THE LAST OF US Season 2, Episode 6: The Price

If you ask yourself “Would Gomez Addams treat me this way?” And the answer is no, move tf on from that situation.

skin is not supposed to be perfectly smooth and clear and unblemished. it’s literally like 5 sq ft of organ that’s ENTIRELY ON THE OUTSIDE OF YOUR BODY. it’s supposed to protect you and your organs and your muscles and ligaments etc. without skin that can adapt we would all be riddled with infections and pain. even “imperfect” skin loves you and doesn’t want you to suffer. be nice to it . it is your friend

I love your writing style so much😫 it’s fucking amazing.

Anyway, would you be able to write joel and cock worship???

Like he basically makes us prove to him we deserve to be fucked. I know you would do an amazing job writing this, thank you in advance! Ily <3

────۶ৎ prove it

joel makes you work for it. that’s all. just filthy, filthy work.

warnings: smut, cock worship, spit, cum swallowing, praise/degradation, rough dom!joel, gagging, oral sex (m!receiving).

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: you are so real for that. so here it is. thank you for the inspiration and kind words ilysm

more

ᖭ༏ᖫ

he's sittin' back in that worn-out chair, legs spread like he owns the whole damn world, and maybe he does — the way he looks at you, like you're just somethin’ to kneel for. boots still on, jeans unzipped, cock heavy in his hand. thick, flushed, leaking at the tip already. you swallow hard.

"you wanna be fucked, darlin’?" his voice drips slow like honey, all deep southern drawl that rolls over your skin like smoke. "then show me you’re worth it."

you drop to your knees, palms flat on the floor, eyes locked on his. there’s a weight in the room, thick with want, like he’s daring you to do more than just stare. so you do. tongue out, you drag it slow up the underside of his cock, tasting salt and skin and heat. he groans low, like gravel in his chest, hand tangling in your hair.

"that’s it," he mutters, thumb brushing over your lip before pressing into your mouth. "open wide for me, sweetheart."

you do, lips wrapping around the head, tongue swirling just under the tip where he’s most sensitive. his hips twitch, jaw tight, eyes burning down at you like you're his favourite fuckin’ sin. you take him deeper, choking a little, spit slickin’ your chin as he lets out a rough, "jesus, girl."

he doesn’t thrust — not yet. he’s watching, letting you work for it, tears pricking the corners of your eyes while you bob your head, hand strokin’ what your mouth can’t reach. he’s big, stretchin’ your lips, fillin’ your throat, and you fucking love it.

you pull off with a wet gasp, a string of spit and precum connecting your mouth to the tip. you stare up at him, eyes wide, then let your tongue hang out and spit slow and filthy over his cock — thick and glossy, it drips down his shaft like you’re marking him.

joel groans like he's been punched in the gut. "jesus fuckin’ christ."

you wrap your hand around him, using the spit to stroke him, messy and slick and absolutely obscene. he watches you like he’s starvin’, jaw tight, breath ragged.

"look at you," he breathes. "makin’ a goddamn mess ‘cause you want it so bad."

you take him back into your mouth, deeper now, cheeks hollowing, moaning low around him like you need this more than air. he fists your hair, rough and tight, starts to fuck your mouth slow and steady. you gag, tears brimming, but you don't stop — don’t even think about stopping.

"that’s it, darlin'," he grits, head thrown back. "take it. earn it. show me you fuckin’ need it."

his cock twitches, and you know he’s close — taste it in the way his hips stutter, hear it in the growl low in his throat. you suck harder, tongue flickin’ just under the head, and he groans fuck—fuck before his cum hits your tongue, hot and thick and fuckin’ perfect.

you swallow every drop, lickin’ him clean, eyes glassy as you look up at him.

joel’s breathin’ heavy, chest rising and fallin’ like he’s been through a storm. then he reaches down, pulls you up by the chin, and says with a grin, "reckon you earned it now, sugar. c’mere — lemme give you what you’ve been beggin’ for."

ᖭ༏ᖫ

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

I loved your fic Warmth!! You write caretaker Hotch so well, I would love to read more cute or caring moments where Hotch is looking out for a shy reader!!! Little things like giving his jacket, watching closely on cases, the sweet stuff!! you killed it

Soft Spot

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: SFW, fluff, no use of (y/n), no continuous plot it's fragmented stories tbh

A/N: Thank you so much!!! So very glad you enjoyed Warmth <3 I spent all day indulgently dreaming of the things he'd do OMGGG anyways this is the product. It was supposed to be a 5+1 but i think a headcanon-inspired style suited this story better where you kinda see fragments of their daily interactions. I hope you like it and it's what you imagined!!! Enjoy reading, mwah mwah mwah <3

My requests are open! Send me stuff :)

You didn’t want to be a burden. You liked putting people first. It felt good to be in a caretaker role yourself. You liked bringing Reid his coffee loaded with ten packets of sugar. You liked bringing Garcia collectables for her desk. You liked giving Rossi your chair if the room was one too short. It didn’t matter that it sometimes came at the cost of your discomfort. You’d never liked being the centre of attention anyway.

But perhaps that begged the age-old question— who cared for the caretaker?

●・○・●・○・●・

The first time it happened was on the jet. 

It was a late-night flight, nothing new. But the AC in the cabin must have malfunctioned that day. It was brutally chilly, and since you were returning from a case in Florida, you had nothing but summer clothes. Your tea wasn’t doing much, so you occasionally walked the length of the cabin, trying to be quiet so the others could sleep. It hadn’t even crossed your mind to ask for something as simple as a jacket.

But Hotch saw. 

He didn’t look up from his paperwork— he just held it out as you passed his seat again. His arm barred you from dodging past, so you reluctantly draped it over your shoulders. Just five minutes, then you’d return it.

Maybe he heard your thoughts because right then, he said, “Keep it on.” It wasn’t a polite request; he had already decided for you.

But it’s Hotch so you listen.

No one questioned where you got the jacket from when the jet landed. But you catch JJ’s faint smile from the corner of your eye when she sees the jacket hanging from your desk chair the next day.

Hotch never asked for it back.

●・○・●・○・●・

You’re a great agent in terms of fieldwork. The whole team trusted you. Of course, you wouldn’t be there if they didn’t, but it felt nice to realise that nevertheless. 

But blind trust didn’t mean Hotch wouldn’t watch you like a hawk.

It was probably just a coincidence. You always ended up paired with him when heading into dangerous situations. He never hovered or anything, he always let you do your thing. But it was the way he positioned himself slightly ahead of you when clearing rooms, a silent wall between you and any potential threats,

And then there were the crime scene situations. You could hold it together; your poker face an acquired skill. But some cases hit home. You never let it show too much, but Hotch noticed when your fingers curled into tight fists, shoulders going rigid.

He never called you out on it, or put you on the spot.

Instead, his voice came through the comms before you and Morgan breached a suspect’s house. “Be careful.”

He said it to both of you, but somehow, you knew it was meant for you.

And later, when the case was over, and you were sitting on the back of an ambulance with a shallow cut on your arm from a scuffle, he was there.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, voice low.

You shook your head. “No. It’s fine.”

He didn’t argue, but he sat next to you long after the paramedic finished patching you up.

●・○・●・○・●・

You didn’t even realise when it started.

One morning, you had walked into the bullpen, and there had been a steaming hot cup of coffee on your desk. Just the way you took it. You blinked at it, confused, but you assumed Garcia was behind it.

But it happened again the next day. Then the day after. And again the following day.

It was never a big thing or a grand gesture. Just a simple takeaway cup with your order etched into the side. When you finally thanked Garcia, she looked utterly bemused.

“Oh, sugar. That’s not me,” she’d said, a grin stretching across her face.

No way.

So the next time it happened, you glanced towards Hotch’s office. Sure enough, he was already looking at you. But he never said a word. He didn’t even smile. He just looked down at his files and kept writing.

You sipped the coffee at your desk slowly, savouring every sip, willing it to last longer. The warmth spreading across your chest had nothing to do with the drink.

●・○・●・○・●・

The rain had been terrible all week. Sick of fighting your way through public transport where everything was slippery and wet, you had treated yourself to an Uber. You didn’t have an umbrella while you waited, so you stood under the awning in front of the building. You’d make a run for it when the car showed up.

As you scanned the road in front of you for your designated car, a black umbrella swung open over your head.

You turned, startled, only to find Hotch standing behind you, holding it up without a word. His coat was getting wetter, but he didn’t look like he cared.

“You’ll get soaked,” you said, noting how he had angled it more over you than himself.

“I’ll be all right,” he replied simply.

And that was that.

He waited till your car came, and then he helped you get in, ensuring not a drop touched your head as you bundled yourself into the backseat. 

It wasn’t until you were almost at your front door that you realised— he’d never had an umbrella with him when he came to work this morning.

Hotch had taken the time to find one— just for you.

●・○・●・○・●・

The Denver case was a disaster. 

Too many close calls. Too many what-ifs.

Sleep was difficult that night. You stared at the ceiling of your hotel room, letting yourself dissociate. But a buzz from your phone snapped you out of your reverie. When you checked your screen, there was just one text message.

You did well today. - A.H.

You stared at those four words for too long. No over-the-top reassurances, no unnecessary fluff. Just an acknowledgement.

You never responded, but the next morning on the jet, he caught your eye and nodded, ever so slightly. Like he knew you saw the message. Like he knew it helped.

And maybe, just maybe, it had eased your worries a bit that day.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

“Omg, I love these! They go up to size 6X AND they have pockets?! Wow!! But do you have anything longer?”

Sure do, no problem!!

“YES these are great!!! But what about.. longer?”

I gotcha!! Comin’ right up!

“Perfect! But I have just one more question… what if I’m feeling spicy? How about skirts that are even shorter than the first ones?!” Oh, you’re in luck! We’ve got minis now.

*wild cheering* /scene

🖤witchvamp.com🖤

Off the Map - S. Reid x Reader

In a lovingly competitive game of showing you just how mean your teasing really is, Spencer and reader find out some of Spencer's weaknesses as he's explaining yours.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smut (18+ pls pls) tags: attemped soft!dom Spencer, he's easily overwhelmed. Munch!Spencer, teasing, you're both a bit sassy, loads of dirty talk, "talking you through it" of sorts, pinv sex, and some early load busting, screw it! wc: 3.3k a/n: I headcanon season 2 Spencer as someone who likes how it feels to be cocky but gets turned on super easily and struggles to deal with that combo. This is an extension of my thought here!

The spring equinox has finally arrived to salve your freezing limbs like an oil to a rusty hinge. The winter was brutal, you almost froze over completely. Somehow you made it, Spencer’s window is wide open as sun dances over his bed while you two lay on completely opposite sides, legs intertwined and slowly moving together.

Spencer is against his headboard, reading through a case file as your head slightly dangles off the end of his bed. Craning your neck a bit to look up through your bent knees you find his eyebrows slightly pinched, the wheels in his head spinning at the unfathomable speed they always do. 

“Are you almost done?”

“Mm.”

“The case? Are you almost done… would you say we can see it from here?” You laugh softly as your blood continues to rush to your head where you lay.

“No. You’re distracting me.”

His words aren’t sharp, he speaks them in an apologetic way, like it's his fault he’s so easily distracted by you. You guess it sort of is.

“How much longerrrr?”

“Hard to tell with these things. Kidnappings but I can’t find a comprehensible link between the different locations they were taken, it’s almost-”

“I’m gonna shower.”

Spencer hums high in his throat as if to say, “good idea!”, and squeezes your knees tightly between his one more time before moving so you can slip off the bed easily.

Padding to his bathroom, you get a thrill of excitement. You really have only ever showered in his bathroom with Spencer. Showering alone for the first time entices you, it really feels like the space is yours to own alongside him.

You want to read the ingredients to every product he owns and look at his shower wall and trace hearts into the steam.

Waiting for the water to heat with your chin in your hand you can’t help the small grin formed on your lips. You just know how particular and neat he is about his space, it's silly but it feels like an honor to be trusted with his shower. 

Once submerged, you get to look around. You love how Spencer smells so having free reign to look over his products has you giddy. 

Though… he has absolutely nothing to write home about. Soap bar, incredibly uninteresting scentless shampoo and conditioner, and an equally unscented body wash that appears to be bought from a farmers market.

Of course, this is exactly what you should’ve expected but makes you groan when you can’t blast Spencer’s smell all over you like a plug-in Febreze air freshener. 

Shower ending quicker than anticipated, you dry off and put on a spare old t-shirt and boxers you stole from Spencer’s dresser before heading to his room. 

“You know,” you begin while walking back into Spencer’s bedroom, “I was excited to smell like you. Use up all your soap. Whole lotta nothing.” You laugh and sit beside him on the bed. Spencer’s eyes still trained on the case file before he sets it down to look at you.

“Hah. You’d be shocked with how many damaging chemicals there are in body washes, hair wash. Especially for women. The sulfates in all that can irritate your skin, make your hair fall out, and even lead to cancer. Actually, did you know that even lung issues can get worse with sulfates by how they can decrease lung function with fragrance and can make asthma conditions worse. So, you should really use cleaner products.” Spencer rambles on while rubbing one of his hands on your hip.

“Hm. I guess. I usually get sulfate free stuff anyway. You have no faith in me.”

“Good. This way you still smell like you after you shower.” 

“Yeah? What do I smell like?”

Spencer lets out a drawn out sigh. Picks up his case file.

“You’re distracting me.” He sing-songs. 

“Wh- hey! No fair, you banished me to shower and said you’d be done after!”

“I did not.”

“You insinuated…”

“Who has the eidetic memory?”

You huff and rest your head against his shoulder. If he doesn’t want to spend his free time with his lovely, beautiful, and perfect partner (his own words) then he should just let you be close to him in silence.

Silence never was either of your specialties.

After probably two minutes, you start getting antsy. You’re watching his fingers trail across the lines on a little map beside him, close enough to smell the nape of his neck. The glasses on the bridge of his nose slide down slightly.

You trail one of your hands “innocently” to his stomach. Rubbing slowly back and forth, one of your pinkies slips underneath the band of his trousers and Spencer stiffens immediately.

“So is this… how is this less distracting?” Spencer grabbed your wrist loosely, not moving you, but applying a pressure that surely tells himself that he is indeed still in control. He’s still trying his best to work.

You giggle and place a kiss on his temple, move your hand away. Spencer sighs out a laugh and bends down to kiss your shoulder in return.

If rubbing his stomach was too teasing, you have to get your hands on him another way. Knowing this was not going to be any less distracting, if not more than rubbing his stomach, you place your hand down to run slowly up and down the expanse of his thigh.

Spencer doesn’t say anything for a moment before looking over at you with his big pleading eyes, the ones you know so well.

“I’m…too…” Spencer trails off before looking down and chuckling.

Everything about him is contagious, you laugh too. 

“What? What? Thigh petting is off limits too?”

“It. Yeah, it turns me on too much.” His cheeks tint pink.

“Ahh. Right. So how can I touch you in a way that doesn’t pull your focus from work?”

“Umm,” Spencer scoots down a bit from where he was leaning against his headrest and puts the file down, “Uh.”

Giggling you trace a fingernail lighting on the sensitive inside of his arm. 

“Here?”

Goosebumps rise on his skin, his head reels.

“Oh, I get it. Here?” 

You lift that same finger to trail lightly at the skin on his throat, to his collarbone.

“Baby…” He scoots his body impossibly closer to you, his side pressed neatly up against yours.

“Or… should I stop?”

“Ugh. No.” He groans at openly admitting you’ve won him over.

Laughing, you lean in to finally kiss him properly. Now more eager than you were, Spencer kisses you back with an unspoken thanks for being able to pry him away from the inevitable eyestrain he would’ve gotten. He recalls a time where he mentioned to you how sometimes after looking at a map for too long he will blink and look away but it’s burnt into the back of his eyelids.

Spencers hard on pokes the side of your hip as he shifts to lay halfway on top of you. Lifting one of his hands to cup the hinge of your jaw, his fingers slightly squeeze, opening your mouth a bit wider for him to move his tongue against yours. Spencer always feels more confident when your mouth is busy not teasing him till the tips of his ears go red.

A moan at the bottom of your throat comes out and you take that as a sign to deepen the kiss, pushing the back of his head till your lips start to feel numb around the edges.

He pulls away briefly, talking against your lips in rushed out breaths.

“You have signs too. You’re not the only one who remembers erogenous zones. I could distract you pretty easily too.” 

Apparently, nobody has ever introduced Spencer to the phrase “it’s not a competition”, but the underlying proposition has a chill going down your spine.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.” Spencer mumbles against your lips, biting your bottom lip softy as a parting gift before he pulls away. “Here. Let's try something.”

With an equally lazy and cocky smile stretched on his pretty lips, Spencer rises and scoots himself across the bed to find where the map he has folded in his case file rests. Pulling it out he hands the map over to where you still lay.

“Spence- huh?” You chuckle, not sure what his motive is.

Spencer starts moving towards you again, “You go look where I circled Milford, Ohio and you read to me where some of those connected lines are going to. Try it.” Spencer laughs softly at your skeptical gaze as you lay flat against his pillow and slowly raise the map over your gaze.

“Um. The red line looks like it’s connecting to… well, Kentucky… Covington?” You hadn’t picked up a physical map since you were a kid probably, you rely too heavily on your gps to continue this game.

While you’re slowly looking at all the drawings Spencer has made over this map in the past, his circles and dots all work together to display the intricate makings of his mind, how his ever impressive thought process manifests itself, it’s beautiful in a way. 

It’s… he’s kissing your inner thigh now?

“Spence!” You giggle, “what?”

“Go on, tell me what else you see.”

You get it now. He’s pressing soft slow kisses on each of your bare thighs now. The initial giggles you had slowly dissipate as realization sets in that you’re getting a taste of your own poison. 

“Uh-um,” you stutter, clearing your throat, “you have a really, pre-precise hand drawn circle-” you gasp at a nip at your thigh at your attempt at humor.

“I know you can do better than that.”

Spencer's tongue laving on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs has gotten you more frazzled than you expected. It feels mean, you only used your hands on him earlier, you wouldn’t be so rude to blatantly-

“Hips up?” Spencer whispers against your skin. His wet kisses are left cooling against your flesh as a warm swipe of wind enters his window and caresses you alongside him.

Wordless, your hips raise, you don’t really care the ways in which you have his mouth against you as long as you get there eventually. Despite popular belief you can be patient.

With Spencers boxers off, and your pussy on display now he takes his fingers and traces the outside of one thigh up and down, each time he trails up he gets closer to where your upper thigh and hip meet.

You remember his snide, you can do better, and refocus your eyes to the map again.

“Shiit… um. Here! Here, you have a red line drawn from Milford up to… C-canada? It’s um, it’s off the map. What does that mean?”

You can feel Spencer's lips smile against the skin of your lower belly while he’s feeling the soft skin of your clit with such a feather light touch it almost feels more intense than direct contact.

“That, my dear, is off the map because earlier you wanted to put your hand under my pants and I was so shocked my pen trailed off. That's what that means.”

Gulping, you let go of the map, it softly flutters to the ground beside you without a sound. With the barricade gone, you and Spencer are making direct eye contact again.

“Oh.”

Your thighs involuntarily tense, wanting to squeeze and hold Spencer in place between where you want him most. Spencer’s fingers spread you open for him to break eye contact with you for a more glimmering wet location on your body.

“Are you sorry?” He mumbles out a prompt so you can end this incredibly taught tension that is about to snap any second.

“I think…it’s harder than I thought, yes I am-”

You could’ve said I think you’ll survive, or not really, but there’s something so perfectly sweet about that funny grin he gets that reads “I actually did it!” All over his face, you have no shame in letting him win.

Before you can even verbalize a punctuation for your apology, Spencer is whimpering and licking a stripe up your pussy, your head falls harshly back against his pillow as you adjust to the swing from light touching to full sensation.

Spencer's too distracted now by his mouthy task so you take it on yourself to reach down and take the glasses off his face for him, he hums against you, still quite mannered even when taking you apart.

With his whole face at your exposal now you are able to grind yourself up and down on his face more eagerly. You and Spencer alike go crazy when he’s eating you out so intensely that his nose is buried into and there’s suspicious glimmering up to his brow bone when he’s done with you.

Totally involved in whatever dynamic today's events created, you want to feed into his clear begging for apologetic sympathy. 

“Don’t, ah, don’t know how you do it. Seeing all those connections- crazy, baby. So smart.”

You’re rewarded with a mix between a whine and grunt against your clit, no doubt that his hidden cheeks are pinking.

Once Spencer begins to take big suctions of your lips and alternates that between smaller suctions against just your clit, any drive to talk in long, legible, sentences flies out the window. You’re so close to coming you can taste it, you’re sure Spencer can too.

You can’t even warn him, not that you need permission, you just reach out to capture his hand in yours so you can squeeze it through the orgasm that is currently sending flashes of light behind your eyelids.

Huffing out a groan, you take a fistful of Spencer’s hair to pull his mouth off of you. 

“Shit that felt good, come here.”

Spencer laughs and crawls up your body to kiss you, his boner kissing your stomach through layers as he does so.

“That felt good?”

“Mm. Want you now.’

He does his usual subconscious small squeak in excitement that you don’t even think he notices and pushes his shirt that you’re wearing up to expose your breasts.

One hand fisting the white fabric, the other rests on one boob as he sucks small marks on your collar and cleavage, never able to fully satisfy his wandering mouth.

“You’re so gorgeous,” a kiss on your neck, “I’m so happy.”

His giddyness is replicated as you pepper his cheeks with kisses, hands finding their way down to his pants again as you pull down the zipper and tug once.

Spencer takes off his pants and underwear with little urgency as you fling your top off to his floor and move to take his button up off as well with trembling fingers.

He snorts lightly, “what’s the rush?”

“D-don’t you want me?” It’s not meant to seem insecure, you kind of wanted it to be bossy and sarcastic, but want has threaded itself so deep into your vocal chords that it just sounds whiny.

“Mhm,” he takes his shirt off and kisses your forehead, you both maneuver down again so he can rest on top of you. Spencer pushes his chin out lightly to tap your forehead, signaling you to lean back against his pillow. “You know that, silly.”

While you begin kissing again, he takes the spare pillow not underneath your head to place it under your hips.

“I’m not lying about before. I also know all the things that make you tick, you like to feel the pressure against your lower back while I’m in you because it releases the tension you store there, makes the pressure of me inside you more intense.”

Spencer giggles at your dazed expression as he reaches for a condom from his bedside table, 

“You just revert that stress you keep there to your thighs when you squeeze them around me.”

He’s starting to get breathless, his teasing works just as well against himself, the most delicious double ended sword.

A few tantalizing swipes against your clit and entrance and Spencer is pushing his head into you, pulling his lips in to keep his moans from drowning out yours. Which inevitably will happen, and he always gets embarrassed, but right now he has the strength to hold them back.

Your toes curl where they’re pressed against his sides, he’s taking his sweet time stretching you out around him. Which, he knows you die for as well.

“Ah. Always feel so good. Can’t- ahem,” he presses his chest flat against yours, changes topic, “you love when I take you slow because you like when I hold back for us both, b-because you can’t.”

Fuck?

“Spence-” You whimper in shock, he’s exceptionally talkative today. Hellbent on proving to you that he is indeed obsessed over what your biology has learned to want the most.

You can see the way his lips tremble as he’s talking and fucking you slowly, though. His talking you through it has bitten him in the ass, he’s forgotten how much he loves dirty talk that even his own words are breaking him apart.

Voicing the stuff that turns you on is arousing him incredibly. Not something he really accounted for as he feels that familiar sensation in his stomach. 

That’s surely nothing?

Spencer has picked up his speed now, driven by how your whines are building off of each other and curses are falling from your lips.

“If- If I let you be in control all the time-, Jesus… you’d uh.” He pauses his sentence with a loud whine, the thought of what he’s saying making the heat inside him pulsate in a painful way. His tummy is turning at such speeds that it can barely keep up with his words. 

“You’d be like a…bunny- uh jack rabbit. Jesus, I can’t.” His whines crescendo, sealing off this throat to hinder his own sweet talking.

You’re not even sure what’s happening, what’s going on inside his head that has him smashing his face into your neck to cum as he trembles on top of you.

He dirty talked you so hard he couldn’t even take it.

“M’ so sorry.” He’s whimpering against the skin of your neck, hips still moving against you slowly, pulling out everything he has to give you.

Head spinning at how fucking hot this is, you reach one hand down to rub your clit in fast circles as the other one pets the back of Spencers head soothingly. 

Unabashedly moaning loud now, you throb around his sensitive dick while you touch yourself.

“Spence, you’re a piece of work-”

You can’t help but notice your legs digging into his sides, the merit behind his observations remaining strong. 

“Baby- touch me, wanna cum.” You plead to him, Spencer pulls his head from your neck, whipping himself into action.

Still inside, he quickly pushes your hand away to take its place, he’s murmuring god god god as his humiliation and striving to make you cum hard meld in his brain.

When you cum for the second time, Spencer sucks in air sharply between his teeth as your twitching against him pushes him into complete overstimulation. He stays put though, watching the bliss in your face through half-lidded eyes is the biggest reason to take a bit of pain. 

Eventually he pulls out, once you’re dragging him in for a long kiss.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” He laughs in between kisses at himself.

“Spencer, you’re so sexy. Such a sweet thing.”

He groans, tugs you on top of him while he’s flat on his back. You push his messied hair off his forehead in tender passes, you’re sure he can feel all your love in the way your nails caress his scalp.

“Mr. talk the talk-”

“Stop!” He laughs anyway. “I’ve never finished so fast.”

“And you’re calling me the jack rabbit!”

some more ex!frank pleaseee :)

literally anything: reader drunk calls him, reader is on a date and frank sees them (the date is awful) with some smut

I know you were probably looking for something different and this went a lot angstier but these things happen!

Believe Me | Ex-Frank Castle

You had already spent the afternoon crying in your apartment so you decided to cry in the corner coffee shop for a change of scenery. You'd managed to score your favorite table by the window -- a small win on an otherwise completely shitty day-- and you settled in with your book and the cheapest drink on the menu because it was the last of your cash. But after ten minutes of reading and re-reading the same paragraph, you accepted defeat and simply stared out the window and let your eyes lose focus.

You didn't even like the dumb fucker but the rejection hurt just the same. You hadn't truly liked any man since Frank, if you were being honest with yourself, but you certainly kept trying. And maybe you sought out a parade of losers to fulfill the the private prophecy that you could never be happy without Frank anyway.

Maybe most definitely. Frank would hate the self-destruction on you.

And Bryce (what kind of name is Bryce anyway for god's sake) was no different from the rest -- boring, no manners, pathetic in a way you couldn't pinpoint. Decidedly not Frank. But Bryce did have one quality that set him apart-- he was a thief.

What seemed like a run of the mill ghosting turned out to be a not-so-run-of-the-mill stealing of your credit cards, all your cash on hand, your fucking BLENDER and your dad's watch. That last one stung the most. And beyond the rage of being robbed by someone named Bryce, you couldn't help but feel the acute rejection of being ghosted while in the shower moments after sex and apparently, pathetic enough to steal from.

And yes, Bryce is the straw that broke the camel's back but you were headed to a crying session in a coffee shop one way or another. In the months since Frank had forced you apart, your life had been a series of hardships and moderate depression ever since-- some of it circumstance but a good deal of it self destruction. You almost welcomed the onslaught of sobs -- like finally opening the release valve to full blast.

And so that's what you did-- sat in the seat by the window, letting your eyes soften on some distant dark blob outside and letting the tears rip. At first you attempted to contain the sob like any normal well-mannered, unhinged sobbing woman in public but you soon lost control of that too, letting the sobs turn to embarrassing heaving hiccups, pathetically rubbing your runny nose on the sleeve of your sweater.

Who knows how long you let it go on-- 5 minutes? 10 minutes? 20 minutes? You could ask the guy beside you who, to his credit, pretended the whole thing wasn't happening-- headphones on and eyes glued to his laptop-- but there seemed to be a subdued scuffle happening at the moment. Through your blurry vision you turn to see him being manhandled out of his table by the black blob from outside, a gruff voice saying "Don't offer the woman a goddamn tissue? Christ. Move the hell outta the way."

"Frank?' you croak, your heart hammering in your chest at his appearance as you swipe away the tears on your face. God only knows what your mascara looked like. In the time since you'd broken up (well, since Frank left you) you hadn't seen Frank once but you'd... sensed him sometimes. You knew it sounded insane to say that so you kept it to yourself and had mostly convinced yourself that you were losing your mind.

"Sweetheart you ok? You hurt somewhere? Tell me what's goin' on," he asks, his brows crinkled together as he pushes himself past the man next you and crouches in front of your chair.

"How did you...." you ask, ignoring his questions.

"Saw you in the window from the street doll. Come on, let's get you cleaned up a bit," he replies, standing from his crouch and taking both your hands to guide you up from the chair. On instinct you follow his lead, your mind still catching up to the circumstances. Your brain always felt a bit floaty and detached after a good cry.

"my book," you mumble as Frank is walking you away from the table and toward the bathroom. He doubles back and swipes the book, stuffing it in his coat pocket as he guides you by the low back to the single-use bathroom.

Frank walks you in and shuts and locks the door behind him. You don't get a chance to look in the mirror at the state of yourself before he murmurs a quiet "up" as he takes you by the hips and puts you on the bathroom sink. The position leaves you feeling vulnerable, your skirt riding up an inch.

"Frank I'm not hurt or anything," you tell him as you watch his face inspect yours. His jaw twitches in that way it does as his eyes scan the rest of you.

"I find you cryin' in a coffee shop and you're gonna tell me you ain't hurt?" he replies, hands on his hips as he demands some answers. Answers that you didn't owe him, by his own design.

"Well not physically," you respond, your eyes casting down to where you pick at a loose thread on your sweater. Frank's heavy hand lands on yours to stop the nervous tic.

"S'not the only way to be hurt," he counters, adding, "Tell me what's goin' on sweetheart," he rumbles, his tone quieter.

"It's not your job anymore to--" you start but you're cut off with his scoff.

"I'll decide what's my job, understand?" he asks, bending slightly at the knees and hunching his neck to catch your eyes. You eye him in hesitation but there's an impatient bang on the door. "Hey buddy hurry up in there!" shouts a male voice from the other side.

"Occupied asshole!" Frank shouts back, turning for a moment to yell at the door before focusing his attention like a laser back to you. "Start talkin' baby," he says, his voice softer.

"It's a guy," you start with a sigh and you catch the way he casts his eyes away for a beat. "It's not like that," you assure him. This wasn't a story of a love lost. Frank would not have to tend to your broken, longing heart. At least not for Bryce. "I'm not sad that he's gone I'm just sad how he did it," you clarify, casting your own eyes away this time because the shame still felt too embarrassing to face.

Even without looking at him you can sense the way Frank tenses-- his shoulders shifting up an inch, his brows lowering, his finger twitching. `

"Tell me how he did it," he says, a mirage of calmness on the surface but you knew Frank well enough to know the suppressed rage underneath. You knew if you told Frank he'd find Bryce by tonight, beat him to a pulp if he was lucky and return your stolen stuff plus whatever Bryce had on him as interest.

You almost stop the story there because you knew this wasn't Frank's problem. You weren't Frank's problem anymore. He made sure of that. Frank couldn't keep fixing things forever. Hadn't you needed enough from him?

"Hey," Frank says, his face a little softer as he reaches for the paper towel and runs it under the sink. "I, uh, need you to tell me what's goin' on alright?," he adds, dabbing at the run mascara on your face. His expression is drawn, the rage from before simmering into something like sorrow and unease.

"You don't owe me anything anymore Frank," you reply, reminding him of the distance he so carefully crafted between the two of you.

"Hey fuck that talk doll. You can spare me that because you know I still love you," he replies, agitation making his jaw tense. He balls up the paper towel and tosses it in the trash.

But you didn't know. You had felt utterly isolated and alone, when every moment since then felt uncertain and unstable-- just a somersault downhill of bad decisions and destructive behavior.

"Don't say that. Don't say you love me," you reply, your voice shaky with exhaustion.

At that Frank looks taken aback-- surprised in a way you hadn't seen him before. He's agitated, yes, but he's ... scared. Afraid of what you had believed for the last three months since the breakup.

"Sweetheart," Frank starts as he cups your jaw and tilts your head so that your eyes find his, "tell me you know that I love you." You'd seen this determination before but never this fear-- the way his fingertips sunk into the back of your neck and the way his chest rose and fell as he awaited your response, his usual composure giving way to something more desperate.

"I-" you start. Could you say you knew that? Was the last three months of pain because he no longer loved you or because he loved you but made you live without it? It was easier to hate him for it. To wallow in abandonment and find validation in losers like Bryce. It was easier to believe maybe you were just unlovable.

"But then why did you--" you start but are cut off by your own sob. Why did you leave. Why did you leave. Why did you leave.

Frank's face crumples as he holds your face upturned toward his. Regret tugs at his features as he pulls you to his chest, your legs dangling from the bathroom sink, and smashes you into him.

He cups the back of your head, murmuring "I fucked up sweetheart. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry doll." He rocks the two of you back and forth and you hear the way his chest hammers against your ear. "Thought you knew, thought you understood sweetheart."

You shake your head against him -- you didn't know. And you didn't want to let yourself be cared for if he was just going to leave again. You make a feeble attempt to push him away. The force does little against his grip and he only becomes more emphatic, "Need you to hear me doll," he rasps, "never stopped loving you."

He kisses the top of your head as your lean against him, "You believe me sweetheart?"

You shake your head no again. It was easier not to believe him. To think the months of misery weren't for nothing. To let him feel a fraction of the torment you did.

He releases his grip and cups your face again, the strength of him smashing your cheeks as his thumbs swipe at your tears.

"Look at me," he demands, tears in his own eyes, "c'mon doll, look at me," he repeats, his tone softening. You still don't meet his eyes, choosing to fixate on the button on his jacket.

He kisses your forehead, "Please," he begs, "please look at me sweetheart." Still you refuse and he kisses your lips -- soft like a whisper and wet from your tears.

"Look at me sweetheart," he repeats, "need you to believe me," he adds, his tone desperate and sad and hurt and terrified.

You finally let your eyes find his, his face a blurry mess through your tears. His brows are set low and his chin is curled as he bites back tears.

"Believe me baby," he says quietly, kissing your lips again and lingering a moment longer.

"Believe me that I still love you," he says again, kissing below your eye.

"Believe me," he repeats, kissing below the other eye.

"Believe me," he begs, kissing you once again on the lips, extending another moment and tugging you closer by his grip on your face. The last one forces a breathy whine from your throat and the action is like a tinder-spark. He pulls you closer with sudden force, his lips locked to yours and his tongue teasing its way inside.

He anchors his hands to your hips and yanks your body to the edge of counter, your legs straddling his hips and tugging your skirt up.

"Tell me to stop sweetheart," he huffs in a moment between devouring you, his fingers sinking so deep into your hips you'll be bruised by morning.

You don't. You should but you don't. You cling to this moment because you need it. Because maybe it'll heal you. Maybe it'll let you believe that you were lovable to someone like Frank.

When you don't say a word, he uses your permission to continue, yanking you even closer to him so that you feel his hardness against your thin panties. The sensation makes your desperate, rolling your hips and starting to claw at his belt and whining his name.

"I got it sweetheart," he pants, removing his hands from you for a moment to unbuckle himself, reaching into his dark denim pants to tug out his heavy, thick cock. He deftly moves to your sweater, tugging it over your head in one motion and unlatching your bra with one hand.

Your nipples instantly pebble in the cold bathroom and he pops one in his mouth and sucks, the stinging pain making you arch againt him.

"Frank, please," you beg for him and he grunts in impatience, reaching between the two of you to pump his hard cock twice before tugging your panties to the side and pressing his tip to your soaked slit.

"Fuck," he huffs at your slickness, slowly pressing the rest of the way in, "Fuck I missed this," he murmurs to himself, his eyes locked on where he enters you, stilling. He stays this way a moment, like he's memorizing the feeling of you.

"ohmygod," you whine, feeling nearly pinned in place on the counter by the size of him. At your whimper, he returns to service. He grips you by the back of the thighs to pull you from the counter and flush against him, lifting you in the air to spin and press you against the wall of the bathroom.

With you pressed in place, he pumps, slow but deep. You squeeze your eyes shut, and feel yourself squeeze his cock at the angle.

"Open f'me doll," he grunts between a pump and you feel a light tap to your cheek. You squeeze your eyes tighter-- transporting yourself somewhere where this never ends.

He taps again, his touch light but insistent. "Look at me sweetheart," he says, his tone begging.

You open your eyes to find his and they're already boring into you, a breathy "attagirl" from his lips.

"I'm sorry baby," he grunts, pumping once.

"So fuckin' sorry."

Pump.

"Ain't gonna hurt you again."

Pump.

"Gonna fix it baby"

Pump.

"Gonna make you feel better"

Pump.

"Gonna keep you safe"

Pump.

"Gonna make you feel good sweetheart"

Pump.

Promises tumbling from his lips and Frank didn't make promises he didn't keep. He was going penance for the harm he caused, praying at your alter and making sacred commitments-- to fix this, to love you, to keep you. You start crying again, nodding your head with every promise and your heart pounding in your chest.

"That's it, let it out pretty girl," Frank coos, relief in his tone at your release. He plants his thumb on your swollen clit and with only a few flicks, you cum through the tears, feeling Frank grip you tighter in his arms as you jerk and spasm. At the constriction around him, Frank follows quickly after, cumming hard and filling you in a way that felt proprietary.

And you let yourself believe him.

PEDRO PASCAL enjoying his Christmas | via laurenalexander

EXACTLY!!! this is actually lamorne morris’ long overdue emmy win for playing winnie the bish on new girl 👏👏👏👏