Fandoms/what I'll write for: South Park, DC, Marvel, Jujutsu K, Dexter, Futurama, Shameless, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, EPIC, ect.
Hyper fixations rn: South Park, EPIC, PJO, and the bat family.
PLEASE REQUEST ANY OF THIS PLS PLS
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I'm currently working on a Kyle Broflovski x reader fanfic, but taking a tiny break.
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I'll write smut, fluff, porn with a plot, porn without a plot, and all that. But, I hate doing angst. It hurts my heart, but I'm surprisingly good at writing it 😭 uhh English isn't my first language, and I'm not really good at writing, so bear with me. 😞
Dexter morgan smut pls? No hardcore kinky stuff tho 💗
AHHH I'M SO SORRY LOVE, IT TOOK ME WAY TOO LONG TO GET TO THIS, I DISAPPEARED OFF OF THE FACE OF THE EARTH FOR A LITTLE WHILE 😭 ask and you shall receive. I'm sorry that it'll only be able to be a drabble, but life is just messing me up!
Warning: afab! reader, smut, and shitty writing.
SMUT UNDER CUT!!! READ AT YOUR RISK!
This wasn't how he did things... He was always clean. Practiced, precise... Not this. Not bending you over the kitchen counter after a kill, still in his clothes, his dark passenger just satiated, where Harrison could walk in. But he hadn't expected you to be here. When you explained that you called several times only to get no answer, and checked his location only to find it turned off, and that you were scared, he would've understood. Would've. If you hadn't timed it wrong. If recently acquired his blood slide wasn't in his pocket, he would have understood.
But, no. Now, he was still in that dark mindset. His hips snapped into yours erratically, his thrusts not as calculated as usual. He had you moaning and babbling, occasionally shushing you as to not wake his son up.
He had a syringe in his pocket... If he really wanted to shut you up, he could. But, he cared about you. In his own sick way.
Maybe that's why, he plunged into you deeply, grumbling filthy things in your ear, and then added his finger in the mix. With a few circles of his thumb on your clit, he had you spasming around him, gaining that control he needed. His release followed soon after, filling you up to the brim.
He had been much more aggressive tonight than usual and it knocked you out. Once he tucked you into bed, he went back to his normal routine. He didn't like straying from his rituals... but he could make an exception for once.
helping clark housesit for his parents leads to: 1. lots of teasing, and 2. getting very familiar with his childhood bedroom (aka fucking in clark's childhood bed)
a/n: watched superman (2025) like 10 hours ago and my childhood crush is soooo back i need him bad, went into a different plane of existence and wrote this in a two-hour-old gdoc, first dc fic!!
cw: clark kent x fem!reader, smut mdni, lots of banter, fingering, praise, slightttt dumbification but not really by clark, unprotected piv
wc: 2.8k (idk why dont ask me)
mlist
(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )
“So, this is where Clark Kent grew up, huh? I can see it now, you’re running in that field, yelling at your dad on the porch, sneaking a nudie mag in your backpack through that door—”
A large palm flattens over your mouth, muffling your next words. Slumping your shoulders dramatically, you look up with mirth in your eyes.
Clark is standing in front of you, his expression defeated. It’s clear he’s half-regretting inviting you to house-sit for his parents with him for the week, but the flush on his cheeks indicates that your teasing isn’t all bad.
“I’ll have you know I never had any magazines that weren’t PG-13.”
He speaks with a mock-injured tone, hand slipping down to rest on your back as he guides you through the screen door into the old-fashioned living room.
“What kind of degenerate do you think I am? Ma raised me right.”
You should be teasing him further. If you had your wits about you, you would. It’s unfortunate that the feeling of Clark’s hand on your lower back makes you go a little loopy. You’re lucky he hasn’t caught on to what his touch does to you, or you’d be screwed.
Flushing slightly, you dance out of his grip, running a finger over the shelves.
“So, are you gonna, um, give me a tour? Lots of anecdotes, I want the true Clark Kent experience.”
His low chuckle is indulgent, a finger hooking into your belt loop as a means of tugging you towards the door.
“If you want it, you’ll get it. Just don’t be mad at the tour guide when this takes a while.”
You have to shake the daze from your eyes before you can hear the story he’s telling about accidentally cracking the kitchen countertop.
The Kent house is exactly how you’d expect it. It’s quaint, the decor reflecting the cozy tastes of his parents. Each room has a reminder of Clark though, whether intentional or not.
The doorway to the bathroom has markings of his growing height in childhood, including the five-month period where he went from 5'8" to 6’3”. The office has a dent in the wall, where Clark sheepishly tells you he kicked a soccer ball by accident when he was ten. It leaves you feeling as if you knew him when he was young, by proxy of the many scrapes he got himself into.
Nothing does it like his bedroom, though. The final stop on his tour, Clark forgoes any preamble, simply opening the door and letting you wander in.
It’s a stark contrast to the rest of the house, the brown paneled walls plastered with various posters and pictures. You can’t help but grin, seeing the trophy case with all his football awards near the window.
“Wow, Kent. Didn’t realise you were Boy Wonder, too,”
You cross the room, immediately fiddling with the academic awards that are hanging on the far wall.
“I mean, is it even fair at this point?”
You can hear him huff out a deep breath, picturing how he’s surely lifting one large hand to rub the back of his neck, his flannel straining against the bulge of his bicep and—
“It really wasn’t that big a deal, Smallville’s got a pretty good high school for the area.”
His voice cuts through the static in your brain, the barely-there heat of his chest radiating towards your back snapping you into reality at once. Humble bastard.
Turning to face him, you step as close as you can, hands finding their rightful place on his shoulders.
“I think you’re selling yourself short. Besides, it’s better for me if you’re exceptional. I get to pat myself on the back for locking you down.”
You go in for a quick peck, pressing your lips to his slightly-chapped ones for a brief moment. Parting from him, the two of you seem transfixed by each other’s eyes, Clark leaning back in for another when a distinctive poster catches your eye, making you turn your head.
Clark’s lips land on your cheek as you rile yourself up for more teasing.
“Clark! The Mighty Crabjoys? Are you kidding?”
He lets out a groan, hands settling at your waist as he attempts to turn you back toward him.
“Yes I did, yes I was an insufferable poser as a kid, yes you would have mocked me relentlessly, now please?”
His lips seek yours, molding against you for another moment before you pull back again.
“No, wait, don’t distract me. That’s there unironically? Like, you listened to them, and listened to them so much that you just had to—”
You’re cut off again, tasting the cornbread you’d had earlier on his tongue as he laves it over your bottom lip. Suddenly you’re not all that bothered with the poster anymore.
It’s his turn to talk now, it seems.
“Can we please stop talking about the poster?”
His voice has deepened a few octaves, sounding eerily similar to his Superman voice. It’s doing bad things for your panties, feeling your thighs rub together involuntarily. You’re rendered mute, nodding wordlessly up at him.
A self-satisfied smile settles on his face, using his grip on you to walk you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed.
“Thank you, honey.”
He’s pushing you down softly, lowering you until you settle against the plaid sheets. You’re given absolutely no time to register anything else about the bed, not when he’s settling over you, all broad chest and thick thighs and beautiful face.
“Clark…”
“Yeah? What is it?”
It seems like he’s relishing the opportunity to get you back for all your teasing, leaning on an elbow resting near your head as his other hand slips down to grip your hip. It’s unfair how he gets to you.
“I want… You know what I want.”
You can barely stand to look at him, his eyes are so big and kind. You could get lost in him, drawn in by his gravitational pull.
“Yeah, I do know, don't I? You want your clothes off, sweetheart?”
Your head begins to nod before you even register it, making Clark laugh as he sits up to tug off your clothes.
Once you’re sufficiently undressed, you’re feeling a little unfair. He’s still wearing so much. Clumsy hands fly to the hem of his shirt, pushing it up gently.
“You too, Clark. Not going to let me be the only one in their birthday suit, right?”
He blushes, but follows the movements of your hands, shucking off his shirt and jeans, although the black boxers he’s got on remain there, much to your dismay. The moment he’s bare enough, he’s climbing right back over you, lips pressing to yours with insistence.
Clark generally lets you take the lead with kissing, letting you explore his mouth with as much zeal and vigour you can muster. He’s content to moan into your mouth, hands running wild over all the newly-exposed skin at his disposal.
Rough fingertips travel up to your hair, smoothing it back as your tongue brushes against his. A soft squeeze to your breast when you gasp for air before diving right back in. Slowly, slowly, he begins to make his way down your body.
You falter a little as he lingers over your stomach, rubbing a thumb over your lower belly, feeling yourself ache for him. Your own hands spring into action, caressing over the planes of his abdomen as you move lower and lower.
However, a hand encircles your wrist before you can reach his boxers, Clark’s abashed face looking at you.
“Not yet, baby. Can’t—oh, gosh,”
He throws his head back in pleasure when you forge forward, boldly gripping him through the thin fabric.
“Clark, please. You said you’d give me what I wanted.”
He seems to falter, but his touch doesn’t move, redirecting your hand to rest on his shoulder.
“You know we can’t… yet. I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”
Damn it. Damn his big fucking eyes and his honeyed voice. You can’t complain, no matter how much you’d want to. Not when he’s looking at you like that.
With a sigh, you slump a little, voice slightly petulant.
“Fine.”
He sees right through it, of course he does.
“Oh, I know. It’s so hard, isn’t it, letting me touch you?”
You’d have a cutting reply on the tip of your tongue if his hands weren’t roaming again, his left cupping the back of your head as the right makes its way down to where you’re dripping.
Your legs spread automatically, letting his fingers brush against your soaked folds. You have to moan, the feeling of his larger fingers always overwhelming at first.
He swipes through your folds, once, twice, until his index finger is covered in slick. You’d be embarrassed, but it’s hard to feel anything but pleasure when Clark is touching you. Slowly, he brings his index up to your hooded clit, pressing down on it with practised precision.
It’s like he’s feeling it too, the way he starts to pant at the sight of you getting enveloped in bliss. This is a part of your routine because you need to be worked open, yes, but it’s also selfishly for Clark’s own satisfaction, you both know it.
The pleasure arcing up your spine has you arching your back, right leg jerking involuntarily. It only seems to spur him on, index leaving your clit.
Acknowledging your whine with a kiss to the temple, Clark moves his hand slightly, positioning his finger a little lower.
“Here we go, honey.”
He pushes further, thick finger brushing your gummy walls deliciously. Every time Clark fingers you, you worry that you’ll never be able to go back to your own fingers again. His are like the rest of him, broad, work-worn and skilled. The way he slowly increases the pace of his movements have you squirming under him, hands scrabbling at his shoulders.
“Doing so good for me, baby. Take it like a champ, every time.”
His hushed praises are sent straight to your core, hot breath fanning over your cheek as he adds another impossibly large finger to the mix.
The stretch burns, in the way that has you gushing around his digits. You’re openmouthed, unable to stop the endless torrent of moans and whimpers that leave you.
“Clark—!”
He smiles a little, watching how your hips are starting to grind down on his palm.
“Yeah, honey? Feeling good?”
You nod frantically, staring wide-eyed up at him.
One more finger joins the two already plunging in and out of you, and the staggering onslaught of sensations pushes you over the edge.
A final brush of his palm against your clit and you fall apart, choked moans spilling into the air as your hips stutter.
“Oh my god, ohmygod, Clark!”
He knows to work you through it, slowing his pace until the wave has crested, and you’re looking up at him with big, wet eyes.
Pulling his hand away from you, he dips down, capturing your lips with his.
“How’re you feeling, honey? Want to stop?”
You’d rather die. You tell him so, reveling in the shock on his face. He seems to forget how badly you want him until it's shoved in his face, so you do just that.
Snaking a hand between your bodies, you brush the waistband of his boxers again.
“Please, Clark? You know I can take it. Just wanna feel you.”
He’s a sucker for you, you both know it.
That’s what has him shoving down his boxers with graceless hands, what has him blushing when you compliment his cock for the umpteenth time.
He’s hovering back over you, the mattress dipping by your head and hip, where he’s braced himself with a hand and knee. His other hand has found purchase on your thigh, kneading at the plush flesh idly.
You wonder absentmindedly if there will be any marks left later. He’d be mortified. You’d love it.
“Sweetheart, you ready? Gotta take this slow,”
He’s let go of your thigh, gripping his cock at the base so he can swipe through your folds. You both let out guttural moans, laughing at each other when the pleasure subsides.
“Yeah, Clark. I want it.”
He’s embarrassed by your confession, like he always is, but that doesn’t stop him from pressing his hips forward a fraction. The blunt tip of his cock pushes past your entrance, the stretch causing another moan from the both of you.
You’ll never get used to it, the all-encompassing pleasure that comes with the first few inches of him.
He’s slow, taking his time as he groans word salad into your ear.
“Feels so—so good, baby. Always so good for me, aren’t you? Does it— oh, god— you feeling okay?”
His voice is hoarse, as if he’s been yelling for days. You can’t help but feel a little satisfaction at how thoroughly you seem to wreck the Man of Steel.
“Yeah, Clark… Keep going.”
He nods, pushing even further. The tip of him reaches somewhere deep in you, somewhere only he’s ever been. The heady haze in your mind can’t dissipate, not when he’s making you feel like this.
It feels like an eternity, but finally, his hips meet yours. You’re feeling obscenely full, like you could never live without him in you like this. It has you whining sharply when he pulls himself out slightly.
However, the feeling of him pushing back in sends any thought of complaining flying out of your head. He’s swift in finding that perfect pace — somewhere between stuffing you as full as you can be and providing the friction he craves.
Throwing your head back, you see his right hand hover in the air, as if he’s unsure what to do with it. It seems as though he’s decided when it grips the headboard behind your head, but a splintering sound has you pushing past the daze to warn him.
“Can’t— Don’t break the headboard—” You’re cut off by a moan, unable to stop yourself. He seems suitably chastised though, his hand balling into a fist and pressing into the mattress instead. You feel a distant hope that he won’t punch through that, somehow. It’d be a hell of a story to tell his parents why you had to replace it.
His left arm has slid under your shoulders in the meantime, holding you as close to his chest as possible. You’re sure he gets some pleasure out of it, but you know he does this for you.
He knows you like to be overwhelmed by him, surrounded by his touch and smell and words until every thought’s been chased from your mind but him. He won’t let you run away from the excruciating pleasure, and you’re grateful. It’s even more wonderful here, in this single bed that forces you even closer to him than normal.
The brutal pace he’s set has you floating up to the sky in no time, head in the clouds as you let him hold you close.
It could be a lot of things, but you’re getting close after only a few short minutes. It could be the deep groans that he’s letting loose in the air between your mouths. It could be the tight grip he’s got you in. It’s probably the incessant grinding of his pelvis against your clit when he drives home.
Whatever it is, your arms around his neck tighten as you attempt to tell him.
“Clark— Clark, m’gonna…”
He nods, smiling breathlessly down at you, knowing you want reassurance.
“Me too, baby. Go ahead, you can come.”
Something about his gasped-out words has you spiralling, your climax hitting you at once. Walls spasming around him, his hips falter in their speed, slowing to a more languid, leisurely pace as he works you through it.
“Good— good girl, honey. Feel so good.”
He lets you pull him in for a filthy, openmouthed kiss, pressing his pelvis against yours.
One final grinding motion, and he’s gasping into your mouth. The blooming heat inside you has you shuddering with an aftershock of pleasure, moaning one final time.
He remains pressed against you for some time, his arm holding you slightly off the bed as your chests heave. Only once he catches his breath (annoyingly quickly) does he settle you back against the sheets.
The next few moments are a blur, Clark kissing you one moment, softly wiping at your pussy with a cloth the next, and finally bringing a glass of water to your lips.
“Feeling okay? Tired?”
“Yeah, a little, but a quick nap, and I’ll be ready.”
He looks at you quizzically, tilting his head in a way that reminds you of Krypto.
“What, you don’t have more in you? C’mon, Superman, we’ve got to wear you out at some point.”
finally processed the unimaginable horror of a second consecutive stanley cup win by the florida panthers. for those who may still be grieving, here’s some more hockey player!jason to ease the pain 💔
warnings: jason drops the gloves, mentions of blood, size kink 🧘♀️
★・・・★・・・★・・・★
hockey player!jason who takes his enforcer role seriously. maybe too seriously. he’s only just made it back on the ice after a penalty when a rookie on the opposing team decides to try his luck chirping; jason mostly ignores him, until the kid lets out a line that cuts through the noise of the arena. “hey, todd, y’think that little puck bunny of yours handles a stick better than you?”
hockey player!jason who doesn’t even let the smirk fade off the rookie’s face before he drops the gloves and starts swinging. teammates from both sides swarm to try and pry him off—no small feat when you’re dealing with one of the biggest players in the league. the crowd cheers wildly and the refs are yelling, but all jason can focus on is the bright red blood coating his knuckles as his fist splits the skin on the kid’s cheekbone.
hockey player!jason who sits out the rest of the game in the locker room after an immediate ejection and the promise of a chewing out by the coach and general manager later. he glares down at his bloodied and bandaged hand, and the bruises forming under the gauze, knowing they pale in comparison to the reaming he’s going to get for this. worth it.
hockey player!jason who won’t tell you what the kid did to piss him off like that as you lie in bed after the game, but swears he was justified while you examine his injuries. you meet his gaze, and his expression is nothing short of cocky. typical. “so…how’d he look?” he asks, a coy smirk on his lips. you know he loves this part. “awful,” you reply, feigning disapproval, “but he’ll live.”
hockey player!jason who goads you into recounting the fight, taking note of the way your cheeks flush as you detail the scene. “it took, like, six guys to get you off him,” you say, and he chuckles. there’s a pause as the air thickens between you, and you bite your lip. “I mean, it was…pretty hot.” his grin widens as your hand trails down his abdomen.
hockey player!jason who listens intently to you singing his praises, his green eyes dark with lust as your hand rubs his hardening cock over his boxers. “I forget how strong you are,” you coo sweetly, slipping your fingers under the waistband. he moans quietly as you stroke him, your pace measured despite struggling to fit him in your hand. “even in the gear you were, like, almost two feet taller than him, jay.”
hockey player!jason who has you straddling his lap before you can even begin explaining the aftermath of the fight, your panties lost somewhere in the bedsheets. you whine as you feel his thick cock split you in half, and his calloused hands guide your hips as he slowly bottoms out inside you, groaning at the feeling of your dripping cunt gripping him like a vice. “fuck, that’s my girl, hm?” he breathes, feeling your walls relaxing around his substantial size. his smile is arrogant despite his ragged voice. “nothin’ you can’t handle, right, ma?”
Don't get it wrong, he's a complete amateur when it comes to sex. The first time you two fucked, he cried. So this little discovery, it was an accident, truly. He didn't mean to get carried away but you were squeezing him so good, and the pretty sounds you were making had his knees giving out.
At first, he had you face down, feeding you those deep strokes, the kind that leaves you breathless. But then he began to move, pushing at the curves of your hips, then your spine, forcing you down until your tummy presses against the soft sheets. And he can't help it, naturally wherever you go, he follows. So he lays himself right on top of you, he's so big too. Big thighs cage around your ass, grinding real deep and slow. It’s downright sinful. Jason Peter Todd in all his 6'1 glory, smothering you against the mattress and it's like something inside him clicks. His mind won’t shut the hell up because suddenly, you’ve gone all soft and pliant, and he’s whispering real filthy, “just needed some good dick, huh?”
His mind is so fucked out, he hasn’t realized how good he’s been fucking you until he registers your squirming and soft whining beneath him. Sometimes he forgets how big he is, all of him. Because in this position, he basically kisses your cervix. He’s taking his time, it’s torturous, the slow drag of his hips, and the way he bullies his way back in- pushing up against that sweet spot that makes you cream.
He’s got his lips pressed against your ear, cooing and shushing you so sweetly when you say you can’t take it. One hand pushing past your hips to pet at your sensitive clit, and you paw at his wrist- a weak attempt at pushing him away. It’s too much, he’s too big and he’s talking so fucking nasty in your ear you just can’t take it.
But every time you try to shut your legs in protest, his thighs flex and his ankles lock around yours, easily pushing them back open. Wordlessly saying, “take it, take it, take it”.
And after fucking you through your third orgasm, this man has the audacity to blush. Shoving his face into your neck but at some point, his mind gets all hazy. He latches his canines onto your throat and you cum. Still fucking you through the mattress, he works you up to your fourth. And when you finally come down, you sob out a half-hearted “mean”, but he doesn’t budge- just hushes you with a sickly sweet “did so good, baby”.
instead of jason being damian’s protector in the league can we just have them being feral best friends. partners in crime. co-workers.
i want damian to be in gotham telling funny stories and fond memories from his childhood and league days, and every single story contains his ‘partner, hood’, because apparently he and another one of the trainees got along so well and worked so well together that Talia made them an official assassination duo, so they would always train and go on missions together, and they would just absolutely fuck shit up constantly.
and in the batfams heads this hood guy is like, another kid. like damian’s age, maybe a year or two older because damian keeps mentioning how paternal hood can get. and then the fucking Red Hood shows up, over six ft and 200 pounds of pure murderous monster muscle, and damian’s like ‘there’s my partner there! hi hood!’ and they wave at each other across the rooftops and the entire family just fuckin. bluescreen.
dick: so was your friend younger than you?
damian: i mean it depends on how you count his age. he recently restarted, you see, so logistically we don’t quite know where that puts him.
dick: what
——
bruce: who are you talking to on the phone there, damian?
damian: hood, he’s in gotham for a few days and wants to meet up!
bruce, thinking a playdate would be good for damian: would your friend like to come here for dinner?
damian, putting the phone on speaker: i dunno, do you?
jason on the phone, voice deep as fuck and gravelly because he hasn’t drank in 2 days: absolutely the fuck not
Kyle's not the guy who begged to be captain of the team... Even though he really wanted it. He became captain because he's competitive, strategic, and somehow the only one who can scream at the team and force them to actually pay attention.
He does like the attention, but he really likes winning, structure, and being the one people listen to when shit hits the fan.
Spends practices in a tank top that's always soaked by the end, curls damp, freckled chest rising and falling like he doesn't know the effect it has on you. (He knows.)
Runs drills like a military general but the second you show up to practice in a skirt and that smug little look on your face? He fumbles the ball. Hard.
If you wait until post-practice to flirt while he's shirtless, flushed, and riding the adrenaline high? You're not walking out of the locker room on your own.
He'll drag you to the locker room, and immediately push you up against the wall. Sweat slicked abs, the scent of musk and victory, panting against your throat. You're his prize.
Kyle's not above pulling you into the coach's office during downtime. "Five minutes," he grunts, locking the door. You're bent over the desk two seconds later.
He won't leave for away games without kissing your neck, your thighs, your wrist like he’s memorizing your pulse. Then he eats you out within an inch of your life. If he loses, it’s because he didn’t get to do his routine.
He definitely takes his anger out on you if he loses. He's rough, leaves bruises, pulls your hair and bites more than he talks.
If he wins? Slow grind. Deep moans. "Good girl," he pants, "You like being my reward?"
Summary: Chaos ensues after you accidentally send Spencer a nude pic
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Category: Smut
Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) dub-con (Spencer receives an unsolicited nude pic), embarrassment, awkwardness, tension, heavy kissing, male masturbation, oral (fem receiving), handjob, protected penetrative sex
Author's Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient Challenge!
Word count: 3.2k
Masterlist
Panic. Embarrassment. Shame.
It was hard to describe what you felt when you stared at your phone, realizing that you had just sent Spencer Reid a nude picture of yourself.
It was a mistake, of course – right when you wanted to send him a screenshot of an article, you stumbled over the mess in your apartment and selected the wrong picture. Frozen in place, you watched in horror as the read receipt showed up instantly.
Spencer had just seen your naked body light up on the screen of his phone.
A picture he never asked for and probably didn't want to see. It wasn’t a bad photo, some might even call it aesthetically pleasing. But you had never intended for anyone else to see it. It was just a way for you to make yourself feel good about your body.
You contemplated your options. Burning your phone, moving across the country and changing your identity sounded intriguing but difficult to arrange. Instead you decided to text Spencer, hoping that soon you’d both be able to laugh about the embarrassing thing you just did.
“I am so sorry about that. I really didn't mean to send that! Can you please delete the pic and forget about it?”
You didn't get a response. Spencer was never great at texting but you had really hoped to hear back from him. It was hard to tell if he felt just as embarrassed or maybe even offended – you certainly wouldn't want to receive unsolicited nude pics either.
You had barely gotten any sleep when you walked into work the next morning. Worst case scenarios had plagued your mind all night – from another painful workplace sexual harassment seminar to maybe even losing your job over your mishap – you had no idea what would expect you today.
Everything seemed normal when you got to your desk, except for the fact that your favorite coworker didn't even look at you when you walked by him. Spencer usually liked sitting beside you in the conference room and also on the jet, but he did neither of those things that day.
“Wow you really must have pissed Reid off, huh?” Luke whispered when he sat down beside you on the plane.
“Did he say anything to you?” you wanted to know.
“No, he didn't. What did you do? Spill coffee over his favorite chess board?” he teased.
“Oh it’s so much worse than that,” you whined while heat rushed to your face.
Emily decided to discuss the case before Luke could ask more questions. Spencer avoided you for the next couple of hours until you decided you both had suffered enough.
A quiet moment in the coffee kitchen of the police precinct seemed good enough to approach him.
“Hey Spencer,” you said and noticed how he almost jumped at the sound of your voice.
“H…hi,” he mumbled, his eyes fixated on the floor.
Stepping closer, he finally looked at you for the first time that day. The rosy shade spreading over his cheeks was impossible to ignore.
“I’m very sorry about the… you know. I didn't mean to send it but I understand if you feel offended by it,” you sincerely told him.
“I’m not… offended.”
You took a deep breath before you continued talking, “All I want to say is… if you want to discuss this incident with Emily or even HR, I would understand. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable in any way.”
“No, it’s okay, really,” he lied. “We can just forget about it.”
Spencer Reid was good at many things. Lying, however, definitely wasn’t his strong suit. You decided to drop the subject for now, aware that talking more about it would probably not make him less uncomfortable.
The tension between you two was palpable for the rest of the workday. When you stepped into your hotel room that night, you were relieved to finally have a couple of walls between the two of you.
If this thing didn't resolve soon, you’d have to talk to Emily about it eventually. But there was still hope that it wouldn't come to that. The embarrassment about your mishap was already bad enough as is.
The three knocks on your hotel door startled you. With your heart beating uncomfortably fast, you walked over to the door to find Spencer on the other side.
He walked into your room without saying a word. Then he began slowly pacing up and down your room, still silent. He looked at you for a second but his sight fell to the floor immediately after that.
“I uh…” he began before taking a deep breath. “I lied to you earlier.”
“About what?” you wanted to clarify. “Wanting to go to HR?”
He shook his head. “I said that we can just forget about it but I don’t think I can do that.”
Your heart felt heavy at his words. His discomfort pained you and you wished nothing more than to be able to take it back. “I’m so sorry Spencer.”
“I deleted the image off my phone but…” he paused to finally look at you. The expression written over his face was hard to read. What you didn't find was the discomfort you expected. Instead he looked… cocky?
He continued, “...it seems like it’s burned into my brain. And I can’t help but wonder, was it really an accident?”
“What?! Of course!” you squeaked. “Believe me, I would never want to send you a picture like that unprompted.”
That was when you saw a subtle smirk on his face. “Interesting choice of words.”
You thought about it for a moment. Had you really just implied that you would want to send him nudes if he’d ask you to?
“That's not what I meant,” you tried to brush it off. “And please don’t give me a lecture about Freudian slips.”
His presence filled the room and you felt like you couldn't take deep enough breaths to satiate your need for oxygen. His demeanor was so different from what you were used to and you had trouble wrapping your head around it.
His next question was even more surprising. “Who did you take this picture for?”
The undertone in his voice was unsettling and you started feeling defensive. “I don’t see how that's any of your business but just for the record, I took it for myself. I do that occasionally to make myself feel good about my body.”
It seemed as if he was content, almost relieved with your answer. You scanned his body language again and replayed his words in your head. Then it hit you all at once. Spencer was not here to scold you for what you did.
He was jealous. And he wanted to make sure no one else got to see your picture.
A grin formed on your face as you realized that you could play this game too.
Your tone was laced with a certain playfulness when you asked, “What did you do after you saw the picture?”
The change of your demeanor seemed to take Spencer by surprise. “I just told you, I deleted it.”
“I don't think that's all you did.” He audibly gulped and you noticed his cheeks taking on a reddish color. Stepping closer to him, you whispered, “Did you touch yourself, Spencer?”
A shaky breath left his mouth before he confessed, “Yes.”
“Naughty boy,” You teased him. “You really liked that image, hm?”
Nodding, he took a step forward until there was barely any space between the two of you. “I can't stop thinking about you.”
His words boosted your confidence. “I know I look great in that pic. But I think I would look even better in this lighting right here, don’t you think?”
Before you could bring to action what you had insinuated, you felt Spencer's hands cupping your face to pull you into a kiss. The surprised gasp escaping your throat was muffled by his lips against yours.
He kissed you with a fervor that knocked the air out of your lungs. Weakness rushed to your knees and you had to hold onto him to not tumble back. One hand pawed at his shirt while the other one held onto his shoulder. His lips felt soft yet firm against yours.
When his tongue begged for entrance, you let it. As he deepened the kiss, you could feel heat rushing through body. A few moments ago you really thought you’d have the upper hand in this game you were playing but now realized you were just as pathetic as he was.
Maybe sending him that image was a Freudian slip of some kind. Or maybe it was just some odd plan the universe had to bring you together. Either way, you were grateful for how things turned out.
Your hands became curious as they wandered over Spencer’s body. The tingling in your fingertips could only be soothed by feeling his skin underneath them, so they quickly began unbuttoning his shirt. Spencer showed a similar interest in feeling more of you by the way his fingers dropped down to the hem of your shirt.
Piece after piece both of your clothes fell to the floor, only ever breaking the kiss for as long as necessary. When you stood completely bare in front of one another, you dared to press your body against his to feel him.
It was impossible to tell who moaned first when his length pressed against your stomach. With a firm grip on his shoulders, you moved him back until his legs made contact with the edge of the bed. You pushed down until he sat on the mattress, staring up at you with a curiosity in his eyes that made your heart jump.
As you stepped back, his tongue darted out of his mouth to lick over his lips and you wondered if he thought about tasting you. To your surprise, he managed to not break eye contact until you challenged him, “Go on, take a look.”
His sight scanned your body, lingering on your breasts for a second before moving further down, taking everything in. You couldn’t hold back from looking at him, too. A rosy color had spread all over his cheeks and chest and when you dared to drop your eyes to his cock, you noticed how it twitched slightly against his thigh.
“You’re so beautiful,” he cooed when your eyes met again.
“Better than the image?” you teased, smirking at him.
He only nodded before looking at your body again. It was like he was mesmerized, as if a miracle had just unfolded right before him. It became obvious that he was ready to worship you if you’d let him. But first, you had something else in your mind.
“Show me exactly what you did when you saw my picture,” you told him.
He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Wh… what?”
“Don’t be shy now,” you snickered. “Come on, I wanna see how pretty you think I am.”
The sweet smile on your face seemed to encourage him enough to let his right hand move towards his hardness. It was as if he needed reassurance when he found your eyes and you nodded.
He wrapped his fingers around his cock, giving himself a squeeze and you watched as precum spilled over the tip. Slowly, he began moving his fist up and down his length, swiping his thumb over the head each time he got to the top. The groan that slipped from his lips could only be described as absolutely sinful.
You couldn’t deny how much the sight in front of you turned you on. Spencer was so incredibly beautiful and the thought that your body had the ability to make him feral like that drove you insane.
Arousal gathered at your entrance the longer you watched him. This show was no longer enough for you, you needed more. Your hands found the curve of your chest, gently kneading them before your fingers began toying with your hardened peaks. Spencer’s eyes were fixated on your hands, his mouth hanging wide open and unabashedly moaning at the sight while accelerating the pace of his hand.
Then suddenly, he stopped and got up from bed. Desperation was written all over his face when he looked at you.
“Please,” he begged as he stepped closer. “I need to touch you.”
It was everything you wanted right then, too.
“I’m all yours, Spencer.”
His mouth was on yours in an instant and he didn’t waste any time to move you over to the bed to push you onto the mattress. He followed quickly, towering over you as he kissed down your neck, making you moan in anticipation of what would follow.
He moved further down your body, kissing and nipping on the tender flesh of your breasts before focusing his attention on your nipples. The sensation was almost unbearable and you could feel how your arousal began coating the insides of your thighs.
Spencer smiled against your skin when he noticed you rocking your hips against his leg every so slightly. His confidence grew as he realized that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.
“Needy,” he chuckled as he kissed down your stomach. “That’s cute.”
Right then you couldn’t care less about being in charge, you just wanted to be taken care of. When his lips brushed over your inner thigh, you opened your legs further to give him better access. He lay down between your legs and didn’t waste any time before he began leaving feather light kisses against your folds.
You watched as he licked his own lips, tasting your essence on them before he found your eyes.
“You’re so wet,” he teased and let a finger move along your slit. “Is that all for me?”
He expected a witty response, like you telling him to bring his mouth to good use for once. So it took him by surprise when you simply sighed, “Yes.”
There was no more game to play. No more back and forth of who was in charge. It was just the two of you, equally as desperate to finally do what you both had been dreaming of for weeks.
“Good,” Spencer whispered, his hot breath tickling your core, before he finally granted you some relief.
His tongue moved through your folds, collecting your taste before he focussed on your most sensitive spot. He experimented with different motions for a few moments, paying attention to your reactions until he found what you enjoyed the most. Your hand flew to his hair, your fingers intertwining with his curls to hinder him from moving away – even though he had no intention to do so, anyway.
With one arm wrapped around your thigh he hindered you from bucking uncontrollably against his face while his other hand found your entrance, letting two fingers slip into you with ease. He moved with great precision, adjusting the angle and the pace according to your reactions, bringing you closer to your breaking point with every second passing.
The sounds of your pleasure filled the room as you began dancing along the brink of euphoria. With just a few more skillful motions, he pushed you over it. Your walls pulsed around his fingers while your entire body shook. He worked you through your orgasm before he lay back down beside you, placing a gentle kiss against your lips.
You were still panting when you found his eyes. The warm amber of his irises was almost completely swallowed by his pupils, the lust visible in his eyes contradicting the saccharine smile he showed you.
“You okay?” he breathed as he wrapped one arm around your waist.
“Yeah,” you confirmed while one of your hands moved down his body.
Tentatively, you let your fingertips brush along his length, feeling his velvety skin under your touch. “Now what are we gonna do with you?” you purred as you wrapped your fingers tightly around him, making him gasp.
With a torturously slow pace, you moved along his cock. “Tell me, Spencer. What do you want?”
“I uhm…,” he audibly swallowed. “I have a condom in my pocket.”
The fact that he brought a condom to your hotel room when he came over early amused you. He never had any intention of just talking to you.
“So, you want to fuck me?”
“Yes,” he admitted unabashedly. “If you want that, too, of course.”
With a nod you confirmed that that was exactly what you wanted as well. Right after you let go of him, he grabbed his pants from the floor to take out the foil wrapper. You watched as he ripped it open and carefully rolled down the condom.
Then, he kneeled down between your legs, taking a moment to admire the beauty of the woman in front of him.
“Come here,” you cooed and he leaned over you without hesitation.
Reaching between your bodies, you guided him to your entrance. He closed his eyes when he slowly entered you, relishing the sensation of stretching you open inch by inch. When he was fully inside you, he kissed you before he began moving with slow thrusts.
Wrapping your legs around his hips, you brought him even closer. When he was sure that you could take it, he accelerated his pace, fucking you against the mattress until you were sure you would lose your mind.
Spencer’s body began trembling and he suddenly stopped moving.
“Sorry, I’m really close,” he whined and tried to pull out slightly.
“Don’t stop,” you pleaded as you kept him in place with your legs around him. “Please, I need it.”
One of your hands moved down to where your bodies were joined to desperately draw circles around your little nub, making you clench hard around his hardness.
“Fuck,” he whimpered as he began moving again. “I can’t, ah–”
With just a few more deep thrusts Spencer came, his cock twitching inside you as his whole body shook. It was enough to throw you over edge too, entering a state of pure bliss together with him. After you had both come down from your high, you welcomed him inside your embrace, your fingertips gently dancing over his back as he caught his breath.
For the sake of getting cleaned up you separated for a few moments, only to lay back down together soon after. A shaky breath fell from Spencer’s lips and caught your attention.
“So…,” he began talking but didn’t continue.
You propped yourself up on one elbow to find his eyes. “Yeah?”
“I wanted to ask if maybe–”
“You want me to send you that pic again?” you interrupted him with a grin on your face.
“No,” he laughed. “I mean… that’s not what I wanted to say.”
Still in a teasing mood, you snickered, “But you would like to see that pic again?”
“You know what,” he chuckled as he lifted the blanket to get a peek at your naked body. “I think I actually prefer this.”
“Good,” you chirped. “If you want to see more of me you’ll have to take me on a date though.”
Placing a soft kiss on your lips, he whispered, “Deal.”
Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!
A/N: OH MY GOD. I have been gone for sooooooo long. Well, I'm back now. Please enjoy!! Excuse any mistakes, not all of us can be geniuses like Dr. Reid here 🤭
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He 100% wanted to have a bunch of plants, but it unfortunately didn't work due to his work schedule.
He has a thing for just existing in the same space as his lover. If he can read, work, or grade papers with you laying next to him, he'll giggle and kick his feet.
He probably liked Weiner dogs, and frogs... Idk why, but I have a feeling. I feel it in my nuggets...
He would post aesthetic pictures if he ever got social media. A book, a pretty latte/iced coffee, next to his open laptop/a coffee shop window would be one of his posts.
He is long, but not thick (just like the rest of him). He has a pretty pink tip that you want to kiss, and there's one vein on the side that sticks out. His sack is definitely heavy. Iykyk🤭
He is obviously very clean, but also won't let you clean... When he's around, either he cleans, or... Well, there is no 'or'. He'll just fuss at you, and clean up his way.
He LOVES going to museums, zoos, aquariums, exhibits, science centers, planetariums, and things like that with you. He just yaps the whole time.
You definitely have to help him train for physicals. You and Morgan are a team.
He likes the color green. He gravitates to it, even though he doesn't notice. I have NO clue where this came from, but it feels right.
DO NOT TAKE THIS MAN OUT FOR A MOVIE DATE. He will yap the whole time, you guys will get dirty looks, and it's just gonna suck. Unless it's at home, and you're into that.
You occasionally get the pleasure to do his hair.
He LOVES cuddling, and falling asleep with you on call when he's on a case. It's cheesy, but it makes him happy.
If you're crafty, he will cherish anything you make him. If you're good at baking, he will eat whatever you make him. (Might be biased)
hii, i saw you write for epic and im terribly fixated on tiresias much to everyone i know’s dismay.
could i request a fluff with him, featuring any plot or lack of plot you’d like? thanks!
My first EPIC request?! OMG THANK YOU. Yes, I absolutely can write that for you. There probably isn't gonna be any plot, I'm like so fucking sleepy rn. It's just cuddling with our favorite dead prophet 😌.
Just lay down.
When Odysseus and his men were sent from Circe, they ran into you. You gave Tiresias to them, and went along with your business. When he came back to you, his face was grim. He drops onto the bed, huffing.
You obviously looked over, and raised an eyebrow. Nothing normally disturbed him, since he predicted most of it. But that interaction got to him. Just as you went to ask him about what happened, he spoke.
"Hold me, my love." He mumbled, burying his face in a pillow. Wordlessly, you walked over. You climbed next to him in bed, and wrapped your arms around him.
He turned around, and grabbed you. He held you tightly, his eyes squeezing shut. "Tiresias...? Darling, what's wrong?" You asked, only receiving a head shake in response. You tried to sit up, to make him talk.
"My love, lay down." He grumbled. "But—" "Lay down next to me!!" He demanded, cutting you off. Seeing him lash out, concerned you. So, you laid down again, your arms still around him.
You let the topic be dropped, and buried your face in his hair. You both just laid there, occasionally pressing kisses to the other, enjoying the embrace you shared. You were both dead, and therefore neither of you were warm. But the embrace was comforting.
Soft breaths, closed eyes, and tight embraces stayed the same all night. You both fell asleep that way, putting his mind at ease.
A/N: Sorry that it was short and sweet, but I hope you enjoyed it, lovey!! Excuse any mistakes. English isn't my first language, and I'm really tired.
A/N: Time to continue giving the people what they want. Headcannons for my favorite diabetic ginger Jew from Jersey. Enjoy, lovey!! Excuse any mistakes please, English isn't my first language.
He is a munch. This is honestly the reason that I decided to write this.
When you guys cuddle, he'll never make you get up. He'll get whatever you want, but will make you get it if you try to abuse that power.
Ike loves you. It's gotten to a point where Ike will hang around with you whenever you come over, and Kyle has to yell at him to fuck off.
He has a cat. Sheila finally trusted him to care for a pet, and he picked out a Maine coon.
Goes over to Stan's every Thursday for video games. All of the guys are there, and it's their mandatory hangout.
He LOVES learning about other cultures, races, and things like that. He loves learning in general, but he likes that stuff more.
He's 7.5 inches, with a pretty pink tip, and pretty heavy balls. He keeps everything trimmed down there, so don't worry about that.
He'll take care of you for aftercare. A cup of water, a snack, running a bath, changing the sheets, and then passing out together.
He has snacks in his nightstand bc of his diabetes. He refuses to drink alcohol, because of his diabetes. He lets you put on his insulin pods sometimes.
If you hang out with him and his friends, you 100% have a folder dedicated to their fights with Cartman. It's funny as fuck, man.
He grows out of Terrence and Phillip when he gets older. But, when he's really sad or stressed, he'll go back to watching it.
Tears up pasta. Sorry.. idk where that came from, but it feels right.
He gets a tortoise eventually. The cat doesn't go near the tortoise. The tortoise is mostly friendly, but tries to bite Cartman.
Pull his hair!!! Please!! This man is so into it, it's kinda pathetic. Oh, and compliment him. That overachiever in him needs it. Just the amount of both makes him feral.
He's a night person. He also prefers road trips over plane rides. Those two don't go together, but it's whatever.
He doesn't curl up on the bed or anything. No, he lays spread out. If he gets in bed before you, he's like a starfish. You have to lay on him, but he doesn't mind. If you get in bed first, he holds onto you.
He likes working online. On a laptop, on a tablet, on his phone— On a screen. He color codes his notes, has a binder filled with informational sheets that he's collected over the years.
He's so organized!! Definitely dorms with Stan in college, and then complains about how messy Stan's side is.
