Two Women Kissing in Nature (b. 1859)
— by Georges Rochegrosse
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@postmortemgutfeeling
Two Women Kissing in Nature (b. 1859)
— by Georges Rochegrosse

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18+ only / all characters are 18+. corruption kink. tummy bulge. squirting.
Simon Riley who says 'sorry' over and over while fucking innocent!reader, as though a crime were taking place as he hovers over your body. It certainly feels like one: his big, bearish hands pinning your knees open while he carves inside of you with his mean, girthy dick, and a pair of adoring, wet eyes staring back at him making his chest pinch with guilt—and yet, makes his cockhead leak precum. This is an atrocity. Milky moonlit rays cloak the bedroom in a weak glow that don't quite reach his hulking, shadowy silhouette atop of you; a beast poised to strike. I'm sorry, he says at the ladylike bashfulness written across your face, at the panic that slowly but surely descends upon it when you realize that the danger your family tells you to steer clear of has already made its way to you, your breath growing short as you tussle with him shyly. Fruitlessly. You're powerless to stop him, and you think blissfully that that absolves you of responsibility for breaking your parents' rules.
'Sorry, sweetheart, I couldn't help myself,' he breathes out shakily, hardly able to look—at the naked expanse of your skin right beneath his fingertips, far too pristine for the likes of him. But he does look. He looks, morals be damned, with the hunger of a starved man. Nothing more, nothing less, because flowery words or elaborate metaphors aren't quite apt for a feeling so simple-minded and unembellished—so base as the appetite you stir within him.
He feels the bulge rise under his palm as he bottoms out, watching the outline of his dick through your soft belly in twisted fascination. It feels like going to the moon and staking a flag. It feels like he's taken estate over you, within you, squeezing his body into the tight space. Forcing it to fit. He wants to make a home right here, where his palm presses down upon, making your shaky thighs squeeze around him. Quivers going through your legs like a bowstring—the tension snapping in a messy release that sprays the sheets under your hips, trickling down your inner thighs. The embarrassment in your cherubic face does little to deter him, his palm steady in place as you feel his shaft sawing inside you, curved and thick. It feels like he's molding you to his cock; he feels like you're milking him.
Apologizing doesn't make him a better man by any means. It speaks less of a moral man than of a sick pervert who merely can't control himself. (A victim of his own desires, that’s all. There’s even a kind of indulgence in the effort—like a masturbatory pat on the back, that he tried and failed, sadly, to stay away from the pretty little thing—her, sweet and ruinous—)
He's sorry, he says, and the wrongness of it makes his dick even harder. If he had nothing to be sorry for, perhaps it wouldn't feel quite as transfixing.
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A part two of [this] post where reader met ghost in a chatroom and didn't expect him to have such a massive dick...
"It won't fit!!" You hiss, trying to squirm but unable to with the weight of ghosts hand pinning your hip to the bed.
"C'mon, lovie, look at it. Not that bad." Ghost coos, pressing his cock to lie against your pelvis, fhe tip practically at your belly button. Oh shit. "Bit o' work, but..."
Ghost slips his other hand down to your entrance, three fingers easily pop inside and you still know it isn't enough. Not when his cock jerks lazily and drools precum over your skin.
Some deeper part of you really wants to know what it feels like, wants to feel him in your mouth, between your hands, on your skin, inside you.
"Mh. Good choice." Ghost hums in delight when you allow your thighs to fall open that last bit, nervous but determined. He rubs his tip in circles around your entrance just to make you nervous, laughs to himself as the embarrassed whine you let out before pressing in—
"Fuckin' hell—!" Ghost groans, doubles over and only catches himself from falling on you by bracing a forearm next to your head. You can feel the huff through the fabric of his balaclava "christ— fuckin' tight—"
"Holy shit– ghost, ghost— fuck—" you toss your head back with a high keen, whole body burning from the sudden fullness. You've never used anything but your fingers before and nothing could have prepared you for this.
You grind into him as best as you can both overstimulated and still asking for more, completely lost in just how good it is—
"Fuck– you're so big—" you feel your core tighten and are unable to do anything, back arching off the bed, pulling ghost into a kiss as your orgasm crashes over you.
Only after you've caught your breath you notice ghost shaking, and slowly realize that asshole is silently laughing at you–
"Not even halfway." He snorts, presses a kiss to your jaw then sits up, still inside you, to show his still-hard cock, only a third of the way in.
You just came and ghost is only a third in.
Somehow, this makes you equally excited and terrified for the rest of the night.
Imagine joining an online chatroom because you struggle meeting people in real life, but god do you want to lose your virginity, right?
Most of the men you meet aren't all that interesting, but there's this one guy...fucking hilarious, witty, a bit dry. His chat name might be "deadmeat" but by the pictures he sends it's anything but.
Deadmeat: thought of you again, bloody mess. Can't wait to have you.
The picture attached is his usual, hard cock covered in at least two previous loads, tip flushed pink and wanting. The calloused, tattooed hand it's cradled in is what drew you in initially. Most folk in the chat room were...well...gifted in size, and as fun as it is to imagine you can hardly manage two fingers on a good long day.
But this man? Perfect fit. About the width of his palm, fingers easily wrapping around. Not small by any means, but definitely not heart-stopping in a bad way.
You: just a few more days. Got the motel booked?
You make sure it's safe, of course you do. Swapping photos together in anticipation for the day.
Deadmeat, or ghost as he requested you call him now, is...a little different than you expected. Tall, for one, nearly brushing his head on the top of the doorframe when you nervously unlock the motel room.
You don't quite realize the breath of your mistake until you and ghost are half undressed in bed and you slip a hand under his waistband. You slide you hand along the soft hair at his base, wrap your hand over it and—
...no. no way.
The amusement on ghosts face as you frantically shove his pants down and pull out his dick is palpable. Holy shit, he's massive. You're a few centimeters shy of wrapping your hand around him, not to mention the length.
You swallow thickly, glance up at him.
The fucker has the audacity to chuckle, reaching down to wrap his impossibly large hands around his dick, give himself a few pumps "well? Everything you were expecting? Don't worry, i can make it fit."
Oh you are so screwed.
(Pst. Pt 2 here)
Once again thinking about ghost and his [zero concept of aftercare] and all his methods for helping you out afterwards...
Ghost has spent multiple instances fucking you dumb, using all your energy and then some because he's simply that obsessed with you. Yet, you still haven't seen any traditional aftercare from ghost.
His favorite method seems to be food, helping you recover physically from the exertion.
Of course there's the granola bars and electrolyte drinks, but you'll never forget the day he he dissappeared for a bit and came back with a perfectly cooked steak, still butt-naked when he handed you the plate. It even had an adorable little garnish.
Though the time he pulled you into a closet because he had to have you in his mouth, only to pop off and hand you a little fish Keychain he found at the gas station, will always be a fond memory.
Or the time where, after a shower and cuddles, you still seemed down and ghost just wouldn't let it stand. So he decided to build a blanket fort around you in bed as if it were the logical next step.
Does he still need to be reminded to help you wash up or to come for cuddles? Yes, but honestly you love whatever his mind comes up with more. You like how personalized it feels.
....you'll never stop teasing him for the time he prepped sourdough in the oven and timed it specifically for when you'd want a break and when you'd be done.
God you love the guy.

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Something about price not showing up for his own kid's graduation, couldn't be bothered when "it's just uni, sport. I'll be there for something important, yeah?"
And you fully expect to find no one sitting in the seat you pre-emptively reserved, all too hopeful that your dad would finally see you. Except...it's not empty.
Ghost is sat in your dads seat.
Ghost, the man who practically saved your degree when you were on the verge of a breakdown and dad was on vacation. Found you crying in a gas station parking lot and recognized you from price's wallet.
And....it feels weird, ghost where price should be, almost like you're replacing your dad...but it's also nice?
Ghost has always been there when you needed him, more than your own dad ever was.
He drives you to get shitty fast food afterwards in celebration, hand heavy on your thigh and you don't try to stop him. Of course you've thought about it, but never acted on it...
Not until ghost pulls over on the back roads, parks his truck in the start of an empty field and lays you down in the dirty bed of it. Rough hands pulling your thighs open, a mouth leaving bites against skin. He makes you feel all the things you missed out on, too busy studying for your dads approval.
He groans "fuck, kid, can't believe i waited this long. Didn't want to distract you." When he ruts into you, thick and hot and too big for you to do anything other than gasp.
That night, you sleep in ghosts bed and not once does your dad call asking where you are. Seems like you made the right choice.
(18+, suggestive material)
wc: 3,168
spencer has never showered with anyone before and when bau!reader suggests it, he doesn’t quite understand, “together? like at the same time? in the same shower?”
“yeah, babe, i think you’ll like it.”
she don’t know if his touchiness is because their relationship is relatively new, or if it’s because relationships as a whole are new to him, but he’s so clingy and desperate for her to be near him at all times. she ravishes in the feeling. when they're away on cases it's hard on both of them to not be able to touch each other, but it's especially hard on him. as the days progress, he cares less and less about minimizing pda for the sake of 'professionalism'.
it's not like they're hiding their relationship from anyone, it's just so new that they want to keep it to themselves for as long as possible. they're private about it, not secret. disregarding that their coworkers are some of they best profilers in the world, even a blind man could see the love that they have for each other.
they get each other coffee, sit shoulder-to-shoulder over the same case file (which is completely unnecessary, there's always enough for each of them), he drapes his cardigans over her arms during late nights in the precincts, and they help each other put on their kevlar vests (which is also unnecessary).
one glance under the table would show their pinkies and ankles linked together. sometimes it would show a mismatched pair of his socks peeking out of her shoes: bright and patterned and unmistakably his.
they gravitate towards each other without even realizing it.
they’ve just gotten back to his apartment from a case, they spent a whole week in a shitty motel with questionable bedding and an even more questionable shower situation, not to mention the dirty feeling on their skin after being on a plane for hours.
he has a thing about getting in bed or on the couch without being clean typically, but he especially does after getting back from a case. this, plus his adherence to her body has her suggesting it.
he has his arms wrapped around her from behind as they enter his apartment, both of them are giggling at the awkward walk/waddle they have to do to be able to move. she turns around in his arms and places her hands on his chest, gently caressing him with her thumbs.
“if you don’t want to then that’s okay! you can go first and i’ll go after you.” she’s so kind to him and has been so delicate when it comes to his ‘firsts’.
“no! i definitely want to, definitely.” he rushes out, the thought of getting to see her naked and soapy within his arms reach has his mind reeling.
he’s fantasized about it before, especially before they started dating and he’d be jerking himself off in the shower. he never allowed himself to picture her in the shower with him, but he’d imagine what she would look like through glass: wet hair cascading down her back, breasts and ass covered in soap bubbles, her hands traveling all over her body.
he always felt so dirty and guilty after thinking about it, despite always doing it in the shower. he rarely allowed himself the fantasy, since he could barely meet her eyes at work the next time he saw her after doing it.
he wonders if he should tell her about his steamy fantasies, or if she'd be freaked out by it.
eventually, his database of a brain locates relevant information for the situation: “did you know that the studies show that couples who shower together experience increased emotional intimacy and reduced stress? it’s because the release of oxytocin, known as the ‘love’ hormone, can be triggered by the warm water and physical touch.” his brain always does this when he’s nervous, it’s like it has a priority path to his mouth and he barely has any control over what comes out of it. he has barely realized that he said the L word when she gently giggles at him.
“aw, that’s lovely, spence.” oh my god she (sort of) said the L word back to him! he’s so giddy and his heart is pounding, if he didn’t know any better he’d be concerned that it would pump right out of his chest.
she kisses his cheek before holding his hand and gently leading him towards the bathroom. he just follows her like a lost puppy, even though this is his apartment. he realizes that he would follow her anywhere, even into a burning building, if it meant that he could be close to her.
he’s fidgeting with his fingers as she starts the water and reaches into her hair to start pulling pins out of it. all he can do is watch. he feels separate from his body, like he’s watching both her and himself exist in the confined space of the room. his nervous system is pulling in two separate directions: one that knows that she equals safety, and one that is nervous about doing something new that he has limited data for.
“babe, really, if you’re uncomfortable we don’t have to do it, no worries.” she notices how small and frightened he looks. he can't stop replaying his debauched memories of his fantasies and he's never been so relieved that true mindreading is a myth. however, he's prided himself on having decent morals, and he feels uneasy about keeping anything from her.
“i have to tell you something.” he spits out, and she tries her best to not find that sentence anxiety-inducing.
“okay, you can tell me anything.” she's looking at him through the mirror. she has a makeup cloth in one hand and she grips the edge of the counter with the other.
“i’ve thought about this before.” his eyes are round and wide and if her chest wasn't still feeling tight at his abrupt words, she'd want to coo at him and tell him how adorable he is.
“about showering together?” she slightly tilts her head in question and he finds her so painfully endearing.
he slightly shakes his head ‘no’. “i’ve thought about you in the shower before. i’ve pictured you naked. in the shower. before.” he wants to disappear, he doesn’t even know why he’s admitting this to her, anymore.
“that’s okay, honey. i’ve thought about you in the same way.” he’s sure he looks like a dragonfly with how large his eyes widen, he didn’t consider this response from her.
she gently smiles at him and he allows himself to feel the comfort radiating from it. she turns around to face him and grabs his hands. “especially after i saw you naked for the first time, i wondered how you’d look in such a private space.”
her comforting glances and touches are no use against the guilt that bubbles up in his stomach. of course she only pictured it after seeing all of him for the first time, he thinks that he’s so strange for thinking about her in that way before even getting to hold her hand.
“what if… i thought about it before i saw your body for the first time.” he’s so nervous that she can almost feel it radiating from him.
“then that’s totally fine, honey. i’m not here to thought-crime you. what you think about in there is yours to keep. you can tell me any and everything, but you don’t have to, and i don’t want you to feel guilty for things that cross your mind.”
he knows this, especially after years in such a dark job, that things cross his mind at inopportune times and that he has to just redirect the thought back to the right file cabinet in his brain. everything just feels different with her. he doesn’t know the rules and he doesn’t want to break them, especially without even knowing what they are. he finds himself lacking his usual control around her, which would be terrifying if it wasn't so relieving to not have to be constantly on-guard.
he decides to leave the conversation at that, which he’s proud of himself for. she can tell that his anxiety is dwindling, so she squeezes his hands before returning to the mirror. the shower has been running for long enough to fog it up at this point, so she does her best to remove any makeup that lingers on her skin.
she then starts removing her clothes, and he takes that as a signal to remove his too. he loosens his belt and removes his pants, boxers, and tie with minimal issues. his fingers are trembling as he tries to unbutton his dress-shirt, though. he’s still working at it even as she stands completely naked before him. the sight of her does not help his struggle, so she reaches out to help him.
“sorry, i’m a little nervous, i guess.” he whispers.
“that’s okay, just tell me if you change your mind, okay?”
“i won’t.” she tilts her head at him again and his cheeks pinken as he realizes how it sounded. “i mean, i won’t change my mind.”
soon enough his dress shirt is wide open and he feels so vulnerable as she gently pushes it off his shoulders. he’s not really self-conscious about his body, but the stark lighting in the bathroom is making him feel so exposed. he realizes that his dick is soft, and he doesn’t know if she’s seen him that way before, so he brings his hands down to cover himself.
“you don’t have to do that, honey.” she wraps her soft fingers around his forearms and he's flushed down to his chest as he nods and pulls them away.
she tangles their fingers together with one hand and reaches around the shower curtain to feel the temperature of the water with the other. he feels so loved and cared for. he knows that he loves her and he’s fairly certain that she might feel the same, but he’s afraid it’s too soon to say so. regardless, he allows himself the luxury of feeling loved by her.
she’s soon stepping over the edge of the tub and he has to focus on following her without tripping. she untangles their fingers to quickly wet her hair as he stands at the edge of the tub, slowly getting cold, but not wanting to rush her.
“c’mere,” she murmurs, gently pulling him towards her and the water stream.
the warmth of the water cascading around them and the softness of her skin pressed against his is the most soothing thing he has ever felt. he wraps his arms around her waist and lowers his head to rest on her shoulder. “oh, this is really nice,” he tells her and she hums in agreement as her hands run up and down his back.
“i thought you’d enjoy it. now we can get all clean together and we’re probably saving water this way, right?” she giggles in his ear and he can feel goosebumps bloom on his neck.
he doesn’t really agree with her hypothesis, since he rarely spends this much time under the water stream without the purpose of actually showering, but he doesn’t say so. he's too captivated by this entire experience to do anything other than hum and slightly nod his head.
she slowly grazes one hand up to the back of his head, intertwining her fingers with the wet, but soft strands. she guides him back up until their foreheads are pressed together and they can feel each other's breath on their faces. the way she's looking at him is making it hard to breathe. the way he's looking at her warms her from the inside-out.
slowly, she presses her lips to his. his hands skim up the side of her torso to rest against her neck. his thumbs rub soothingly on her cheeks as she plays with the hair at the nape of his neck. her deft fingers cause his mouth to open ever so slightly, and the kiss deepens. their tongues move together, in tandem, so so slowly. the kiss is full of devotion.
eventually, she slowly rotates them so that he’s positioned directly under the shower head and she runs her fingers through his hair to help him wet it. he tips his head back to help her and she places a soft kiss on his chest. he lets his eyes flutter closed and he can’t fathom how he got here. he can feel warmth growing behind his eyelids and for the first time in his life it’s not because he’s sad. he’s so unbelievably thankful to have her in his life at all, but the fact that she’s his and he’s hers is so wonderfully overwhelming to him at this moment.
“do you want me to wash your hair for you, baby?”
oh my god he thinks his knees might give out from under him.
“that would be really nice of you, but you don’t have to.” his voice is light and airy, as it always is when he speaks to her.
the other men she's been with had booming voices that reverberated in small places like bathrooms and in her ribcage. spencer's voice is always so gentle with her, light and airy enough to intertwine with the thick steam in the room. others' voices were obtrusive enough to shatter any moment, but not his, never his. she doesn't consciously compare him to her previous partners, but the differences are so palpable that they're impossible to ignore.
“i know i don’t have to, i want to.”
“can i do yours too?”
“yeah, i would like that.”
he opens his eyes to see her lathering his shampoo in her hands. as she works it through his hair he allows himself to really take in the moment. he watches as beads of water catch in her eyelashes and trail down her skin. when she starts lightly scratching at his scalp, a small moan falls from his lips and he’s clears his throat afterward in hopes of hiding it.
“has anyone ever done this for you before?” she warmly asks, not judgmentally, just curiously.
“um, not really, except at the hairdresser i suppose.” his nose slightly scrunches as he tries to focus on responding and she’s so enamored by him. everything he does is so captivating, she hopes she can spend forever drinking in his features.
“thank you, by the way, you’re really good at it. way better than the hairdresser.”
she slightly tips his head back to rinse his hair of the shampoo and she chuckles at his admission.
“well, i would hope that you don’t find yourself in this position with your hairdresser,” she teases.
the rest of the shower goes slowly, yet purposefully. they carefully clean and take care of each other so delicately. for a while it feels like it’s just the two of them in the world. they can’t hear any of the usual city noises and nothing else is on their minds except for the other. it feels like magic: actual, true magic, not silly card tricks and disappearing coins.
she forgets to grab her toiletry bag from her duffle, so she has to use his soaps to get clean. for a brief moment he’s disappointed that she won’t smell like herself when they emerge from the shower, until he realizes that she’ll smell like him instead, and he’s fighting back a grin at the thought.
he’s never been so naked and so exposed in front of anyone before and he’s so immensely grateful for her. it feels even more intimate than their first time together, somehow. they don’t even do anything sexual, even though he slightly chubs up at the sight of her all soaped up in front of him. they’re so gentle with each other.
he’s genuinely sad when the shower is over and she turns off the water. “can we do this again?” his eyes are so round and soft as he asks.
“definitely, honey, any time you want.”
he blushes at the endearment and then even more at the promise. he briefly thinks about the other things that they can do in the shower together and is elated to do anything and everything with her.
she reaches for the towel rack and he softly holds her hip as she extends herself. she wraps one of the towels around his body for him and he just holds it there as he watches her dry off.
he wants to tell her that he loves her. the words are just about to fall out of his mouth, but he refrains.
he dries himself off too and slips out of the bathroom to retrieve clothes for them, not wanting her to have to brave the cold air that resides outside the safe haven they've created in the bathroom. he’s smiling as he grabs one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers for her to wear. he still can’t believe that this is his life.
he slips back into the bathroom, very carefully as to not let the coldness seep inside, and she kisses him as he hands her the clothes, "thank you, baby."
he combs her hair for her, so so gently, and wraps his arms around her waist from behind her after he’s done. he softly kisses at her neck without any heat behind it, it's romantic in the purest sense.
later, as they’re curled up on the sofa together, her donned in his clothes, the sunset spills in through the windows. they ordered takeout and are absentmindedly watching a documentary on his tv.
he can’t stop looking at her. she looks so beautiful in the evening light, her hair is still slightly damp, and she’s holding a box of chinese food.
“i want to tell you something,” he mildly says from beside her and turns to face her directly. the similar words are the only thing that reminds her of what he said earlier, everything else about how he says it is completely different.
“what’s that?” she turns toward him, still actively chewing her noodles.
“i love you. a lot. you don’t have to say it back because i know we haven’t been together for very long, but i really wanted you to know that, that i love you.”
her eyes are wide but still soft, always so soft for him.
“i love you too, spence. a lot.”
he grins and launches across the couch to her, wrapping her up in his arms and just holding her. she's laughing and manages to place her food on the coffee table before he lands on her. they're wrapped up in each other as a tangle of limbs. his head is completely flush with her neck, and she would be worried for his airways if he didn't soon speak.
“thank you for being here.”
“there’s nowhere else i’d rather be.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
a/n: hi friends this is my 2nd spencer fic ever! i'm more comfortable writing things like this than i am with smut, but eventually i will def write a steamy spencer shower sex scene lolz. i hope u liked! let me know if u did! pls don't hurt my feelings if u didn't! xoxo
neighbor!simon riley and the mundane tasks he does to make things easier for you
when you first moved in, you were wary of the big, brute of a man that lived next door. you'd seen him, for the first time, taking his trash to the end of his driveway for the garbage truck to pick up while movers lugged boxes and furniture inside your house. he spared a single glance, offering a nod at your small wave before retreating into his house.
you thought that was that.
for weeks, you lived without any interaction. settling into your new home, coming back and forth between the hardware store and your house for new projects. taking out your trash before you go to work. you'd seen him take out his own trash once, but you watched from your window, so he never noticed.
you felt weird doing it. watching the thick muscles of his biceps flex against his filled out sleeve, dusting his veiny hands on his jeans before adjusting his balaclava. you wondered why he wore it, but you moved on. you'd likely never interact.
until a couple weeks later, you had arrived home with new groceries. a lot of them. it would take multiple trips that would make your arms ache.
you barely opened your trunk when a dark mass appaeared at your side. you gasp in surprise, head craning. damn, he was taller than you thought.
without a word, he reached in and grabbed at least ten grocery bags with ease. it didn't even seen to bother him as he carried it into your garage and to the door. he didn't struggle to open the door, inviting himself in and leaving you dumbfounded.
what the hell?
the next time his weird behavior manifested was when you were at work. you got a notification from your doorbell camera about some movement, expecting a salesperson or jehovah's witness. instead it was your neighbor—the one who's name you still don't have.
he carried a tackle box, and you were about to speak to ask what he was doing when something compelled you to just watch. he seemed to take apart something on your porch, taking and replacing a piece of the light before screwing it back. he left without a word.
when you got home, your porch lights shined brighter than before—they were dim and on the verge of burning out. why would he do that?
you wanted to confront him, but you appreciated these small things. he still appeared out of thing air to take your groceries in, leaving before you could thank him.
he even started pulling out your bin for you, sitting it at the end of the driveway and dragging it back to the garage when the truck came by.
it perplexed you. why was he doing this for you? did he do it for his other neighbors? he had to, you couldn't be that special.
so you continued living life, welcoming the small actions as they made everything easier. besides, you enjoyed the company, even if he never said a word to you or looked in your direction.
the first time you approached him was on the drive home when a light appeared on your car's dashboard. you had no clue what it meant, though you probably should've. when you arrived home, you debated taking it straight to the autoshop, but instead you tried your luck with your neighbor. he likes to help, so you're guessing he wouldn't mind.
with a soft knock to his front door, you stood waiting patiently, and wait you did. a few minutes later, you contemplated turning back because he wasn't answering the door despite being home (his car was in the driveway).
just as you turned, the front door creaked open, revealing your neighbor clad in nothing but a white towel around his waist, balaclava shoved on haphazardly. his chest glistened with water as it glifed down his skin. oh fuck.
you could barely keep your eyes off his toned chest, abs flexing under your gaze before they snapped back to meet his dark ones. he lifted his brow in question.
"uh, hi." you said awkwardly, rocking on your feet. you hadn't even properly introduced yourself to the man, mostly because he disappeared so quick that you didn't have the chance. "a light came on in my car, and I was wondering—"
the door shut mid-sentence. it left you dumbfounded, mouth hanging open in shock as you stare at the door like it may open again. maybe his generous actions ended at bringing the groceries in. maybe he didn't want to get dirty after just showering. you couldn't expect the man to be ready to help any time you needed it.
after a minute of contemplation, you turned to walk back down the path. you'd have to get it to the mechanics and figured out how much it'd cost you.
when you reached the last step, the door opened again. still shirtless but now looping a belt around his jeans, he walked out, bare feet padding on the concrete. he nodded to your house, signaling you to lead.
you lead him back, hand him your keys and let him do his thing because now you get a free show. his muscles flex as he works under the hood, dirtying himself in a way that's sinful. after a while working in the hot sun, you go inside and bring back a drink, which he gratefully accepts—still without saying anything.
he's a bit weird, refusing to talk to you, but he's fixing your car so you can't complain.
"is this your official uniform to fix all your single neighbor's cars?" the words slip out before you can stop them. mortification warms your face, but it forces a deep chuckle from your neighbor, whose eyes crinkle under his mask.
he glances up at you, dirt smearing his skin. "only the pret'y ones."
your heart flutters. his voice was deep, gruff, like he smoked cigarettes, but it was satisfying to hear.
"so you do talk." you tease whilst biting back a smile. you'd finally gotten words out of him. a small victory. "what's your name?"
"simon."
"really? you look like a greg."
he shakes his head with a smile and continues working, leaving the two of you in silence. what you don't know is that simon's heart is nearly pounding out of his chest. it's beating so hard, he's worried he'll break a rib.
simon has been working up the courage to say anything to you every time he helps you, nervous as hell to talk to his pretty neighbor who he likes to help. hell go home and think about that interaction for days—or until you ask for his help again.
18+ only / all characters are 18+. corruption kink. tummy bulge. squirting. previous. | masterlist.
Simon Riley who says 'sorry' over and over while fucking innocent!reader, as though a crime were taking place as he hovers over your body.
It certainly feels like one: his big, bearish hands pinning your knees open while he carves inside of you with his mean, girthy dick, and a pair of adoring, wet eyes staring back at him making his chest pinch with guilt—and yet, makes his cockhead leak precum. This is an atrocity. Milky moonlit rays cloak the bedroom in a weak glow that don't quite reach his hulking, shadowy silhouette atop of you; a beast poised to strike. I'm sorry, he says at the ladylike bashfulness written across your face, at the panic that slowly but surely descends upon it when you realize that the danger your family tells you to steer clear of has already made its way to you, your breath growing short as you tussle with him shyly. Fruitlessly. You're powerless to stop him, and you think blissfully that that absolves you of responsibility for breaking your parents' rules.
'Sorry, sweetheart, I couldn't help myself,' he breathes out shakily, hardly able to look—at the naked expanse of your skin right beneath his fingertips, far too pristine for the likes of him. But he does look. He looks, morals be damned, with the hunger of a starved man. Nothing more, nothing less, because flowery words or elaborate metaphors aren't quite apt for a feeling so simple-minded and unembellished—so base as the appetite you stir within him.
He feels the bulge rise under his palm as he bottoms out, watches the outline of his dick through your soft belly in twisted fascination. It feels like going to the moon and staking a flag. It feels like he's taken estate over you, within you, squeezing his body into the tight space. Forcing it to fit. He wants to make a home right here, where his palm presses down upon, making your shaky thighs squeeze around him. Quivers going through your legs like a bowstring—the tension snapping in a messy release that sprays the sheets under your hips, trickling down your inner thighs. The embarrassment in your cherubic face does little to deter him, his palm steady in place as you feel his shaft sawing inside you, curved and thick. It feels like he's molding you to his cock; he feels like you're milking him.
Apologizing doesn't make him a better man by any means. It speaks less of a moral man than of a sick pervert who merely can't control himself. (A victim of his own desires, that’s all. There’s even a kind of indulgence in the effort—like a masturbatory pat on the back, that he tried and failed, sadly, to stay away from the pretty little thing—her, sweet and ruinous—)
He's sorry, he says, and the wrongness of it makes his dick even harder. If he had nothing to be sorry for, perhaps it wouldn't feel quite as transfixing.
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love arranged marriage unfortunately. the idea of being married to a knight who's not even in the city, but away on the front lines. it's a benefit for your family, so they dont even question sending you to his home to await his return...
you meet him three months into the arrangement. He arrives after the sun has already set, his features set strong in the candlelight. His body is heavy with exhaustion and tension, his eyes dull and tired.
you've grown to hate this place, this castle gifted to him for war victories. The halls are barren, the garden yet to bloom. The maids are pleasant, but they keep their distance, as if you'll strike. Maybe your husband is the kind to hit. You wouldn't know.
When he looks at you, it's only in short bursts, his eyes suddenly low. There's a long stretch of silence between you and you consider introducing yourself, but decide against it. He knows who you are.
"The maid is drawing me a bath," he says suddenly and a sick feeling pours over you. This day was always coming, but you aren't sure you're ready to lay under a stranger.
"Am I expected to join?" you ask and his nose crinkles.
"No." He steps back and away. His departure is brisk and driven. You retire for the night by yourself and awake alone. Your husband is set to leave again in a few hours; a few soldiers have already gathered in the front garden.
"Don't you wish to give your new wife a goodbye?" one asks, unaware of your open window. "One night and you've already had your fill? Or has she been filled too much?"
"I refuse to believe she is real!" says another. "What kind of woman has worn down our brute and turned him into a family man? Should we expect a gaggle of children in the upcoming year?"
Your husband growls. "You will leave the poor lamb alone. She suffers enough."
That softens you. Just a bit. You rise from you bed and go to the window, leaning out enough to catch the men's attention.
"Until next time."
He watches you, expression caught between more emotions that you can count, then turns his gaze back to his mount. The two men share a look, wide, wide grins on their faces.
"Until next time," he repeats back.
In his absence, he sends gifts. They are tiny things, sweets and oiled combs and scented oils and a porcelain figure of a cat, aimless in their direction towards you. Just simple niceties he could give to any woman in the world. You imagine he sends one to the lovers he has in every city as well.
(he must have lovers, you imagine. He hasn't touched you; he must be getting his fill with women in other cities, maybe women he actually loves. these are trinkets to keep his wife amused while she wastes away.)
none of the gifts come with a note.
one day a bolt of fabric arrives, yellow and ornate. It's only a small amount, not enough to make a dress, but enough for you to unravel and admire. It's beautiful and clearly expensive, golden threads woven into flowers and vines. Your father was a silk merchant; while you never wore the silks, you can recognize their quality.
the following week, the delicious man rides up on his steeds and presents a letter. The handwriting is rough. Knights that come from the lower class do not have the schooling of highborns; as fair as you know, your husband was born a street rat and worked his way theough the ranks to glory.
-I have been told by my secund that I did not send you enuf fabric for a gown. I do not no these things.
The spelling mistakes screw a smile out of you.
"Wait a moment." You stop the boy before he can leave. "I wish to send something back."
You take your time and use your finest calligraphy, tucking your note in with a handkerchief you had spent the week on. It's fine work-- one that would please even the hardest of hearts.
-Dearest husband,
Please take this handkerchief as a sign of my thoughts.
Your patient and thoughtful wife
A second letter arrives within the week.
-are you cros with me? A scrap of fabric for a scrap of fabric?
The response is what makes you cross. The poor messenger boy has to stay the night while you percolate over a response.
-Dearest, sweetest husband,
A handkerchief is a traditional gesture of affection. I have embroidered the edges by hand, with your last name and your roses, and it smells of my perfume. It is a piece of me for you to carry. If you do not appreciate my kindness or if you think it will turn away your lovers, you may return it. I do not wish it wasted on you.
Your less than patient and less than adoring wife
The poor boy scatters off in the morning and returns a few days later.
tortured wife,
I wil cherish it. I am sory, pour lam. I wil do better.
your loving husband

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s.r. GOOD NIGHT KISS !
spencer reid x fem!bau!reader ; est. relationship , fluff , kisses! , hidden relationship???
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ w. none! wc. 361
note ; i didn't know how to end it so it just cuts off 😭😭 (also haha please leave comments i love reading them 🥹)
you'd just finished a case, and your whole body felt like that relief after a huge sigh as you strolled down the hotel hallway, spencer by your side with one hand in his pocket, the other faintly brushing yours in a way that still made your stomach flutter every single time. your heart would beat louder and faster every time you passed one of your teammates' doors, spencer's quiet ramblings echoing loudly off the walls of the empty hall.
but his ramblings slowly faded into nothing as you stopped infront of your room, much to your disappointed; it was inevitable, no matter how slowly you'd walked. you turn to face him, keeping the silence for just a while longer, exchanging small, awkward but endearing smiles.
"well, guess this is good night." you say quietly, as if him not hearing meant you could stay in the dimly lit hall a little longer. he nods, eyes flicking to the ground before looking back up at you with those soft brown puppy eyes. "yup."
you flash him another small smile, "good night, spence," before placing your hands on his shoulders and leaning forward to pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. but as you pull back, his lips hastily chase yours, hands landing on your waist to keep you from moving away. he kisses you slowly, like always, devastatingly slowly. your body instantly melts into his, but only for a moment, because the hallway all your coworkers are sleeping in isn't the most covert makeout spots. especially if you're trying to keep all this a secret.
you finally manage to push him away—though it takes a bit more effort when his lips persistently stay attached to yours. "i have to go to bed," you kiss his cheek with a little "good night, spence", which he mutters back, staring at you like a kicked puppy.
you turn to put in your key, leaving him standing there with a (definitely exaggerated) pout and restless hands, itching to reach out to you again, but as you do so you hear from a few doors down, "can i get a good night kiss too, pretty boy?"
masterlist
okay unfortunately i’m a sucker for hurt comfort and would love reader coming into the ED for like semi-minor injury (maybe like a broken arm or something) and Jack+PTMC found family just being so sweet and doting (pre-est. relationship?)
i was very focused on jack and forgot the PTMC found family part, but i hope u like it anyways 😣 | 0.8k of fluff mostly and a wrist injury (no blood involved!)
Your still-damp hair drips down your back as you walk through the PTMC waiting room doors, surely leaving a damp spot on the back of the t-shirt you’d thrown on.
It’s strange to be entering this way. Like a patient.
You walk up to the check-in desk, thankful that the line is only a couple of people long. You should be thankful to be waiting in a line at all—it’s what you tell your patients, anyway. You see cases based on severity, be glad you’re able to wait a little while. But your wrist is throbbing and swollen, and your shirt is sticking to your back uncontrollably, and you should be in bed right now. You shouldn’t be back at the ED and certainly not with an injury.
And yet, you are.
You walk up to the desk when it’s your turn, smiling at the clerk on shift. She asks you your name, what happened, hands you a form to fill out, and just as you’re about to take it from her with your good hand, someone calls your name.
Someone whose voice you’d recognize anywhere, gravelly and steady. Jack Abbot walks into the reception area at the perfect time.
“What’s going on?” he asks you, jerking his head towards the doors that separate the waiting room from the ED.
♡ that's what i'm here for ♡
♡ pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader
♡ synopsis: due to seasonal depression, your own self-care, & accuracy at work both begin to suffer. unwilling to stand by while you're put through the wringer for the next few months until spring rolls around again, jack takes it upon himself to look after you in the meantime.
♡ content: caretaker!jack, d/s vibes (lil bit of dd/lg too), pining robby, jack braids your hair, makes you eat snacks, gives bath time, etc
♡ a/n: based on this request, ty!
You're not yourself today.
Well... You haven't been for awhile, truth be told. Change of the seasons, you think. Fall isn't terrible, but it nevertheless serves as the herald of the worst time of year: winter.
It brings about slick roads that you're terrified to drive on, power outages that cast people's homes into negative digits, an uptick in emergent cases because of car accidents and slipping on ice, snow that piles up on a driveway that exhausts you to shovel, everything dying or hibernating or migrating south to wait out the cold, and the Northern Hemisphere being bathed in darkness for the grand majority of each day.
Safe to say you absolutely despise it and plan to eventually marry rich so that you can one day get yourself a home in Key West that you'll winter in as soon as October rolls around every year.
A silly daydream, yes, but nevertheless a nice thought.
more of jack "i'll pay for it" abbot (f!reader)
*****
"Let's see it!" Jack Abbot clasps his hands together.
You chuckle. Dramatically, you open your eyes wide, blinking rapidly to show off your mascara-covered eyelashes. You must admit that the mascara is much nicer than the one you were going to pick up at CVS. Hell, it might just be the nicest mascara you've ever had the luxury of putting on.
"Thank you again, Dr. Abbot," you say. "Really, you did not need to do this."
"Ah, don't mention it." He furrows his brows, "But, ah, what else did you get?"
"Oh!" You chuckle softly, "I got a perfume! Just a travel-sized one. Well, actually, it's technically a mini size. I'm, uh, actually wearing it right now if you want to… to smell it."
You ought to slap yourself as soon as the offer comes out of your mouth. What else are you supposed to do, though? The man paid for the goddamn perfume. It's only right that you at least offer… right?
jack “i’ll pay for it” abbot (f!reader)
*****
“You know, if you’re going to be on your phone at work, it better be for something more important than… ‘best drugstore mascara’?”
Jack Abbot frowns as he plucks your phone from your hand. You spin around to look at him, “I’m sorry, Dr. Abbot! I’ll get back to—“
“What does that mean?” He asks, squinting at your still-unlocked phone.
You close your mouth, “Um… that I’m apologizing? For being on my—“
“No, no.” Jack shakes his head, “Drugstore mascara. What the hell is that?”
“Do you not know what mascara is?”

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Synopsis — Spencer's favourite meal (aka dr reid eats pussy)
Who? — Dr. Spencer Reid x Fem!reader
18+ content — MDNI
small drabble post bcs pussy drunk Spencer is on the brain <3
"Spencer," you whine, "no more, please,"
"C'mon, baby," his voice is desperate and pained, as if he's the one who's been mercilessly toyed with this past hour or so. "One for more for me, sweetheart," he licks a long strip along your cunt, "one more."
But it was one more an orgasm ago. In fact, it was one more three, four, five orgasms ago.
All I Need
Spencer realizes how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. What better time is there to propose if not in the middle of making love? Based on:
Warnings: 18+ mature content but nothing too explicit, this is just sweet love making
words: 2077
A/n: I’m supposed to finish my last kinktober and update my series, but both are very heavy and I needed something sweet to defrost my writer's block. I hope you don’t mind me squeezing something else until I finish my other WIPs🥲
“…every time I look into your eyes I see it, you’re all I need…”
SPENCER KNEW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU. There wasn't a single thing he wasn't familiar with—from every mole, every scar, to every stretch mark. Any imperfection you considered of yourself he found to be perfect.