doorway again, Sam and Abigail still sound engrossed in their game, and the look Sebastian is giving you is making you weak in the knees. “I’ll do anything babe, anything, I just need to taste you right now,” he presses his cheek to your stomach and widens his puppy eyes, knowing it makes you powerless against him. The smell of your increasing arousal is making his head spin, drool pooling under his restless tongue. Biting your lip, you finally give a relenting nod.
“Fine,”
“Fuck… thank you!” he sighs eagerly, his fingers immediately hooking into your panties and pulling them to the side. Breathless, he admires your glistening folds, wet all for him. “Thank you baby,” he repeats, leaning up and placing a sloppy kiss against you, gathering as much of your arousal into his mouth as he can, making you gasp. A wanton moan rips from his chest as your taste spreads over his tongue, luckily muffled against your core. Your eyes flutter shut and you whine softly as he begins his eager laps through your folds, finishing with a flick to your bundle of nerves each time, painting sinful pictures between your legs. “Thank you…” he whispers once more. You were in for quite the evening.
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hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
pondering on whether i should change my pinned post from my masterlist to an about me post (with easy navigation ofc). that’s what most people have but i’m always kind of like well nobody is really here for me, they’re here for the writing… idk
do you like about me posts for writers?
yes it’s always fun to know a bit about the authors
nothing against them but i don’t really read them
i’m not here for the authors, i’m here for the fanfic
Voting ended onMay 10
and also any opinions on what should be in an about me post appreciated (´∀｀）
spencer reid who, the second things start to escalate between you, a few goodnight kisses on your doorstep after dates that end up pressed against your door with wandering hands all over, runs to the library to inhale every book ever written about sex. he skims some classic texts, as well as modern books focused on women’s pleasure (she comes first, come as you are) because he is determined to be a genius at this too, for you. nothing excites him more than the idea of pleasing you properly, making you feel good and getting tangible evidence of his abilities and your desire for him. your body becomes a vessel through which he can prove to himself that he can master any skill he puts his mind to, and you really don’t mind his obsessive practicing. his tongue and fingers are already perfect for the task, he just needs some time to experiment on you, run a few tests to see what works and what doesn’t, unknowingly tuning himself entirely to your body. not that he will ever consider anyone else’s after his first taste of your pleasure, equal parts intoxicating and intellectually validating.
my plan was to spend wednesday writing because it was the only day i had off from driving lessons this week (yes i am 21 and don’t have my license yet </3 i should have it soon :’0) HOWEVER wednesday was literally the only day i could get a time at the doctors so… idk when the stalker!Riddle fic will end up emerging… hopefully this weekend </33
(also i am still hoping for ideas for spencer reid omegaverse if anyone has any… or like any fun peeta ideas… just if anyone happens to have any…)
Summary: Riddle has had his sights set on Reader as his perfect high society wife for well over a year, but you are proving rather difficult to woo. He finds himself in your room one evening, not sure what drew him in, yet you seem to know exactly why he's there.
Tags: Oral (f receiving), Sub! Tom Riddle, Light dom/sub, Kneeling, Praise, Courting, Riddle is smitten, Probably a bit out of character, Pureblood culture, Mild fluff, Reader has she/her pronouns.
Word count: 3.3k
all fandom masterlist | hp masterlist | read it on ao3
Authors note: This is basically just Riddle being a secret munch and Reader not bothering to beat around the bush cos she's a baddie. It's been a while and I can't really promise anything but pls know I am always thinking about fanfic ideas. This wasn't really proofread... Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡
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Tom Riddle had done the impossible, if he did say so himself. Born loveless, raised in an orphanage, he had clawed his way up the social ranks at Hogwarts to where he was today. It had taken precise layers of charm and deceit, convincing those around him that he was worthy of more than the cards he had been dealt. It hadn’t hurt that the one blessing his parentage had offered him was his looks, which made convincing certain people of his worth much simpler, but ultimately, he would be nowhere without his perseverance. He had done it, built himself from nothing, and nobody could take that from him. Here he was now, almost at the very top of the social hierarchy at Hogwarts, elected Head Boy, coveted by every witch at the school. There was only one step left between him and the legitimacy he craved: a wealthy pureblood wife. If he were to access the jobs he was after, the power he desired, he needed proximity to a good family. Most of his peers were simply born with this privilege, and while he had been invited to many high society balls over the years, he knew he had no family who would vouch for him when it came to getting a good job. At the moment, he was an impressive oddity to be admired. How strange, this handsome, intelligent man with a name we do not recognise, hasn’t he done well for himself? But the novelty would fade once his pureblood peers were getting their undeserved positions in the ministry, and Riddle was left behind to take the apprentice route like everybody else.
You were the ideal candidate to be his wife. In fact, Riddle has had his sights set on you for quite a while now. Your family was perhaps the wealthiest and best-regarded of all the pureblood families. Your father wasn’t the Minister of Magic, but the power he held in his position meant he may as well have been. If the wizarding world had royalty, it would be your family. That was exactly the kind of connection he needed to get where he was going. You and Riddle were to be wed; the only problem being that you were difficult. Very difficult. It was a large part of why he’d set his sights on you in particular. Despite your wealth, status and beauty, your dismissive and abrasive attitude to male suitors meant that not many men had dared to seek your hand. Less competition, Riddle had thought perhaps a little naively. He didn’t mind a challenge: he could charm almost anyone. Almost.
His attempts to woo you had begun last year, starting simple with approaching you in the hall and telling you that you looked lovely. Without fail, you would brush him off, your face set in a seemingly permanent scowl. Riddle persisted. He left gifts at your desk, fancy chocolates, ribbons for your hair, luxurious hand creams in scents that reminded him of your perfume. Each gift was accepted, but you never looked that enthusiastic, offering the chocolates around to your friends, using the ribbons to tie your textbooks rather than your hair. However, the fact that you hadn’t thrown them back in his face was a win in Riddle’s book, as he had witnessed you do a few years ago when being pursued by an older student. He continued his efforts, approaching you in the library in the hopes of speaking with you at least once a week. His charm was always fully switched on, a handsome smile on his face, his voice soft and full of compliments. Still, you were unfazed. If he was lucky, the two of you would exchange a few sentences before you told him you wished to be alone; most days, he would get nothing from you at all. Your lack of other suitors kept him going, because at least he knew your aloof attitude wasn’t related to being promised to somebody else.
After over a year of this behaviour, you had begrudgingly grown used to it. On days he was sick or busy with Head Boy duties, it would be odd not to receive a little gift or be showered with compliments before class. You didn’t miss it as such; it was merely the change in your routine that bothered you. You were always a little more friendly with him the next day, without strictly meaning to be. Riddle basked in his success each time, the fact that you would actually speak with him a little. You were intelligent, funny, perfect. Each little bit that you let him in only strengthened his resolve to marry you. The two of you would be the perfect couple; everybody would admire you both, be sick with envy. You would give him that last step up he needed toward the future he deserved. The thought was what kept him going on days you were particularly challenging.
Although Riddle was not much of a partier himself, he knew appearances were of the essence in building up his image and maintaining the position he had worked so hard for. So despite having no interest in such mindless frivolities, he had dragged himself to the party in the Slytherin common room this evening and made his rounds, making sure people took note of his presence. He had hoped he would catch a chance to speak with you at this party, but as he approached your group of friends, he immediately noticed a distinct lack of you. As casually as he could, he inquired about your whereabouts, secretly a little sick at the thought that you might have found a quiet corner with some boy.
“She’s in her dorm, said this party was a trivial affair and that she wanted to enjoy her time alone,” your friend Agnes quotes you, rolling her eyes. Riddle couldn’t help but smile. It sounded like you. It sounded like him. He wasn’t sure why you couldn’t seem to see that the two of you were a good match. After a little more polite conversation, he deems it acceptable for him to excuse himself. Making his way up the stairs toward the toilets for a moment alone, he hesitates at the landing, his eyes drawn down the corridor toward the seventh-year girls' dorms. Toward where you were. He could see some light peeking out from under one of the doors, presumably yours. After checking he was alone on the staircase, his legs carried him down the corridor toward you. He knew it was improper, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He reaches the door, seeing your nameplate, which confirmed you were inside. He could hear soft, melodic humming from inside, your voice. He had never heard you so carefree and takes a moment just to listen. The tune is vaguely familiar, but he can’t quite place it. With a deep breath, he places his hand on the doorknob and lets himself inside.
You were sitting at your vanity, curling your hair and humming to yourself, enjoying being alone. With your dormmates away, you had been taking some time to indulge in yourself, experimenting with a new hairstyle without anybody telling you to hurry up so they could use the vanity and allowing your mind to wander to things you couldn’t think about with others around, fantasising. You caught sight of Riddle in the doorway through your vanity mirror, your eyes meeting for a moment before you turned in your seat to face him.
“Oh, you,” you look him up and down, unimpressed. Riddle gives his best charming smile, which almost makes you roll your eyes.
“Just came to check on you, shouldn’t you be socialising with your housemates?” He steps inside, shutting your door behind him, shutting you in together.
“I tried to avoid it, but you give me no choice, as usual,” you huff, turning back toward the mirror and examining your freshly curled hair. Riddle takes a few slow, measured steps until he stands behind your chair, watching you admire yourself in the mirror. He spots a facial moisturiser that he had gifted you a few weeks ago, open on your vanity, clearly used. It makes him smile. “Well, since you’re here,” you begin, meeting his eye in the mirror once more, arranging your hair. “What do you think of the curls?”
“Beautiful,” he answers simply, reaching out to gently trace a finger along a strand of your hair, twisting it around his finger and letting it go. He’s surprised that you don’t object, but you seem preoccupied with scrutinising your hair.
“Well, do you think a tighter or looser curl would be better?" you urge. He chuckles because he hardly knows a thing about this, lucky that his hair waves attractively on its own.
“I am sure any type of curl would suit you,” he murmurs, leaning his forearms on the back of your chair, his head now close to yours. You roll your eyes.
“You’re useless, you would say I looked beautiful no matter what I did,”
“It’s not my fault that you’re so gorgeous,” he hums, catching your glare through the mirror, laced with a blatant affection he isn’t used to seeing from you. You seem much more relaxed than usual. Considering he’d barged in here without warning, it’s a little odd. “You don’t seem that bothered about me being in your room,” he comments, his eyes straying toward what you’re wearing. A simple white nightdress and a silky robe wrapped around you. The fact that you aren’t trying to cover up is also strange, but he isn’t complaining.
“I figured you were here to offer to eat me out or something,” you shrug. Riddle freezes, pulling back a bit so he can look at your face rather than simply your reflection. He’s sure he hasn’t heard you correctly, or if he has, that he does not understand the implication correctly.
“Eat… you?” he asks slowly, studying your expression.
“You know, go down on me,” you clarify. If Riddle wasn’t so baffled by your words, he would have been embarrassed by the flush of pink that dusts his ears and cheeks. He has never heard you talk this way.
“I… what?” he blinks, trying to come up with what else you might possibly be referring to. You can’t possibly be casually suggesting he came here to… His eyes dart up as you stand from your chair, turning toward him. He hesitates, looking up at you for a moment before straightening up.
“I know what you want from me, and you’re running out of time, I mean, we graduate in two months… I figured perhaps you were here to resort to drastic measures to earn my affections,” you explain, watching in amusement as the composed, brilliant Tom Riddle practically stutters before you. He swallows, trying his best to get back in control of himself.
“Would it work?” he asks quietly, watching as you twirl your hair. He’d never expected you to be so direct, but he cannot deny the hardening of his cock, he likes it. You shrug with a smirk, unsure why you’re being so brazen. It was his fault for walking in on your fantasising time. You were already a little aroused when he walked in; you could hardly even admit to yourself that he’d been on your mind even before he entered. He takes a moment to consider the risks of what he’s about to do. If you’re simply messing with him, this could completely squander his chances with you. Yet the glint in your eye as you look him up and down is new. And strong. Whatever has gotten into you is something he hopes never leaves. “Then yes, you caught me,” he swallows, slowly moving to kneel before you. “I came here in the hopes of kissing your cunt,”
“Riddle!” you giggle at his lewd language, shocked and excited, a jolt of arousal going through your body. He smiles up at you, almost sheepishly, moving your vanity chair out of the way so that you can lean back against the vanity and he can move in between your legs. His whole body trembles as he leans in and presses his lips to your skin just below the hem of your nightdress, leaning his forehead to your thigh and closing his eyes. This was not where he had been expecting this evening to go: he took several deep breaths to calm himself down. His hands slowly slide up the outside of your thighs, lifting the hem of your nightdress. His lips followed suit, tracing their way up the plush skin of your thighs with little kisses. Your eyes met as he looked up at you, making sure that you weren’t about to kick him off of you. You merely watch him like you are curious, like you could not believe he was doing this, he could hardly believe it himself. The fact that you were allowing him to do this was a great shock to him, but if this was what would finally win you over, he would do it for hours, until his jaw locked. He bunched your nightdress around your waist, taking a moment to admire your underwear, pink and satiny. Seeing the wet spot already there, he could not resist, leaning forward and pressing his nose to you, taking a deep, blissful breath. Vaguely, he registers you giggling in surprise once more, but all he can focus on is the smell of you, the drool pooling under his tongue at the idea of tasting you. He cannot compare your scent to anything he has smelled before, and yet somehow his body already knows you are delicious. First, he presses a light kiss to you through the fabric, then another, then another. His tongue presses against your core through the thin fabric, and you moan in shock, his tongue running back and forth over the fabric until it is wet and he can properly feel you through it. The wet fabric slides against you as he attempts to get as close as possible to you, forcing your legs to spread further to accommodate him. The hints of your taste he gets through the fabric drive him wild; he wants more. Pulling back just a little, he opens his eyes to look up at you, grabbing at your underwear.
“May I take these off?” he breathes. He feels like a dog at its master's feet, begging, but he finds that when you look down at him like that, cheeks flushed and pupils blown, he really doesn’t mind. With a nod, he is working the fabric down your legs with abandon, slowing down to manoeuvre the fabric over your feet, placing gentle kisses just above your white cotton socks as he frees you of the garment and tosses it away into the room. As he wedges his way back between your legs to return to his work, he sees you, bare and dripping with the nectar of the gods. He shivers, taking a moment to kiss your thighs and just above the patch of hair protecting you so he could properly fill his lungs. He feels your eyes on him, and he relishes in it. After one last deep breath, he dives in. His hands grip your hips as his tongue slides through your wet folds, taking in every drop of you that you can spare. You’re both moaning, his vibrations feeling excruciatingly good as his tongue finds its way to circling your clit. One of your legs drapes over his shoulder to give him better access to you, pushing himself as close as he possibly can get in order to lap at you properly. His tongue flicks over your clit more often as he swirls his tongue, testing your reactions, listening for your noises and paying attention to the twitches of your body. Your mind is swimming with pleasure, hand threading into Riddle’s hair, which he only takes as a sign to pick up his pace, his whole mouth working to bring you over the edge. He mumbles something against your clit, something about your taste that you cannot make out, but his sheer enthusiasm tells you it must be something good. You feel the cool glass of the vanity mirror against your back. Riddle’s hands gripping your rear are the only thing protecting you from the edge of the table. Your body thrashes as his lips close around your clit, suckling and flicking his tongue just right.
“Riddle– ah! Tom–” You whine and whimper, your grip on his hair growing tighter, nails digging into his scalp, not that he seems to mind. Your cry of his name spurs him on; he’s determined to prove himself, continuing to alternate between sucks and licks. He feels your whole body tensing up, knowing you’re nearly there, he makes sure to keep doing exactly what he’s doing, burying his face against you. Your body goes stiff as you explode, a prolonged whine leaving your lips, hips thrashing against Riddle’s face. You struggle for breath, your vision going white behind your eyelids, and warmth spreads through your entire body. Still, Riddle keeps going, working you through the waves of pleasure as they crash over you and basking in the taste of your release melting on his tongue. You twitch weakly as Riddle soothes his tongue over your pulsing core until you have finally ridden out your full climax. He sits back and looks up at you, licking his lips and letting go of your nightdress. It falls back down past your hips, though now it is all wrinkled. You stare at each other, both panting with exertion.
The reality of what has just transpired begins to set in. Neither of you is sure what to say or do now. Riddle remains knelt at your feet, ignoring his raging arousal, waiting for you to say something. The silence stretches on so long that he almost hopes you tell him to leave and never come back, so at least he might have some clarity. He swallows, still waiting. Never in his life has he felt so unsure, so out of control. How had he ended up here? And if this was possible, why had he not been devouring you every night for the past year? He stares up at you, cogs turning in his mind.
“You can stand,” you finally say, voice a little hoarse.
“Oh, right,” he clears his throat and stands. It’s almost a little strange to look down at you again. He quite enjoyed looking up at you. From his standing position, his lingering arousal is much more obvious. You chuckle, smiling at him. “It’s a pretty natural reaction to doing something like that,” he defends himself quietly. You nod. Another silence stretches between you. “So… have I won your affections yet?” he asks as casually as he can muster. You think on his words and realise, yes, he has. In fact, he had quite a while ago, you had just enjoyed his chasing you.
“Yes,” you smile. He raises a brow, thinking for a moment that you’re messing with him until you step forward and embrace him. Although it’s a little unnatural and stilted, especially as he has to angle his hips away from you, he embraces you in return. He isn’t used to affection, or the idea that his pursuit of you might have finally paid off.
“I sort of thought I would have to chase you forever,” he chuckled against your hair, which had lost a lot of its curliness from the exertion. You chuckle in return.
“Oh, yes, you do, don’t get complacent on me now, Riddle,” you tease. “I still expect presents and compliments and… your oral talents that you so generously demonstrated this evening,”
“I would not dream of getting complacent, you minx,” he purrs. “I will happily show you my talents each and every day. And anyway, I thought you were calling me Tom now,” he pulls back to look down at you. You roll your eyes, blushing a little. Yes, that had slipped out, hadn’t it?
“I will hold you to that… Tom,”
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hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
y’all i promise i AM writing the stalker!Riddle fic but it has just kind of gotten way longer than I meant it to… (^▽^;)
i’m a little worried it’s toooo long and people won’t be interested in it, like the way it’s structured as well where the smut isn’t necessarily the climax (lol) of the story like in most oneshots… idk i’m worried i’m writing all this and no one will like it (╯︵╰,)
